#hes been ALONE his whole life how could he know anything about warfare??????
Text
ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.
(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone
It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.
The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been.
The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.
“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.
Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.
He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.
When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.
Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs.
You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.
You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.
His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.
He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.
He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.
He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.
He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.
He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it.
But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.
Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.
“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”
He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.
“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”
You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.”
Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.
“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”
I love you.
He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.
You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.
“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”
He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.
“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”
Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.
He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?”
He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.
He does.
“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”
Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.
“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.
Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.
“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”
Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.
He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.
You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.
“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”
Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.
“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”
You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.
He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours.
Then you ask:
“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”
Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches.
Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.
He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.
“Yes.”
“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.
Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.
You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.
You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”
He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.
“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.
“Yes.”
Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”
He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state.
He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.
You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.
“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?”
Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”
You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.
As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.
“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”
“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”
Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.
Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.
“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”
“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.
“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.
Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”
His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.
“You did,” you confirm.
Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.
“Truth,” he murmurs.
You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”
“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.
He voices his first lie, “No.”
You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.
He refrains, if only barely.
You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.
“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”
“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”
“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”
Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”
If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.
The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”
Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.
“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”
He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”
The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.
He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.
“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”
For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.
He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.
Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.
But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”
Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.
“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”
Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?
Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.
Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?
He knows his next question.
“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”
He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.
You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”
“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.
“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”
He halts.
His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.
Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.
So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”
He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?”
You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”
“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”
“We were never even dating, Daz-”
“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”
“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.
“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”
“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”
Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.
“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?”
Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.
He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.
“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”
He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.
“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”
He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.
“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”
His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?”
Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”
Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”
Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”
“He was,” you confirm.
Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty.
He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.
“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.
He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.
Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.
Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.
After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.
For better or for worse, you’re not most people.
In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”
Dazai snorts.
“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”
“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”
“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”
Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-
No. Dazai refuses to believe it.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”
“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”
Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”
“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”
Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”
You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die.
“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”
“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”
You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”
“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.
“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”
Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.
He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.
He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.
After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.
“Are you happy?” you ask quietly
Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.
“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?”
He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”
You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.
So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.
But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?
“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.
There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.
He forces it out anyway.
“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.
A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…
Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.
Your lashes flutter before you speak.
You lie for the first time that night.
“Yes.”
Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”
“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”
Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”
“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”
“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”
“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.
There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”
Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”
Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.
So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.
No.
“Yes.”
“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.
You don’t.
The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.
God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.
His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.
There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.
All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.
He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.
He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.
Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.
His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”
Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.
Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.
You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.
His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”
He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.
Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.
“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?”
You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.
“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”
“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.
“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?”
“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.
He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.
He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.
He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking…
Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.
It was a very lonely four years without you.
“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”
You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.
“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.
This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.
“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.
You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”
His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.
12:35
He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.
You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”
He doesn’t waste any time on that.
His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.
Then, he ruins the moment.
“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”
Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”
“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”
“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.
Dazai gags.
“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.”
“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”
You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.
“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”
“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.
“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.
Dazai squints at you hard.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”
“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”
“How-”
“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”
Okay.
Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”
It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”
Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.
“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.
He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.
The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”
Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.
It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.
No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.
His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.
But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.
But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.
He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”
He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you.
Unfair, he thinks mournfully.
“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”
“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”
“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.
“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.
Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.
“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.
You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-
And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”
A trick.
Dazai knows it.
You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.
He knows it.
He falls for it anyway.
Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.
“Yeah?” he says, voice rough.
Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.
“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.
He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.
He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.
His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.
“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.
“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.
He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.
His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.
He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.
“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”
“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”
And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.
Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you.
He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s.
It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.
He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.
“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.
You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”
The rest of our lives.
Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”
“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”
Of course, you know.
He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.
“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.
Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.
“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”
The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-
“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”
Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.
(I love you, he means)
“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.
(I love you too)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu smut#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd smut#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x you
996 notes
·
View notes
Text
K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter V
Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.
1 2 3 4 5
''Stop looking at me, Johnny.'' Your voice is strained, currently being crushed by the mass of pure muscle currently laying on top of you.
''Cannae keep my eyes off of ya, doc.'' You roll your eyes, attempting to change positions before giving up. The man is not going anywhere.
''Or your hands. Let go of me.'' You gather the strength to try to push him away again, just for Johnny to make himself heavier and shoot you a cheeky smile. As if being woken up by the man running into your room and crushing you wasn't bad enough, he was refusing to let go or move, arms wrapped around you tightly, legs caging you in.
''Next time I'm letting you die.'' You sigh, stopping the struggle just for your best friend to lay down next to you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder.
''Saved my life out there, bonnie.'' The man is like a golden retriever and it's practically impossible to resist his charms, not when he has been in a coma for two whole weeks after the surgery, leaving you alone with the rest of the team. Your hand comes out of the blanket to gently pat his cheek before your arms are wrapping around his neck, bringing him closer, foreheads pressed together.
''I kinda missed you, you know?'' His arms wrap around your waist as he brings you even closer, hearts pressing together. He sighs, looking away before looking back at you.
''Thought that was the end of me, doc. Fuckin' Makarov got away an' I get a bullet to the heid.'' Johnny has always been an open book, anger and frustration clear on his face, yet his eyes showed the fear he felt at the idea of being an inch from death. Your chuckle brings his attention back to you, eyebrow raising in a display of attitude only Gaz can surpass.
''Took me 12 hours to bring you back, Johnny. Got help from Ghost for the chest shots, but your head...? If anything that shouldn't be touched was messed with, we could have lost you— or made you into more of an idiot.'' He playfully tugs on a strand of your hair, a small smile on his lips, yet his eyes were just as haunted as before. He took a deep breath before holding you closer, your face buried on his chest, warm hand on the back of your head.
'''t was scary, bonnie. Thought I'd wake up in hell with all the fannybaws I've killed.'' A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he lets go of you, giving your forehead a small kiss before getting up from bed, looking around your room before his blue eyes go back to you.
''Thank you. For saving me.'' Your gaze softens as you look up at him, finally getting up from bed and gently patting his shoulder, looking at the small patch of hair that had to be shaved off in order to have more space to operate.
''Should have shaved that stupid mohawk while I was at it.'' He gives you an overexaggerated look of mock offense and you grin up at him, happy to at the very least, have your best friend back. He's not ready to be out on the field yet, so you can already expect him to be bothering you or Simon as much as possible.
His hand drapes over your shoulder as he guides you out of your quarters and drops you off in an interrogation room, your eyebrow raising as you look up at him for an explanation.
''L.Ts teaching you how to interrogate people. Said something about ye becoming more involved in field work.'' You don't question it, knowing if anything happens to the team while out on a mission, you'd have to take over. Johnny gives you a smug smile as he walks away, fully aware of what at the very least seemed to be Ghost's attraction to you.
You open the door just to see him already waiting, sitting on an old chair with rope held in his hands. His brown eyes immediately go to yours, softening slightly as he offers you the rope. He knows it's a bad idea, but at the same time, he wants to ensure you know as much as possible about psychological warfare, even when it's completely different from your field. It's an excuse to spend extra time with you, that much is clear— but he also knows you're a fast learner.
''Simon.'' There's a smirk threatening to tug at your lips as you grab the rope, already getting on with tying him up. It's something you're very familiar with, not needing further instructions and ignoring the way his muscles tense up slightly in mild surprise as your hands move with pure expertise as if this is nothing but a second nature to you.
It takes a few minutes until you're done, looking down at the artwork with the perfect muse— there's a knot tied up on top of Ghost's chest, rope running over his chest in three different sections, uniting where his hands are tied behind his back. The rope goes up, binding his mid-section to the back of the wooden chair. His thighs are held apart with the tight rope, ankles tied to the front legs of the chair, his prominent bulge standing out even more with the tightness your knots have.
''Right.'' He interrupts after you stare at him for a second too long, already feeling the sweat pooling up on his forehead underneath the balaclava.
''You already got the intimidation part down, so let's move with torture. In that table there's tools you can use on me. When interrogating the enemy... make sure you start slow before you build up on the most damage you can do without killing. Anything is fair game in this field, love.'' He looks down before looking back up at you, trying to keep his eyes from wandering as he looks at you in civilian clothes for the first time.
''Torture, psychological tactics of intimidation, even amputation, if you're not afraid of being discharged.'' He's clearly joking about the last part, but his voice remains serious as he focuses on the task at hand.
''Go get something from there and try to make me talk. I'll be an enemy holding back information, get it out of me.'' He gestures to the table with his head and you hum in acknowledgement. The corners of your lips tug into a smirk as you see it— a red candle among the many different tools, a zippo lighter you recognize as his right next to it.
''Interesting.'' He doesn't even have to look to know what caught your attention. Your hand reached out for the lighter, flicking it on and staring at the flame for a few seconds before looking over your shoulder, gaze catching his. His eyes follow your movements, from the way you slowly walk up to him, to your hands lifting up his shirt, wrinkling the fabric together underneath the knot of the rope, his strong body exposed.
His breath hitches when your cold finger trails up and down from his abs to his chest. He watches you light up the candle, waiting until the wax starts to melt before slowly tipping the candle closer and closer, pausing before the burning flame makes contact with his skin, waiting for his approval. All he can do is stare down at you and nod his head once.
Your eyes focus on his strong torso, tipping the candle until the wax began slowly dripping into the pale skin, muscles flexing underneath. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to not give you a reaction despite the burning pain on his sensitive skin.
''That all you got?'' He challenges and that does nothing but make the dangerous glint in your eyes dance along with the fire. Your hand goes higher, tipping the candle again until a new bead of wax drips down his chest, not a single sound coming out of him besides his heavy breathing.
''Not yet.'' There's a small smirk on your lips as you notice the jolt that runs through his body, flinching slightly when the hot wax lands on his nipple, yet he still doesn't let out any sounds of struggle. His rock-hard cock twitches in his jeans, another deep breath coming out of him as the muscles on his stomach flex involuntarily. He takes his eyes off of you when the wax drips onto his other nipple, staring at the ceiling as he tries his best to calm down, body shifting in discomfort as much as possible despite the rope binding his whole body to the chair.
''Try harder.'' He orders, gravelly voice growing deeper. A small snicker escapes your lips at his words, nodding your head. From this angle you can see how his pupils dilate, the black specks quickly overpowering his dark brown eyes.
Your free hand travels from the now dried wax, all the way down to his jeans, fingers neglecting his hard cock and undoing his belt instead. His eyes snap back down on you, yet he doesn't deny you. You pull his cock out with your free hand, freeing him from the tight fabric before you let it go, allowing the thick shaft to rest on his abdomen. The candle goes up again, teeth softly biting on your lower lip out of excitement as you look at the red wax drip on his shaft.
''Fuck.'' His stare is firm, but the moment the wax touches his skin, he winces in pain. There it is. His head leans back on the chair, eyes closing tightly as more wax drips all over his painfully hard cock.
''Stay with it... It's nothing.'' He reassures himself, voice nothing short of a pathetic whimper. He shifts his body as you start letting the wax drip higher and higher, movements slow and calculated. He shifts his body, trying to escape the searing hot pain of the wax yet being unable to.
''Fuckin' amateur.'' He spits out, eyes opening to look down at you. His muscles are tensed, jaw clenching underneath his black balaclava. You can see a drip of sweat spill down from his masked forehead, moisture gathering at the bits of skin you can see from his face, eye black looking shinier than before.
''You seem to be enjoying what this amateur is doing, sir.'' Your words are taunting, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, yet he gives you nothing other than a soft, low moan, half-lidded eyes looking down at you intensely. Your smirk grows at his silence, looking down at the hardening layers of wax all over his thick cock.
''You wanted me to break you, so I will.'' You watch the wax drip down to his glistening tip, mixing in with his precum. He can't help the way his body thrashes against the rope, trying to get away from the pain as a deep moan of pain escapes his lips. You say nothing this time, simply moving the candle around, angling it up so the dripping wax lands on a different part of his tip.
''Fuck! H- I cant—'' He whines out, eyes closed tightly as his body reacts involuntarily. He's still struggling against the rope, yet he doesn't have it in him to ask you to stop.
''That's all you can take?'' You taunt with fake pity and he inhales sharply, beads of sweat running down his forehead, pain showing in his face even when the balaclava is covering it. He finally lets out a quiet whimper, eyes struggling to remain open simply to stare down at you as he always does, yet there's no confidence behind them anymore.
''Do better.'' He's clearly trying to spite you and it works. Your free hand comes up to flick his tip harshly and this time, he doesn't fight himself, a low moan of pain and pleasure escaping his lips. His hips thrust up slightly and in that moment you know— Ghost's resolve is being broken.
''Fuckin'... hell.'' He moans out, bound hands behind his back becoming tight balls, veins bulging in his arms. His head tilts back when he feels a new drop of wax falling on his tip. He can't help it, really, the way his hips thrust up in nothing but pure desperation, ropes of thick white cum staining his abdomen as he groans out in a mix of pain and pleasure, muscles flexing underneath your touch.
''I win, Simon.'' Your taunt does nothing to him other than to make more cum spurt out of his throbbing cock, looking down at him in a mix of amusement and fake pity. Your gaze connects to the pair of wide brown eyes staring at the scene through a half-opened door, cock throbbing in his pants.
A/N: fun fact! Vamp was created with K-9 in mind, but I couldn't keep the idea in my drafts for long enough to use it in this fic so it was published as a one-shot. I decided to use the one-shot in this chapter, as things will get more interesting in the next ones!<3
#cod mw2#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#simon riley#ghost cod#simon ghost x reader#call of duty#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#mw2 smut#cod mw2 x reader#mw2 x reader#mw2 x you#mw2 ghost#mw2 fanfic#modern warfare 2#cod#cod modern warfare#mw2 2022#ghost smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x you#ghost x f!reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x female reader
575 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, there could you do Padawan Anakin where Male Reader is like a father figure to Anakin and without Anakin knowing reader went to Tatooine and saved his mother from slavery.
Bonuses; Reader and Anakin's Mother fall in love and Reader legally adopts Anakin giving him a stable loving family.
Padawan Anakin Skywalker x Father figure male reader
Headcanon
Sorry, this took so long to write anon, hope you enjoy :)
This is platonic obviously. I imagined the reader as a non-human species of some sort, and I ended up giving him feline like features. I was thinking panther or tiger when I wrote this, but its up to yall what you imagine.
The jedi council when a senator from a powerful planet adopts their chosen one from right under their noses: 😲
- You were no jedi, never had been and never would be. You didn’t even truly believe in that whole force thing most of your life, until you actually met Jedi when you became a senator for your family. Here you learned you were immune to force tricks and mind manipulation.
- You were the child of the royal family on your planet and some neighboring planets, and was the 7th born out of your siblings 9 siblings, meaning you had very little chance of becoming the heir to the throne.
- But because of your extreme knowledge in anything from politics to warfare and iron spine, and apparent immunity to being force compelled and mind controlled, your family and the royal council decided to make you the senator for your planet.
- Now you weren’t happy about it in the beginning, and the other senators all seemed insulted at someone so young being placed in their midst, you only being in your mid 20s when you were titled senator.
- As time progressed though, you started to like your job more and more, mainly because you loved to rip apart whatever stupid and mindless laws and ideas the other senators had. Some people even started calling you the bloodthirsty senator, because nothing that was cruel or unfair ever passed through your claws without being picked apart brutally.
- It had been another day of ripping apart the old senator’s ideas, this one being so out of this world you couldn’t even imagine how it passed proof reading. It was pretty much just veiled slavery, so you were quick to sink your claws in and giving them all a verbal lashing.
- Your tail was curling behind you in a pleased manner, internally taking joy at the sour expressions of the old pricks who had wanted to pass this law. You were also interested in the new senator from Naboo, a young woman named Padme Amidala.
- You could tell when you met, she was royalty, since she carried herself the same way you did once, though you had relaxed over the years and grown less tense and collected.
- When you turned the corner, you came to a stop at seeing a young child seemingly waiting, leaning up against the wall and attempting to look comfortable and sure of himself, but you could tell he was anxious and uncomfortable. Your whiskers twitched as you approached.
- You crouched down in front of the child and asked if he was alright, and what brought him to the senators building. It was only then he seemed to realize you were there, and he jolted and fumbled with his hands, making some comment about it being jedi business.
- Now that you really looked at him, you could see the clothes he was wearing and assume he was a padawan, but you had never seen one this young before brought to political buildings.
- When you asked where his master was, you learned he was apparently off somewhere having meetings and negotiations with some other senators.
- Your tail gave an annoyed lash from side to the side at the knowledge that this child had just been left alone, so you stood up and offered him your hand, asking if he would like to something to drink or eat until his master returned.
- The child, who was named Anakin you learned after introducing yourself, jumped up and took your hand, smiling so brightly you swore you could feel your heart melt.
- If you were anyone else and didn’t want to keep the peace with the jedi, you would snatch this little one up and bring him home to your home planet, where you knew he would be pampered left and right by your parents and siblings.
- The two of you were soon found in your office, the door open, enjoying some snacks and drinks from your home planet. You quickly learned he didn’t seem to enjoy tea, so you gave him something else.
- You sent a message off to his master where he was, and the two of you fell into talks. You learned he was from Tatooine, about his life up until now, and you learned about his mother. In exchange you told him about your own life, and he seemed to find the concept of having 8 siblings fun, “since you would always have something to play with” in his words.
- When Anakin’s master came to pick him up, you learned his name was Obi Wan Kenobi, and your judgement of him lessened when you noticed how young he himself was.
- You would have to pull some of the master jedi aside and give them a good shake at the knowledge they let such young ones become masters and take on Padawans.
- When Obi Wan tried to apologize for Anakin bothering you, you gave a small laugh and waved them off, telling them Anakin would always be welcome, Obi Wan as well if he wanted a break.
- And so, it continued, Anakin would join you whenever Obi Wan had stuff to do with the senate or near the senate building, and you enjoyed spending time with the padawan. Because of you bonding with him, Anakin doesn’t go to Palpatine for support, but to you.
- Because of your healthy guidance, Anakin doesn’t struggle as much with his rage, and he tells you about his issues with the jedi and not fitting in. As your bond grows stronger it’s not unusual for the two of you to hug, and for you to purr at him to help calm him when he is struggling.
- Without either of you noticing, you seem to take a fatherly role to Anakin. He comes to you for comfort and acknowledgment, and you happily give it to him. When you family learn of him, your older siblings and parents are already trying to find ways to swoop in and adopt Anakin from the jedi.
- They had all given up on you having children since you showed no interest in anybody, so when you became a father figure for Anakin they pounced on the opportunity. They are able to get his birthday out of you and send him lots presents. He keeps them at your apartment or office though, since Jedi arent supposed to own so many things.
- What Anakin didn’t know is that you had planned on ways to get his mother free from slavery for a long time, and now with your families help you are able to do it. One of your siblings takes your spot in the senate for a while so you can travel to the outer rim and free her.
- You couldn’t just free Shmi though, so you end up freeing all the slaves on Tatooine and chasing the hutts off the planet.
- You get hurt during this venture, and as Shmi patches you up you can’t stop your tail from wrapping around her waist and the tiny purr that you let out as she makes your heart beat in ways it never has before.
- You bring her back to your home planet where your family has set her up with an amazing house, not too over the top though since you had given them strict orders on how it would make Shmi uncomfortable.
- You stay on your break from the senate for a while to help Shmi get used to your planet and its culture, and her being free from slavery. During this period the two of you start to fall in love, and she seems to find how you can’t control your tails endearing.
- She always laughs when it wraps around her out of your control, or how you purr whenever she stands near you, or you hold her.
- When Shmi is settled in you both agree its time to contact Anakin, as she didn’t want her son to see her when she was struggling and hurting. You are able to pull some strings and use some secret blackmail you have gathered over the years to allow Anakin to come to the planet on his own outside of Jedi business.
- When Anakin arrives, he is immediately pounced on by your family before you or Shmi can even approach him. Your parents are especially happy to see him and hug him and ruffle his hair, much to Anakin’s confusion.
- When Anakin finally wrestles himself free from your large family, he looks around for you and smiles when he does, but freezes when he sees his mom. He looks lost for a second before Shmi smiles and opens her arms at him.
- Anakin immediately sprints over to tears in his eyes and hugs his mom, starting to cry as she holds him. Shmi pulls you into the hug and Anakin just melts into your embraces, muttering about how much he’s missed his mom and you.
- After some crying the three of you return to Shmis home, which you pretty much have moved into at this point, and much time is spent just catching up. When it comes out and you and Shmi are romantically involved Anakin needs a few moments to comprehend what you just said.
- When it clicks, he gets extremely happy because his two parents are together, and hes so proud when he returns to the Jedi, he doesn’t even care that Jedi aren’t supposed to be close with their parents.
- He uses you being his dad to be able to visit a lot more, and because you are a senator, Shmi is brought with you to the planet which means Anakin can visit her too. This is super helpful for Anakin and his struggles because he now has a super solid support system, in Shmi, you and your large family.
- If Shmi ever gets pregnant Anakin will be the best older brother in existence, and if the jedi give him the ultimatum to leave the jedi or stay but cut most contact with his family, he would leave without question.
- During all this time Palpatine is figured out, and a new chancellor is chosen, maybe its you if you are up to the challenge.
- If Anakin stays in the jedi if they don’t give him the ultimatum your family is his biggest supporter, and even if he leaves you all stand behind him in whatever he wants to do.
#male reader#star wars#anakin skywalker#Padawan Anakin Skywalker#shmi skywalker#star wars imagine#star wars headcanon#star wars x male reader#star wars x reader#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker headcanon#anakin skywalker x male reader#padawan anakin skywalker x male reader#padawan anakin skywalker imagine#padawan anakin skywalker headcanon#shmi skywalker imagine#shmi skywalker headcanon#shmi skywalker x male reader#shmi skywalker x reader
242 notes
·
View notes
Note
any safehouse crew x bell!reader headcanons? can be fluffy or angsty, whichever you prefer to write 🥺 i adore your work!
Aw, thank you!! Yeah, I'd love to share to some headcannons! These are sort of a mixed bag regarding fluff/angst, but I think they're mostly nicey-nicey :)
Sorry for your wait, but I hope you enjoy 💖
Adler
His relationship with you is such a tangled mess
He shouldn't even be doing this, not after all he's done to you and is still doing, but...
He just can't help but fall for you
Your memories of being with him during the war may be fake, but to you they're all too real
You know him better then anyone else, maybe even more then Sims
This whole thing started because you wanted to get to know him, to fill in the gaps and to continue growing the bond that only exists in your mind
Every day he struggles with the knowledge that what he's doing is wrong, along with the constant badgering about it from Hudson, Sims, and Park
But he's never felt this close, let alone wanted, by someone in his entire life
There'll come a day when the lid blows right off all this and explodes in his face for sure
Just... Not yet, he hopes
Hudson
If there's one person here who should not be getting involved with you... It's him
Adler and Park may be your handlers, but he's the one overseeing the entire operation
You wouldn't even be here if he hadn't passed down the orders from the higher ups
If there's nothing else you take away from this, he would have you know that there is much, much more at risk here then his mere job if he was found messing around with you
Hudson tried everything to resist you
You and your charming voice
You and your beguiling looks
You and your kindness and patient soul
His will was strong, but the flesh is oh so weak
No one has ever treated him like you do
Just an ounce of respect and a surprising, never ending stream of kindness...
What else is a lonely man to do?
Adler and Park know nothing, this is a term you both agreed on
And they never will, because as soon as your work here is done...
He will stop at nothing to keep you safe
Lazar
He knows, he knows...
He should be doing this
But damn it if you aren't just so... Loveable
Lazar has a big heart that just bursting at the seams with love to give
You'd think such a friendly fellow would be popular in the dating pools, but...
It would seem not so
He'll be honest, he was going to make moves towards Park...
Mostly because, between the two of you, she wasn't strictly off limits
But you were his first choice
And when Helen shut him down, well...
Why not at least try?
He never expected you to actually take to him
He deals with constant reprimands, but he dismisses them every time
No one knows what it's like to be so full of love and have no one to give it too
And now that he has you...
He'll be damned if anyone tries to take you away from him
Mason
Geez... All Mason wants is a stable relationship with someone who loves him and has the grit to see past his flaws
He's been taking his meds and seeing his psych, but the numbers and mind jacking still bother him
In fact, they very well might for the rest of his life
He feels so broken
So unlovable and far too damaged to even be an option for anyone else out there
So... Why are you so interested in him?
At first he brushes it off as a star struck kid, and maybe, at first it was, but then...
Things start to get serious
He meet up with you after work hours
You both get to talking and relating to one another through your memories of warfare and the current mission
You tell him you've seen plenty of things just as crazy as what's going on with him, and people that are twice that bad
He doesn't scare you, not one bit
Acceptance is all he's ever wanted, and to have found it in you feels better then anything he ever could've dreamed of
He falls for you so hard, he rarely let's you out of his sight and tries to get on as many of your missions as possible
Park
This whole op is a well oiled machine and she's the one driving it
Hudson and Adler may act like they're in charge, but they'd be nothing without her helping to hold them and you in line
She's a woman of rules, decorum, and conduct
There's a way to do things and a way not to, simple as that
And yet for all that, she still cannot understand how she's fallen in with you
She should be holding you at arms length at best, and yet here she is stealing kisses and playing with your hair when no one is looking
Maybe she's too much of a sucker for a good forbidden romance story
Or maybe there's always been something in you that's spoken to her from the beginning
A certain way you carry and conduct yourself
So brave and strong...
The kind of person she aspires to be, deep down...
Soon she starts saying things like "what's the worst that could happen" and "no one has to know"
And before long, she knows she could never let you go
When this mission is over, she swears to set you free from the mental prison and living hell she helped put you in, no matter the outcome for your relationship
She loves you too much to see you suffer
Sims
He has the exact same problem as Adler
You know him too damn well
Except... You don't really know him at all, huh?
It takes him so long to wrap his mind around that one...
But the more and more you keep coming to him, asking about things like 'Nam and his time in the war...
The more and more that line becomes muddled
How much have you been programmed to know, and how much did you learn naturally, just from getting to know him?
It's hard being a Vietnam vet you know...
Everyone blames you for the loss of the war, and no one wants much to do with a soldier in general, he guesses
Too much of a headache when you could just get a nice, normal person, right?
But old Vietnam vets get lonely too you know...
So you know what? Who gives a damn
This whole thing with you and mk ultra was screwed from the start, and who knows where the end will take you
If nothing else, if not even for his own benefit, he may as well give you the respect enough to enjoy a little fling
He treats it seriously. Very seriously.
He even grows to truly love you
Maybe that's why he's so scared for you
Woods
Here's a man who'd go his whole life proclaiming he'll never settle down and had no interest in doing so
He's a lone wolf, a life long solider, and far too fucked up for a stable relationship anyhow
At least... That's what he'll say
The truth is he yearns for what Mason and Hudson have
A happy little family and cozy home to protect and care for
He wants to feel needed, wanted even
And he'll never get that from long hours at the practice range and lonely weekend nights spent in his living room
He takes the same approach as Mason would at first
He brushes you off as a starry eyed fan and nothing more
But you know... He's never had anyone care enough to be a "fan" before
Alex laughs at him and keeps saying he's letting his ego get to his head, but what the fuck does he know?
He's got all that shit with the numbers and reznov stuck in his head, and yet he still has someone to go home to each night
So he does it, he gets involved with you
And it's the best damn feeling in the whole world
He loves you relentlessly and soon finds he can't bear to be away from you for too long
Mason will never let him life it down, but you know what?
He's just fine with that
#black ops cold war#call of duty#russell adler x reader#jason hudson x reader#lazar x reader#eleazar azoulay x reader#alex mason x reader#helen park x reader#lawrence sims x reader#frank woods x reader#bell!reader
180 notes
·
View notes
Text
There’s someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises
The Jedi recovered the bisected Sith apprentice from Naboo and imprisoned him underneath the Jedi Temple. A young Anakin finds the way down to his cell.
Anakin is twelve when he declines one of Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations for the first time. The resulting devastation looks wrong on his kindly old face, and Anakin wants to take it back—besides, it’s just an opera and a glass of bubbly, where could be the harm?—but he remembers golden eyes pleading up at him and then a skull-patterned face scrunched up into a splotch with how hard it’s trying to hide utter desperation, and he repeats his invented excuse.
It doesn’t matter that this one-sided rivalry for Anakin’s attention that has developed between the mutilated imprisoned murderer Sith (slave) he has befriended and the Chancellor of the Republic is honestly deeply stupid, from Anakin’s point of view. It’s not like he couldn’t spent time with them both: his missions with Master Obi-Wan have increased in number recently, but still, he’s been talking to Palpatine once a month and he’s also managed to fit in the regular trips down below to the high security carcer. It’s ridiculous.
But Anakin understands loneliness—and fear and attachment and jealousy and all the other disturbances of the peace he shouldn’t feel—he didn’t have friends for years in the Temple, after all, and it makes sense, at least a little, that Maul is scared he’ll be forgotten down there when Anakin has any other option. Not a lot of sense, because really what he’s saying is that he thinks Anakin so disloyal he’ll just ditch the only real friend he made on Coruscant, and Anakin would get back at him for the insult if it wasn’t for an energy gate perpetually between them and the fact that it’s a just a little bit unfair to tussle with a guy crawling on the floor because he doesn’t have legs… The jealousy is still kriffing stupid, but if anyone knows stupid fears it’s Anakin.
So he declines, and he keeps declining, and two years later the invitations stop.
.
Anakin is eleven when he starts smuggling droid parts down into the top security oubliette underneath the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. The first time is, in retrospect, a terrifying accident. He’s built a tiny moving starfighter that Master Obi-Wan just glanced at and said, “Well done,” nothing more, like Anakin didn’t need to use pincers to weld the tiniest engine parts together, like he didn’t cast the alloy all by himself. He sulks in his room, the ship buzzing at his head, and then remembers that there’s at least two more people who might like to see. Palpatine is probably busy, and that leaves…
The Sith prisoner is a far more appreciative audience than Anakin’s Master. His eyes glint and widen when he sees the presence next to Anakin’s head, and he even pulls himself off his berth: pulls himself off the edge and tumbles down head-first, and then panting and with his nails dug into the duracrete he drags his torso over to the energy trellis that separates him from Anakin.
He looks up at the droid in childlike wonder.
There’s a tenderness to his questions that he hasn’t shown Anakin up until now, and it’s not just the hoarse panting of exertion that takes away the last dregs of his usual intimidating mien. He wants to know everything, from the full-size model of the ship it was based on to the assembly process to details of every single one of Anakin’s new projects.
“I can—I could feel the movement of the droids I built, in the force,” the prisoner whispers reverently. “They were a constant presence when I was young.”
“Right? Right?” Anakin is excited. The Jedi have been trying to tell him that droids don’t have force presences, and he’s almost believed them by now, but if he’s not alone in feeling it then he was right. Master Obi-Wan was wrong. He knew it.
He brings down the next droid he builds—yes, two days after the first trip he did realize he brought something easily used as a weapon to the dangerous Sith prisoner, but all he did was talk mechanics with Anakin so clearly it’s harmless—and the next and next. He watches the prisoner drag himself across the floor. He sees the abrasions covering the prisoner head to abdomen—covering him on every inch of the body he still possesses—the injuries that he must be sustaining from his only mode of movement. He feels the shame radiate out from the prisoner down on the floor, painful, cloying. He watches him try to play it all down.
One day, Anakin brings down a ship that he designed himself to meet the exact dimensions and functionality of a short humanoid’s prosthetic thigh. He pushes it against the barrier. It moves through.
.
Anakin is almost ten years old, and he knows that down in the bowels of the Jedi Temple there lives a monster. The Sith is caged so deep below that no-one can hear his growls and mutters, his whimpers, his pleas, or so Master Obi-Wan promised Anakin yesterday when he’d worked up the courage to ask about the sounds he keeps hearing whenever he closes his eyes. He’s locked down so deep that the shivering of his despair and the gall of his hatred must be a hallucination. He’s been caged for months, first interrogated daily, then found useless and forgotten. But not by Anakin.
(He saw the monstrous enemy of the Jedi for the first time when he’d just turned nine. It pulled its black hood off its bright head and panicked Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan, and Anakin was sent away for safety that quickly turned into cosmic warfare. Before that moment, he knows, on Tatooine it tried to run Anakin over with its bike. After that moment, he’d seen the monster—or what remained of it—being carried out of the Naboo palace on Master Obi-Wan’s back, moaning and delirious with pain, but dangerous nonetheless. It had bitten Obi-Wan so hard he’d flung it reflexively to the ground.
Down there, it had begged. “Honor,” it had rasped. “Give me honor. Give me death.”
Master Obi-Wan had picked it up by its arm, and it had whimpered in protest, “I fought with honor!”
Obi-Wan had ignored it. Anakin would have, too; this thing had killed Master Qui-Gon, and whether it had done so with honor or not didn’t matter when Master Qui-Gon was dead. It had killed the Jedi who’d won him, who chose to train Anakin, who was the only guarantor of his future safety, and he didn’t know what would happen now, and he hated it.
It had grown more frantic then, terrified. “Kill me, Jedi, please, when my Master—”
And Anakin had swallowed a cry of shocked recognition.)
Anakin will be ten in two months, and today he’s gonna see the monster again. It’s not the force that calls him down staircase after staircase to the oubliette below the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. He’d be able to explain if it was the force, if he got caught, he thinks, but that’s not what’s going on. It’s just homesickness, and loneliness, and it is that word.
The way he said it.
Anakin has met more Masters in the last year of his life than ever before, has uttered the word more often than on Tatooine, and he’s doing pretty well, he thinks. He doesn’t flinch with his body when he says it and not with his face either, and even the highest Masters—there it is again—they can’t feel the acid in his force presence anymore.
He greets Master Obi-Wan in the morning and he bows to Grandmaster Yoda whenever they meet.
He doesn’t talk about his childhood. He doesn’t talk much, nowadays, to anyone but Master Obi-Wan or his teachers. He knows he’s weird. He wasn’t on Tatooine, but here… He doesn’t know the things the other padawans do, and his reflexive associations, his interests, his memories shock them. There’s no point, Anakin has learned, in expecting people who can say Master without galling—who don’t need to pretend enjoy it—to listen to him. They’ll never wake up in cold sweat and feel for the bomb that was cut out of their neck, that was injected into it while they were awake and their mother cried, that had so often almost gone off. They don’t cry for their Mom. They’ll only shush him when he talks of his past.
When he talks of his fears.
Of himself.
They’ll never understand him. No-one will. No-one will let him be the Anakin he really is, without fussing over him and muttering and looking like he should know better by now. No-one wants anything beyond the parts of himself he can salvage that are untainted by his past. The parts that don’t remember his mother.
The only person who listens to all of him is Palpatine, and even he often doesn’t know what to say.
No-one will understand, possibly, but…
The monster that lives down below the Jedi Temple had forced out Master like the word tastes of fire and dread.
Like it heralds pain.
The monster is a fellow slave, Anakin is sure. He’s the only being on Coruscant who might understand; the only person who will let him be whole. He’s killed Master Qui-Gon, yes, but he didn’t have a choice, just like Anakin wasn’t allowed to disobey his Master and neither was Mom or Kitster or Beru or anybody else back home.
It was so obvious, the moment he said it.
The monster’s a slave.
Point: Anakin is so tired of having to pretend he never was a slave.
Point also: He just found a map of all the layers of the temple in a garbage chute, wedged in a decommissioned droid’s dataslit. A map that shows the oubliette for ancient evils.
Point also also: Master Obi-Wan’s fast asleep, and Anakin can’t get his thoughts to stop racing.
The monster’s a fellow slave.
Ergo: it’s time to sneak down and make a friend.
What must be hundreds of meters below the current Jedi Temple, at the bottom of the bottom-most staircase, smells faintly of sweat and boredom and despair. The only illumination Anakin can make out is a set of force trellises, and if the schematics he found were right then that’s exactly the spot that he’s looking for.
Pulling his hood down deeper just because it’s chilly and definitely not because he’s nervous and needs something to fidget, he sneaks closer.
Victory!
The Sith’s inside the cell. He looks just like the attacker Anakin remembers, with a red-and-black face and some horns and a scowl. He looks completely different, too: he’s naked, or at least his torso is. The lower half of his body is just missing. Did the Jedi—but no, Anakin can dimly remember Master Obi-Wan mention the way he beat him. That he’s still without prosthetics, even though his scars are well-healed… Anakin knew a woman who’d survived a bomb blowing off her leg, on Tatooine. She lived off of fellow slaves’ charity, for a few months. Her head wasn’t all there anymore from the pain, Mom told Anakin, and her Master had just let her leave. Why invest in a prosthetic when you’re not getting any use from its recipient?
The Sith is doing better than her, at least, even if he’s missing way more flesh. He’s doing pull-ups off the head piece of his callow berth. His yellow eyes gleam in the soft light of the force trellis when he looks over. When he notices Anakin. For a long moment, he looks stunned, and only then he remembers to snarl.
“Hi,” Anakin says.
The prisoner puffs up his defined arm muscles, as well as he can when he’s still hanging off the frame of his bed. He must have decided that dropping down onto his torso—and probably his face—would be even less dignified, though, because he stays put, sweaty and glowering out at Anakin from under his armpit, like he’s desperately trying to look threatening and tough in an unfamiliar situation where the other person has all the power.
It’s a scene Anakin has known intimately for most of his life.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Anakin says.
A beat.
Right.
“The Jedi didn’t send me,” because in his situation that’s what Anakin would most like to know. The Jedi are not this guy’s slave masters, but they do have all the power over him right now.
“I was a slave too, before they took me here. You can trust me,” and at least that gets a reaction: the prisoner looks absolutely apoplectic and even opens his mouth. Finally! He’s angry, which isn’t ideal—Anakin should have remembered that some slaves don’t want to admit they are—but they’re talking!
But the Sith just closes his mouth again.
He keeps his sullen silence for what feels like hours while Anakin tries one conversational gambit after the other. He just can’t have blown his one chance at talking to someone whose mouth makes the right shape for Master. Anakin refuses to accept that.
But it grows later and later, and Master Obi-Wan will wake up at some point, and he doesn’t have to concede defeat for forever, after all, but maybe for today…
“Fine.” Anakin puffs out his chest. He should say something soothing that’ll buy him a foot in the door next time, but he’s been pleading and pleading, and it hurts. “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk. I’ve got plenty of friends. Chancellor Palpatine asked me to come over for tea just yesterday!”
The voice is so threadbare that he almost misses it, but it’s there. The Sith clears his throat. He sounds more sure and velvety when he repeats his plea to Anakin. His golden eyes are so wide it looks painful.
“Wait! Repeat what you just said!”
.
Anakin is nineteen when he climbs down into the bowels of the Temple for the last time. He hasn’t slept for two days, barely even closed his eyes, because on the insides of his lids is his mother, writhing, pleading.
No-one up in the Temple can give him any help. All they have to offer is platitudes about Uncertain the future is and Let go of attachment you must, but it’s his Mom, and she’s being tortured! She’s dying! She can’t be dying! She’s Anakin’s Mom!
He’s pleaded to be sent to Tatooine on a mission, but Senator Amidala’s protection detail is more important Master Obi-Wan said, and he can’t just go against the will of his… He can’t go. His Mom’s dying every moment he closes his eyes and he can’t go.
Maul is his last hope.
No-one will even notice that Maul’s gone. He’s been locked up for a decade now, and only the meal droids and Anakin still climb down to his level. Anakin’s friends with the meal droids, too, and he can definitely talk them into keeping silent about the Sith prisoner’s disappearance.
Maul’s a fighter, and he was able to find them on Tatooine and follow them to Naboo so he must be able to find Anakin’s Mom, too, wherever she’s been dragged off to. He’ll be able to save her.
He’ll—
Anakin has already sliced the force trellis control panel and turned it off when the fear grabs him. He’s spilled all his nightmares of his mother’s death, has shared the only plan for her survival. He’s received the assent he was sure to get. Now, he’s helping Maul put on the smuggled prosthetics that have been hidden in the stuffing of Maul’s prison berth, kneeling down before him.
And suddenly, all he tastes in the air is raw hatred.
He flinches. The trellis must have functioned as a shield from Maul’s presence before, keeping Anakin from realizing the true depth of Maul’s anger, the extent of his strength.
He could kill Anakin right now. He could attack the temple, and it would all be Anakin’s fault.
The frailty and humiliations of the prisoner’s mutilated body have lulled Anakin into reacting with kindness. He’s seen a man who is weak, helpless, and of course he offered help.
The cadence of Maul’s voice has made him sound like a friend.
But he’s the Sith who slaughtered Master Qui-Gon.
He’s filled to the brim with hatred and jealousy and pain, the force around them screams, will never release them to meditation like Anakin has tried and tried to do; he’s everything the Jedi Council saw in Anakin that day a decade ago and that he’s tried so hard to bury. He’s a Sith.
He’s warm.
It’s not just the hand he rests on Anakin’s shoulder but the very air he expels. Anakin expected the dark side of the force to be frigid, the way his own loathing and terror have kept him shivering and cold, but this is a hearth: protection, purification, an almost magnetic pull. It wraps around them. He shudders again.
“Do not be afraid,” Maul says, and from the soft look in his eyes he has misunderstood completely. “I shall find your mother, apprentice. You will do admirably while I’m gone. Just remember everything I taught you.”
And then, the darkness curls around Anakin again, hot and possessive. “While I’m gone, don’t talk to Palpatine.”
.
Anakin is twenty-three when he decides to brutally murder the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. His wife is laying in the delivery room, holding the boy twin—holding their baby boy!—while he strokes her hair reverently, and there is his Mom beside him, holding the girl twin—holding their baby girl!—and next to the door, scowling, stands Maul.
“Do you want to hold her?” Mom asks Maul gently. She knows him best now, and if she decides Maul’s standoffishness towards the twins—his twins!—is shyness rather than dislike, then Anakin will forgive him for not cooing over the babies—his kids! His and Padmé’s kids!—like any rational person would.
“Even His patience runs out one day,” Maul whispers.
Anakin’s hairs curl in shocked recognition, and he doesn’t even need to hear the word, but—
“I told you, Shmi, he started talking to Anakin as soon as he arrived. Somehow I managed to keep them apart, to interfere with the attempts at molding him, but the very fact He showed interest must warn us… As soon as he learns of this birth, and His spies are everywhere…” Maul turns back towards the door, palms laid across it as if he could keep the gate shut. The force burns with shielding hatred. “My Master will come for your children. Soon. Palpatine likes them young.”
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
White Sands Warm the Cold Sea
Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader
Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.
Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.
chapter one Chapter Two
Chapter Three: The Pirate
Hondo Ohnaka is a very simple man. What doesn’t make him money doesn’t belong in his life and anything other than that does not concern him, nor does it take up much of his time. And while some of his business ventures have earned him a less than savoury reputation the Lords of Coruscant still knew he was the only pirate tolerable to do trade with. Provided you could put up with the boisterous personality for a measurable length of time.
And so when the household had woken to your missing presence and your father had finished retching in the privy, (from shock or his nights endeavours no one could be sure) Volim Nython had already sent word to have Hondo Ohnaka found. At first, he’d laughed.
“My friend, my friend, I am a pirate! Not a bounty hunter, if you want the lass found you’re going to need to stoop lower than folks like me!”
“My own personal guard will be in charge of finding her. What I want is for you to scuttle away to whatever backwater hole you crawled out of and send a message.” The Lord had said ever so calmly.
“So send a letter!” Hondo exclaimed before frowning when his feet were not so calmly pushed from their resting spot upon the table.
“Will you do it or not?” your father asked, rubbing his temples.
“Of course!” He laughed, “for the right amount of credits.”
And thus he found himself tracking down any and all associates of his that participated in smuggling, transportation or escapes of any kind.
“Hunter!” He calls to the sergeant with open arms, pointedly ignoring the cold exterior he is greeted with. It had been a chore to even get the man to allow him to board the Havoc Marauder, let alone agree to talk with him. But standing on the deck of the ship, in the middle of the day, he can see the disdain on the ex-GAR soldier’s face.
“It’s been far too long! Last I saw you boys, you were on a campaign on geonosis and short far too many weapons.” He recalls happily.
“What do you want Hondo.” Hunter demands, and for the first time in a long time the pirate falters, the man in front of him is very different from the one in his memory. It would appear the war had killed the loving, kind hearted sergeant after all.
“Message from Coruscant.” Hondo says eyeing Hunter suspiciously. “A womans gone missing.”
“What's it to us?” He asks, placing his hand on the hilt of his trusty sword.
“Tis the bride of one Volim Nython.” The ship is silent save for the crashing of waves against the hull.
“What’s that got to do with me and my crew? We aren’t bodies for hire anymore.” Hunter seethes.
“Worry not my friend, Nython has his personal guard scouring every surface as we speak. His highness wishes only to convey a message.” Hondo says with a flourish. “Any person found to be harbouring or holding said bride, will be hanged for conspiracies to treason against the Empire. Should the person or persons involved bring forward either the living bride or sufficiently identified body of the aforementioned woman a lesser penalty will be considered at the lord's discretion.”
The group of clones bristle, they’ve been at the mercy of the Lord's discretion before, and dread to think what will happen to the poor bastard should they bring the woman in.
“I still don’t see how this concerns us.” Hunter says, unimpressed.
“Well, i figured something like this would be right up your alley-”
“We are not bounty hunters.” He interrupts.
“I mean hiding the poor lass,” Hondo corrects with a frown, always so touchy these clones. “If you happen to find yourselves in the business of sanctuary I would not recommend you find yourself in that business for long.” He pauses and looks at Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair before leaning in and lowering his voice.
“They’ve already killed half of the household.” He tells the captain with a solemn voice. And for a moment, Hunter is not on the deck of the Havoc Marauder, and the sound of waves becomes the wind whistling around artillery cannon fire.
He pushed himself and the young Wookie child further into the mud, Kashyyyk had become one big trench in dirty, bloody warfare. The child calls out in fear and Hunter closes his eyes, the barrage never ended, it never ceased, not for a moment. He would be buried in the flying rocks and dirt. Heart pounding and breaths that never seemed to catch up. It feels like years later when a batch of shinies pry his taut muscles from the ledge of ground he found solace in.
“Kriffing hells, he did it. He actually did it.” one of them murmurs as various start relaying the news and one shiny pulls the kid out of his grasp.
“It’s alright sergeant, you’re alright.”
“My Vode…” he croaks.
“Force 99 is all accounted for, waiting for you at the base.”
“And the others, the jetii -”
“General is in bacta, the legion, the survivors have been taken back to Coruscant for shore leave.”
“How many?”
“You know better than to ask those kinds of questions, sergeant…”
“How many.”
“47 total, some injured some… less injured.”
Forty seven out of ten thousand, a whole legion reduced to forty seven clones.
Hunter rips off his bucket as he reteches.
“We don’t know anything about the girl. Nython’s issues are something we tend to steer clear from.” Hunter says pushing a firm finger into his temple where the sun seems to be burning a hole.
“Well!” Hondo says, clapping his hands together, “i’d considered the message delivered and received, my work here is done!” Hunter turns his back to the pirate.
“Say why don’t we celebrate over some Spotchka!”
“Get off my ship Hondo.” Hunter says over his shoulder. Before retreating once more to the captain's quarters.
It is far too soon that there is a knock on the door. And it is just when the headache starts to clear and he can bear standing again that Hunter hears it.
“What is it?” He grunts out, placing his hat back atop his head. And he sees crosshair push the door open, allowing Tech to walk in before him. Hunter already knows this’ll be bad news, anytime the two of them conspired together and failed to include their noisey older brother, it usually resulted in some disastrous sneaking plan.
“Sarge…” tech starts, pushing the goggles over his head. “You don’t think…” Hunter raises his eyebrows daring him to continue.
“The woman.” Crosshair cuts in. moving a toothpick around. “Well, what are the chances this woman…”
“Has she been found?”
“No.” Tech responds before adding “not yet.” Watching as the captain of the ship stands and looks out the thick glass, following the viscous waves crash together at the back of the vessel.
“I guess i’ll have to do it myself then.”
Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets
@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu
#clone wars#the clone wars#clones#clone wars x reader#the clone wars x reader#clone wars x you#bad batch#the bad batch#bad batch x reader#sergeant hunter#clone trooper hunter#hunter x you#hunter x reader#sergeant hunter x you#sergeant hunter x reader#clone trooper tech#wrecker#crosshair#star wars the bad batch#tbb#tbb echo#tbb hunter#tbb wrecker#tbb crosshair#tbb tech
100 notes
·
View notes
Text
A post for some BAMF Izuku fics <3
(more of these will be added and the list will be updated as i read them)
Fics i've read:
The Secret Ingredient is Crime- Izuku only had a whole month to further prove himself worthy of Yuuei's golden acceptance, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it in. Yuuei would never truly know what hit them until it was too late. (The secret crime AU in it entirety is fucking amazing and what wouldn't i give to read more stuff with it)
Deku the Villain Hunter: Support Hero - We all know the story: After being told he couldn't be a Hero by All Might, Midoriya Izuku still wandered over to a supervillain attack where he could save Bakugou Katsuki. But what if he had made the other turn? The answer is a butterfly effect that would lead him on a path to paving his own future. A path of revenge, finding his own moral compass, and doing the impossible. (OKAY MANY THOUGHTS. Very cool story and aspects. I binged it overnight and lost a bit of sleep the next night as well.)
The Story of How Midoriya Izuku Asserted His Dominance (And Traumatized Japan) - The Sports Festival was supposed to be a break from stress. Shouta should have known there is no such thing as a break with his class.
making it right (for real this time) - - Izuku is a support course student at UA, and Katsuki's neighbor, best friend, and former bullying victim. After Izuku's performance at the sports festival, Katsuki realizes something. He has to make things right. -
Hero Fall (UA Civil War Exercise) - It's now the end of the first year of UA for our students. Nedzu had decided to bring back the annual Heroes vs Villain fight. The fight shall last 5 days and the villain leader is Izuku Midoriya, with the commanding officer of the hero team being Katsuki Bakugo. But, what happens when Izuku is left alone?
Hero Class Civil Warfare - Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.
"I Didn't Know You Had It In You." - Midoriya goes feral rage mode in his fight against Overhaul. The beat down still happens, but with Eri no longer at his back, he gets more violent. One For All reacts in an interesting way and Midoriya commits a terrible and unheroic act - the cold blooded murder and maiming of Chisaki Kai. Shigaraki is there to watch it all unfold.
Plan C meets Plan A - Even if All Might is right and Izuku can't be a hero, Izuku refuses to be useless. So Izuku uses his analysis skills to develop Plan C: Consulting in order to help the heroes. Eraserhead is impressed by this mysterious new consultant but alarm bells in Deku's behaviour quickly have Aizawa recruiting help for Plan A: Adoption.
Q. A. B. - One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.
How to murder your father - It's dangerous to be a bad father when you have a life insurance. Just saying.
Negation - Passive Quirks are a bitch. Izuku is reasonably done with the situation.
Thanks For Your Support - Izuku has the talent and the intellect to be the first Quirkless pro hero, and everyone at UA knows it. Unfortunately, his desire to become a hero has long since been buried thanks to the words of his childhood friend and childhood hero.
Policed To Meet You - Izuku takes All Might's advice and becomes a cop.
Vigilante Work And Other After School Activities - Izuku is a vigilante, Aizawa likes cats and therefore kids who help cats, and sometimes breaks must be forced upon overachieving teenagers.
When the Commission Lost Total Control - The hero polls have a small part where one can suggest their own hero. This is done just because of the amount of heroes is to great to name them all. This creates a little problem for the commission because a vigilante is assumed to be a brand new hero by the public- and ranks pretty high. Because of that, this vigilante now is too popular to hide and they can't come out with their mistake either! Think of the chaos that would bring.
Izuku being Badass but like in not that grand of a way but still tearing-people-down-in-some-way kind of way
He Was Quirkless - Midoriya get's sick of discrimination against the quirkless and decides to do something about it. It leads to some interesting situations. A trilogy.
bloody, but unbowed- It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.
Called Out - When Izuku is hit by a quirk that will cause him to call out the first person to be rude to him on the way to school with every mistake they've made in the affected persons presence or have otherwise effected said affected person, Aizawa is in for a rough ride. In other words, with some help from a quirk, Izuku rakes Aizawa over the hot coals until he gives out. (a great fic but i've got mixed feelings on this one because on one hand, izuku is badass but on the other its Aizawa bashing and really like him skhdskdb so yea! Read it as per your tastes!!)
The time when everyone learned that izuku respects Bakugo more than all might. - I didn't like how Bakugo was tied up during the sports festival and so izuku didn't. Badass izuku roasted all might and midnight.
Villainous Sunshine - After an innocent question, Class 1-A learns just how terrifying Izuku's analysis is. Nedzu's along for the ride.
Never understand ( and you can't ) - Midoriya is sick and tried of his classmates bias and prejudice against the quirkless community and finally breaks
Mastermind: Strategist For Hire - Izuku Midoriya never got the chance to save Bakugo from the sludge villain and impress All Might. With his dream crushed, Izuku becomes bitter and angry. It also doesn't help that he faces discrimination at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated, so when the villains are the ones to recognize his talents rather than the heroes, well, Izuku just can't resist. He might as well help those who actually want him around. Mistakes were made, and now society must face a villain of their own making: Mastermind.
Malignance - Deku is far scarier than anyone gives him credit for.
Fics in my to read list which has/probably has BAMF izuku
Young Midoriya - Izuku Midoriya couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Even at 12 years old, his instincts drive him to help those in need. So when he sees Kacchan and his goons about to ambush another student, he has to step in, right? It's not like this hasn't happened before. What is different this time though, is that he's never had an audience that consisted of the Number One Hero.
Heroics and Other Things That Don't Require Superpowers - Izuku doesn't have a quirk. That's the long and short of it. After being told his whole life he can't be a hero, General Education at UA is the best he can hope for, right? Wrong. Dead Wrong. So super wrong that his best friend from Gen Ed, all of Class 1A and a whole mess of Pro Heroes are going to prove to him how wrong he is. Izuku has the makings of a hero, and his lack of a quirk only throws those qualities into starker relief. After all, who wants to be as strong as All Might when you can be the cleverest hero in the business?
Cases of More Than - Izuku is known as Deku online. He's an analyst of quirks, sometimes even working with the local detective, Tsukauchi, on a case. He meets new friends, builds a few relationships, and slowly crushes on his best friend. But then he's thrown into the General Studies Course at U.A. It doesn't help that All for One is showing an interest in him at all.
No Regret - In this world there is no hard set villain or hero. No victim and aggressor. Everyone is at fault for something and Izuku, with his own villain group, will make everyone pay. Even the bystanders who did nothing. This is what society gets for abandoning it's people. Deku will manipulate everyone and be the greatest villain, all so the world can be a better a place. With the stakes so high there is no time for regret.
We Are a Different Kind - Mirio doesn’t think he can be a hero anymore now that he’s quirkless, Izuku calls bullshit.
Live a Hero - "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Or, you're raised a villain, rebel when you're nine, and fight against the odds to become a hero anyway. That's how it is in Izuku's case.
Prodigal - After being convinced to give One for All to Mirio, Midoriya Izuku must rebuild his shattered dreams with bloody hands.
Two Sides of the Same Coin: Vigilante - Izuku is orphaned at the age of four and is sent into the Japanese Foster Care System. After multiple failed attempts at finding a forever home and some unfortunate circumstance, he ends up on the streets. Eventually, the vigilante, Deku appears. Eraserhead must gain his trust to bring Deku back to the right side of the law. If he he does, however, the untrustful but pure-hearted boy may just be a bit more than Aizawa Shota can handle.
From Muddy Waters - - but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot. Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.
Pieces are easily sacrificed when they're nameless - Nobody ever thought quirkless, weak, weird Midoriya Izuku was dangerous.
This perception carried over to his first year high school class, because really despite the super strength Midoriya didn't have it in him to be dangerous. That was their first mistake. And the one that would see them fall.
Not exactly BAMF izuku but i just wanted to rec these fics <3
In the shade of a sunflower - Being biologically quirkless came more with an extra pinkie joint in the toes and a stunning lack of vestiges mutations. It came with smaller things, like extra teeth that did virtually nothing, exploding organs, and weird exposed nerves that weren't designed to feel pain.
Throat Punch - In which Aizawa attempts to teach Izuku how to use various battle tactics and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. At least Shinsou is there with his fantastic commentary. (just a fun lil thing where izuku is really stronk and trains with shinsou and aizawa)
So Be It - He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like. If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it. So be it… (as stated not exactly BAMF but its a vigilante izuku so ye-)
Never Enter a Drinking Game with Bakugo or Izuku - Izuku walks in on Kirishima and Kaminari having a drinking competition (no alcohol involved). And it reminds him of an old story.
5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them - After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this. (THIS FIC???? FUCKING AWESOME. LITERALLY WHAT I WANTED TO SEE)
Midoriya: JD Version - Nedzu has decided that a play should be put on so that the students can learn how to "go undercover", an idea which Aizawa thinks is utter bullshit. They're putting on Heathers and when Nedzu chooses to cast Midoriya for JD, everyone objects. Midoriya is a much better actor than they thought.
that is a lot!! I hope you have fun reading it!!!
121 notes
·
View notes
Note
Concept: Because of going through Ebony Maw's torture repeatedly, Loki has cracks on his skin, all of them spiralling out of where Maw dug his needles in. His body is pretty much covered in cracks, from his cheeks down to his legs. He covers them all with a glamour.
“Brother, you’re becoming predictable.”
Thor crouches down next to Loki who is twitching on the ground, held in place, immobile, by the obedience disk he had attached to the back of his shoulder, just in case the need to manage him had arose. And, it has.
“I trust you, you betray me, round and round—” Thor’s smile drops, and he watches in horror as the blood vessels visible across only half of Loki’s face start to fade from a heated purple into blue, snaking over its entirety, like sharp folds of marquina marble.
Loki’s eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens in an attempt to speak, though he doesn’t manage any sound except a quickly cut-off choke. He continues convulsing, and Thor averts his gaze over to Loki’s hands, palms partially gloved, only to find the same shades of blue bleeding through, like cracks in his skin; glistening cracks with a silvery outline that doesn’t manage to conceal what those exact blues mean to Loki. Or what they mean to Thor.
Those, as much as Thor wills to think it so, despite the colour, are not the natural markings of Jotun. He has fought Jotnar, and for all he’d been told of Loki being a frost giant he had been under the impression that even small for one, he at least looked as they did.
The fissures run, outlines in silvery blue, to the tips of his fingers, Thor notes, and they are denser and coalesce through the centres of the palms and the areas directly under the cheekbones, from whence they spiral out.
They also slip under his sleeves and neckline, and Thor refuses to assume anything further than he can see; he refuses to imagine the rest of his brother’s skin divided in a mosaic of pales and blues, a harried patchwork of scars messily painted on, to imagine it a signifier of suffering passed, but also as a reminder infused into his very being. That Loki had been— that he is broken. Thor refuses.
But he has lived a millennia and a half through battles —albeit most on smaller scales than inter-realm warfare— but he immediately knows.
He can recognize torture.
And he can recognize magic.
And Thor refuses to think what combination of physical and psychological stress could do this to Loki of all people. Loki. The Loki he’d known his whole life to be the most stable, persevering and reserved person in mind. The same who would joke and run his mouth and cause mischief but also the brother he trusted to always be at his side. The Loki he’d pitch to be an unbreakable companion, both in mind and heart, whose mastery of seiðr and knives, however unconventional, were indicative of his strength, his control, his pride.
And now Thor doesn’t even know why or for how long Loki has concealed this fractured form from him— he doesn’t know if Loki would have ever told him freely. Or if this too would’ve been another family secret carefully constructed to keep him in the dark, to mark him as untrustworthy to know. Another silent battle, locked away.
“You’ll always be a liar, Loki,” Thor concludes, disappointed, knowing what he has said to be true, for who else but a coward would hide something like this? Something Thor may have at a time been able to have helped with, but now has no information nor empathy to spare, not for him.
Thor stands, turning his back to the alarm in Loki’s eyes, the slight shake of his head as if trying to refute the truth Thor can see with his own eyes.
He’s too hurt and angry at another of Loki’s deceptions to care about anything right now. He wants to go to Asgard and salvage what he can of the people he knows, who he trusts wouldn’t conceal themselves behind falsities, especially those of being alright when so much is wrong.
Thor holds down on the remote in his hand, releasing the obedience disk’s hold on Loki, so that he may recast whatever illusion he no doubt wants to shield himself with, and he walks away, towards the ship.
Thor regrets not waiting till he was further away to relieve him of the pain when Loki’s ragged breathing breaks into voice behind him, and what he’d seen of Loki’s hands flash through his mind’s eye: cracks across his slender fingers and soft palms, cobalt streaks spreading around his wrist, which no doubt grow stronger rather than fainter further up the arm, likely another focal point for the corruption marks at the shoulder, the largest swirls emerging through the base of his sternum pierced through to covet both his back and chest in slivered crevices giving the illusion of shattered glass, another centrepoint a hairs-width above his hips on each side, rifts of blue emerging from the space between the lower thigh and knee in both directions, cracks curling around his feet from the roof of the ankle like vines. And, of course, the jagged cuts of blue he’d seen across his face.
At the same time he also sees his brother as he’s known him for centuries, whatever he’d show of his entire body always unmarked, the same facial structure, the same bony wrists and hair and softness— but now he doubts how much of that, if any of it, was real.
Thor closes his eyes hard to hold back the welling tears, as if anything Loki says can be a half-decent attempt to justify— as if any reason could ever be worth forgiveness for dismissively concealing something like this, which has impacted all of him enough for his own magic to taint his body in such a way of defense, to have pieced together whatever parts of him it could, and decide to hold him together so desperately under the distress he so evidently faced alone.
Loki speaks, barely loud enough to make it to Thor’s ears over the sound of the dimming alarms as he walks, almost as if Loki’s words are first and foremost for himself, as if he is the one who needs the comfort of them, and Thor a mere spectator.
“My skin was already a lie; I just added a few words of my own to it.”
Thor’s heart shutters and he feels his resolve crumbling. He ignores the pain in his chest and keeps walking away.
#i liked the concept 👉👈#and may have added some lore too#so basically#loki ends up with thanos and the bois#and he's super durable so Maw has plenty of fun with the needles and everything#but#after Loki gets out of his depressed defying-not-having-a-purpose funk his magic (which was already stressed by his emotional roller-coaster#decides that psychological issues of internalized racism but also refusing to die means that instead of the torture killing him#or instead of healing like a normal person#he ends up healing with cracks that are all jotun-y#he heals over all the injuries maw left him with#of course Mr Ebony could just keep cutting him#but... this guy has magic... and he's strong and durable... and his attitude just flipped#he's clearly emotionally imbalanced so why not recruit him instead?#he's proven he can make good of a bad situation and the mind stone loves strong emotions#so just hook him up there#meanwhile loki's stuck with a reminder that it's not just his hand that's blue or another skin#now his aesir one shows his jotun side too#he's just got to live with that now#so he covers it up and deprioritizes it#because that's how we cope#so anyway that's the lore#and yes thor cares about loki but it's more in relation to what changes to loki mean to himself#you can decide if loki still decides to show up to save asgard or if thor's repressed anger at loki made him win the hela vs thor fight#ficlet
199 notes
·
View notes
Note
AIUI, Burbank is even more a question mark than The Shadow is; we don't know if that's a personal name, surname, or nickname, we no nothing of his past, his personal life, or even (again, AIUI) his personality. Is that something that should be kept in adaptations, or ought he be developed more?
Both.
The thing about developing a mystery is that you still need to have something in place to purposefully obscure or slowly reveal. You still need to give your audience tidbits and information here and there that makes them want to learn more and find out what the answer is, even if they know it's never really happening, even if the answer couldn't possibly live up to the hype.
Twin Peaks was able to delay the mystery of Laura Palmer's murder for an entire season and more partially because Laura Palmer had such an rich, troubled inner life and turmoil, that we could gradually receive snippets of information regarding it every episode and still not know the whole story, so much so that, even after we learned who did it, there were still many, many stories to be told within Laura Palmer's life and the city. This holds true for The Shadow, and it holds true for Burbank.
Gibson successfully created intrigue regarding Burbank because, not only was Burbank a crucially important figure in The Shadow's organization and therefore someone we'd want to know more about, but because everytime Burbank showed up to play a substantial role, you could gleam something new about him. Burbank is a great example of staging in The Shadow pulps because his scenes are often written as if we were watching a movie where the head of our main character keeps being blocked from view, until it's revealed, and it doesn't really help us understand him much better than before, even though we've come to learn more about what he acts and looks like.
In fact, The Shadow even seems to be aware of this, such as in the scene below when the narration goes to great lenghts to obscure Burbank's face, even in a scene when there is literally no one around but Burbank and The Shadow. Why go through this much trouble to obscure Burbank from no one but the reader? Why not just refrain from describing what he looks like instead of making sure we can't even imagine what he looks like in our heads in the scene? What's the mystery over what's ostensibly just an average quiet-faced man? And so Burbank doesn't become just a mystery, but a tantalizing one.
The fellow's back was toward the light; since the elevator was dark, it was impossible to distinguish his features. When he helped The Shadow carry the boxes to an open apartment, the bulky objects came in front of the man's face. Since the apartment was dark, too, the features of this silent companion remained as concealed as The Shadow's own.
The fact pleased The Shadow. The less people who saw Burbank, the better - Voice of Death
For example, we do know where Burbank's name comes from, and potentially his first name. In both “The Shadow Laughs” and “The Case Of Congressman Coyd,” Burbank is referred to as “Mr. Burbank,” which indicates it's a last name. In The Death Giver, Burbank hands Harry a business card
At three fifteen, the stenographer entered and tendered Harry a card. It bore the name:
L. BURBANK
MOTION PICTURE OPERATOR
A later story specifically namedrops famous horticulturist Luther Burbank, and according to Will Murray, Walter Gibson did confirm to him personally that Burbank was named after Luther Burbank.
We know Burbank's main feature is that he's "quiet-faced" with a "soft, even-toned voice", and that characters can recognize Burbank by his voice even when his face is obscured, but his look isn't consistent. His sole appearence in a cover comes from The Lone Tiger, where he seems to be past his fifties and being semi-bald, but it's not how he looks in Edd Cartier's illustration where he's got a hairdo. Both seem to be somewhat based on Dr David Burbank, the New Hampshire dentist who founded the city. He's been said to be at least 40 once, and this in itself is at odds with some descriptions that place Burbank as younger than The Shadow and describe him as "a young man with a solemn look", which is more in line with how he tends to be depicted in comics, particularly the blonde man with the eyepiece designed by Michael Kaluta.
We know he was officially introduced after Harry Vincent and Claude Fellows, but that apparently he's known The Shadow for quite a while, as he (as Cranston) refers to Burbank as "an old friend" in his introduction (is he an old friend of Cranston as well?). Robert Sampson speculated that the two met in 1924 at a radio station, where as Rick Lai speculates that Burbank may have been recruited in an unrecorded adventure in Rio de Janeiro, mentioned in Gypsy Vengeance, that took place between the first and second novels.
We know that Burbank is at a rather unique position among the agents because he is maybe the most important figure in The Shadow's network, the main keeper of The Shadow's secrets, the one entrusted to run the organization on The Shadow's absence, the only one who can directly reach The Shadow in the Sanctum, and if anyone knows anything about whatever secrets there are in The Shadow's past, it's definitely him, but he's also the one we know the least about as a person, and contrary to the other agents, Burbank is often described in mechanized terms, which gives him a rather inhuman aura somewhat different than that of The Shadow's.
In a sense, Burbank was the mainspring of the machinery that The Shadow used in his warfare against crime.
As contact man, he kept in touch with all the active agents; there were times when he actually ran things, during The Shadow's absence. Tonight was one of those rare occasions when Burbank was needed on active duty.
Nevertheless, the human cogwheel had connected up a switchboard and had a short−wave radio set handy, so that he could continue his contact duties from this empty apartment - Voice of Death
When emergency demanded, Burbank served as he now was serving. Instead of making calls to the deserted sanctum, he was issuing orders in The Shadow's stead. - The Key
Everytime Burbank gets any sort of spotlight, we learn a little more about him, who he is, what he can't and can do. His methods, what he does to spend the time, some of the things he does for The Shadow outside of communications like planting recording devices in criminal hide-outs and devising or managing electrical devices and The Shadow's advanced technology (even if he doesn't fully understand it).
"Burbank began his own attempt to scale the wall. Ordinarily, his clutches would have been inadequate, and his toe holds were uncertain. But the wire was drawing upward under The Shadow's haul. It gave the needed support whenever Burbank floundered. The Shadow could actually sense his agent's progress by the varying strain upon the wire. At last, Burbank flopped over the roof edge like a landed fish" - Masters of Death
There were remarkable devices here. Burbank understood some of them, but the millionaire alone was familiar with all the equipment - Eyes of The Shadow
“To Burbank, long, lone vigils were nothing. He was not a man of action; he was one of endurance. Prompt, precise and always dependable, Burbank had served The Shadow well.“ - The Key
During his long hours of duty, he resorted to one methodical habit as he bided away the time. He always had a supply of chewing gum.” - The Killer
Burbank leaned back in his chair. His position was one of patient relaxation. While he awaited new telephone calls, his attitude was one of complete passivity. There was nothing excitable in the make-up of this man who sat with his back toward the light. Yet Burbank was a man of amazing endurance. In place of action, he exercised untiring vigilance. It was this quality that made him a most important factor in the affairs of that amazing personage known as The Shadow - The Killer
Burbank is, at once, the barrier between the agents (and by extension, us) and The Shadow, as well as the bridge that allows the agents (and us) to find and reach The Shadow.
And I do like it that Burbank's specifically said to not be cut for action, that he's not really a fighter or a marksman or even a super tech genius, on paper he's really just a guy who sits in a chair all day fiddling with radio equipment. But he is still cool and impressive by the standards of what matters most in The Shadow's world. He's patient and resourceful and vigilant and clever and trustworthy, and he's someone that The Shadow trusts more so than anyone else.
There was no sound of the door closing; no sound, indeed, to indicate that any person had moved in that direction. Yet Burbank knew, from experience, that his master, The Shadow, had departed, after giving him the sign that his vigil was ended.
Such word usually came from The Shadow’s sanctum. Tonight, being in the vicinity of Burbank’s present station, The Shadow had preferred to give his faithful agent fifteen or twenty minutes of extra respite by visiting him in person
Such was the way of The Shadow. Though none of his trusted operatives had ever seen his undisguised face; though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them; they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation - Death Triangle
In Suite 808, a figure was seated in front of the writing table. It was The Shadow, in his guise as Arnaud; Burbank was off duty, asleep in the other room.
The telephone buzzed; The Shadow answered it. He spoke in a quiet, methodical tone, a perfect imitation of Burbank's voice. Harry Vincent reported - The Case of Congressman Coyd
On one hand, I don't think the "mystery" of Burbank is ever going to be ruined, or should be ruined. But on the other hand, I definitely think there's a lot of room to explore more regarding what exactly is he as a person, as an agent, what kind of roles he plays, what is his connection to The Shadow or what relationship he has with other agents or other people he's meant to be in more direct contact with. I think it's a matter of balance.
There's a lot of room to work with particularly regarding how you could adapt Burbank into adaptations set in different time periods (not necessarily modern day), because with how communication technology had advanced beyond imagination, there's a lot of ways you could adapt or recontextualize Burbank, The Shadow's social network.
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
Meeting and Dating Kahmunrah
(My gif)(Requested by @arianatheangelworld )
(I changed the movie plot a bit to fit the meeting portion of this but I doubt that that will upset you. And the meeting story is a bit long but that’s because there’s dialogue in it, sorry!)
- You were working at the Museum of natural history as an archivist when your old friend Larry came along and convinced you to accompany him to Washington.
- Though it took a bit of convincing, you ended up agreeing and soon found yourself standing next to the old night guard as Kahmunrah and his guards awakened.
- Contrary to your companion, you at least pretended to be intrigued by the Ancient Egyptians awakening …which drew his attention to you. He continued to glance over at you as he spoke, up until Larry stole his attention away with his defiant behavior and Rubik’s cube scheme.
- Speaking of the Rubik’s cube, it didn’t necessarily go as …perfectly as Larry had initially hoped. When the octopus went about snatching up and swiping people away, you were left in its grasp as Larry managed to escape with the tablet.
- So, you were taken prisoner by the bloodthirsty Egyptian …though he wasn’t exactly ...good at it.
- Initially, he tries to act like the typical seductive yet evil villain but his voice, paired with him messing up his words and the stumble that occurred as he tried to attractively lean on something near you, made his attempts quite unsuccessful.
- As you defy him more and more, he pulls the whole “you are so lucky that I don’t kill you” act; though he isn’t particularly convincing. You know very well that he was once a ruthless killer, and that he could still very well be one, but it’s obvious that he can’t bring himself to even hurt you, let alone kill you.
- To test your theory, you attempt to provoke him, and what does he do? Gives you more threats, more warnings, more scoffs. It’s honestly somewhat ...cute; watching him act all tough. Endearing in a way.
- That being said: you aren’t completely cruel, so you give it up and let him believe he’s won. Once you stop that, it only takes a few minutes for you to grow bored; you are just sitting there tied up, so you let out a quiet huff and turn to him.
“You know …I know a lot about your brother; it’s kind of my job, but I don’t think he has nearly as interesting of a story as you must have. I mean, sure he was pharaoh for a few years but it was so short lived. And getting everything he wanted …what's so interesting about that?” You apologized to Ahkmenrah in your head as you spoke.
“I mean there’s no trials or tribulations, no drama, no nothing. Just perfection in the most shallow degree.... I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d like to hear more about you.” You prompted and he eyed you somewhat suspiciously.
“You would?” He asked a bit guarded and you nodded. “About what exactly?”
“Ohh about anything,” you replied. “You must have been quite the fighter. You look like you were.”
- There it is. He sent you a pleased, prideful smile as he launched into tales of his combat achievements. After he was finished with that, he moved from subject to subject eagerly. It was then that it dawned on you that you were probably the first person to genuinely show interest in him and you found yourself feeling somewhat sympathetic.
“It’s a shame we’re in this situation. I would have liked to get to know you more.” You’d said somewhat offhandedly as he finished telling one of his stories.
- He froze for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed an attempt at speaking. “Well I …I mean. Well who says we couldn’t? I’ll be ruler of the world after all.” He went off on a bit of a tangent related to said idea before he looked over at you. "Wouldn’t you say?”
- Before you could respond, in came Jedidiah and soon enough Larry arrived too, instigating the whole hour glass situation and leaving you at a bit of a crossroads as to how you truly felt about the bloodthirsty Kahmunrah.
“The world isn’t as great as you think it is,” you blurted out as you waited for Larry to find the code to the tablet. “Really, I mean sure it can be pretty and power is alluring but …it’s also polluted and it’s violent and there’s the whole heat death of the universe or the nuclear warfare thing.”
“It’s not like the world you lived in. I mean it’s home for me but, with all due respect, I don’t think you really know what you’re asking for. Plus, you’re gonna be frozen again in a few hours and then you’ll be transported to my museum in a few weeks.” Shit. Shit. You probably weren’t supposed to mention that or at least shouldn’t have. Larry didn’t even know, hardly anyone really knew about the renovations.
“What did you say?”
“What?”
“What did you say just then.”
“About the heat death of the universe?! Yeah there’s this whole, we’re-” He interrupted you.
“No, not that! You said I was being transported to your museum!” He exclaimed and you sighed.
- With no other choice, you began to explain everything that you knew. He went silent for a moment, sitting in his “throne” and thinking about what you’d said.
“Would you like me to be there... at your museum?” He asked finally, attempting to appear nonchalant.
“...yes. I think I’d like that very much.” You answered and he tried his best to hide his pleasure in your reply.
- Before you knew it, he’d called his men to retrieve Larry, and soon enough, he was explaining to the man that it had “come to his attention” that they’d be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future and that he had “changed his mind about things”. Larry eyed him; and you, suspiciously before accepting his words, standing there awkwardly as the Egyptian smiled and clasped his hands pleasantly.
- So yeah, soon enough Kahmunrah was at your museum and since he’d; you know, tried to take over the world and apparently may or may not have killed his younger brother, he wasn’t too popular. And though you’d initially played up your intrigue for the man, you couldn’t deny that you did; in fact, like him and found him particularly attractive.
- Due to your interest in and acceptance of him, he spent most of his waking hours with you.
- It isn’t long before the two of you get together, he’s quite fond of you and is used to taking; or at least getting, what he wants at the exact moment he wants it. So, he tries his hand at a bit of flirting before finally making his first move.
- You’re in your office with him when it happens. He looks over at you and just blurts out that he’d like for you to be his queen, effectively stopping your hand as you were writing.
- Obviously, you were a bit taken aback so you looked up at him with wide eyes, watching as he tried his best to hide his nervousness; though the glancing away from you and clearing of his throat gave it away.
- You replied that you’d “like that”, causing him to look over at you with a smile. Before you knew it, he’d leaned forward, taking your face in his hands and pressing a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.
“Wonderful!”
- And thus, you officially made the bloodthirsty Pharaoh fall in love with you.
- I’m convinced that Kahmunrah desperately wanted to find a wife in his day, thinking that it would give him everything that his parents never did: love, affection, favoritism, etc. So, now that he has you, he yearns for your touch and attention more than anything else in the world.
- He’s constantly trying to hold and keep his hands on you. He lives to be affectionate with you and show everyone that you’re his.
- He likes to keep his hand on the small of your back, holding you at his side and leading you as you walk.
- Hugs from behind and/or his hands on your upper arms, pulling you back to press against his chest.
- Whenever you’re with him, he wants to have your full attention and dedicates himself to obtaining it when he doesn't. He likes when you come to see him on your own accord, rather than him calling for or visiting you himself.
- Top of the head and temple kisses.
- Somewhat rough, passionate kisses. He tries to convey all the emotion that he has inside of him into said kiss and you can most certainly feel it whenever he does.
- Domineering kisses. He likes holding the back of your head or pulling you into his body abruptly, his lips searing against your own.
- Soft pecks and kisses when he’s in a softer, happier mood, or when he’s dejected and you’re trying to cheer him up.
- Lot’s of pet names; they show everyone in your general vicinity just how much he cares for you. He’ll call you things like “my queen”, “my jewel”, darling, honey, etc. Larry wasn’t sure how to respond when he first heard one.
- He likes when you cuddle into him, usually wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling into his chest while he wraps his arms around you. That being said: he secretly likes being the one to cuddle into you.
- Bridal carrying.
- Sitting on his lap or standing by his side, holding his hand as he gazes up at you lovingly while the two of you speak.
- He’s definitely attempted to seduce you in that smoldering “striking a pose in front of a roaring fire” type of way but all it managed to do was make you laugh before you tried to assure him that “No, no, you are sexy. It’s just cliché. Please Kah, I’m sorry, really”.
- He enjoys telling you stories though you try to steer away from his family life and focus on superstition or his more happier memories; knowing that you’ll just send him into a mood if his brother comes up in conversation.
- Him trying to impress you, whether it be with tales of his achievements or his efforts to “be good”. He lives off of your praise and craves it like nothing else; particularly because he didn’t receive much of it in his life.
- Not many people give him the time of day or attempt to be nice and; at least, pretend to be somewhat amused/amazed by him; Larry in particular, so he appreciates that you do; even if he knows you’re at least somewhat faking it.
- Speaking of him trying to impress you: there was this one time; possibly before you even started dating, that he just so happened to notice you looking at his arms and a lightbulb went off in his head as he realize that oh, that’s something that I can get her with.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“ You’re staring at my arms. Why,” he gasps and grins. “You like them!”
“ What are you talking about?” You reply a bit nervously.
“Youuu’re attracted to them!” He accuses confidently and you scoff; though a moment later you’re glancing back as he crosses them in front of his chest. “You are! Look, you’re looking again!”
- He wants to spoil you so badly. He may just find a way to do so....
- Occasionally, he tries to be harsh with you but he just can’t follow through. You’re like the only person who’s nice to him so he wants to see you happy; even if he’s sort of mean at first. He always ends up doing what you asked in the end, usually pretending like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about while enjoying the kiss on the forehead that you give him for it.
- He thinks you’re adorable and he expresses it quite a lot. He may or may not baby you every now and again for this exact reason.
- Watching him fondly as he fiddles with things and acts like a goof.
- If you haven’t noticed it yet, he’s quite dorky and cute when it really comes down to it. It’s fun to sit and watch him gush about something or just be himself.
- Sneaking him out of the museum for a little while. He convinced you to go to the opera with him at least once.
- He thinks your apartment is adorable; a bit unintentionally condescending in retrospect but he did live in palace, and he likes to snoop around your stuff.
- He likes your gifts to him. In comparison to his upbringing, they’re quite quaint but the intention behind them makes him far happier to receive said gifts rather than a box of diamonds.
- Always having his guards at hand no matter where the two of you go.
- Letting him rant about his brother. You think Ahkmenrah is a darling but you hold your tongue and seek to understand where he’s coming from.
- Trying to bridge the gap between the two siblings. According to an earlier version of the script, Kahmunrah was the one who killed his brother, though regardless of this, there is going to be some tension between them that must be resolved.
- Telling him about the new world, he’s both greatly knowledgeable yet clueless at the same time.
- Letting him talk to you about all that he’d hoped to achieve: the power he’d wanted, the throne, the statues, …you after the minute he saw you.
- Getting a rather exaggerated introduction to people. He makes you sound far more important than you really are.
- Getting looked at for backup in situations like the “tunic incident”.
- Calming him down when someone or something angers him.
- He wants what he wants at the exact moment he wants it so he’s arguably a bit impatient; even with you at times.
- Letting him “whine” to you and comforting him when things don’t go as planned.
- Assuring him that he is, in fact, big and scary and powerful.
- He’s a little miffed that he can’t speak to your parents when they call. He wants to introduce himself, make a good first impression and make it known that you’d found yourself a wonderful and impressive future husband! They can get used to the fact that he’s a dead Pharaoh, can’t they?
- He’s an incredibly jealous individual though I’m sure you were able to gather that for yourself. He isn’t even subtle about it, immediately calling you away from the person or scaring them off himself. He’ll at least attempt to deny that it was because he was jealous but you’re both fully aware that that isn’t true.
- You’re his “precious jewel” and he’s going to do all that he can to ensure your safety. He’ll threaten death on all who upset you and kill all who hurt you. He isn’t risking losing you, he just isn’t.
- The two of you bicker more than you genuinely fight, sending each other little glares before one of you finally concedes. Other times, he’ll raise his voice and make threats though he isn’t frightening and fails miserably at being harsh with you.
- He thinks you’re cute when you’re angry most of the time, which probably causes you to give him the silent treatment. He’ll apologize quickly if you’re really upset with him or fondly yet reluctantly on occasion; if you look particularly adorable with your brows all furrowed.
- He tells you that he loves you quite often; especially if you’re alone. Its very important to him that you know he does, considering how often he felt unloved as a child.
- Quite obviously, your future is a bit difficult to anticipate but he isn’t going to let you go without a fight.
#Kahmunrah imagine#kahmunrah headcanon#kahmunrah imagines#kahmunrah headcanons#night at the museum imagine#night at the museum headcanon#night at the museum imagines#night at the museum headcanons#battle at the smithsonian imagines#battle at the smithsonian imagine#battle at the smithsonian headcanons#battle at the smithsonian headcanon
125 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tyka request: I love bit beast merging so the idea that Tyson has been forced to merge with Black Dranzer has always floated in my head. Kai arrives too late. Boris and his Grandfather found a way to break Tyson's will to accept Black Dranzer, probably to save Kai's life and Kai can only watch!
I LOVE THIS. I am the god of angst writing, so when you ask for angst, I’m bringing A N G S T. Anything in * are Tyson’s thoughts!
I’ve now written it all and- I just had so much fun with it. This was the kind of ask I was born for. Thank you for sending this to me- I hope you know I’ve been working on this all day lmao. It turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. But damn, it’s good. I’m going to keep the start in regular format, and put the rest in a read more, I don’t know if tumblr will even let me post this much LOL, but let’s try it:
“Hello, Tyson Granger. Welcome to BIC”
“Call it what it is Boris, BEGA- round two.”
“You know better Tyson, The Beyblade International Congress is so much more.”
Tyson scoffed, he scrunched up his face in Voltaire’s direction.
He had one hand in his pocket, where dragoon would normally be. Instead, his hand held emptiness, there was nothing, and no one, to comfort him now.
The room security had led him into was windowless. It could have been the basement or the hundredth floor of the building.
Tyson had lost all sense of direction since Dragoon was stolen from him, the feeling was nothing out of the ordinary.
The world champion wore an expression no one had ever seen before. Determined, enraged, vulnerable, confused, he felt everything all at once, there was only one thing he was absolutely certain of:
He had to get Dragoon, and his friend’s bit-beasts back, at any cost.
“You two know why I’m here.”
Boris grew a porcelain smile from ear to ear.
“To finally join our team of course.”
Tyson laughed in response, “I never had any intention of joining BEGA, which means its shitty counterpart is out of the question.”
“This child has grown up since we last saw him.” Voltaire leaned more on his cane, inspecting every bit of Tyson’s body.
Tyson felt like some kid’s science project in their backyard. He shuddered, terrified to think the abbey boys lived like this every day.
“I hoped he would have grown-up, Voltaire. It’s been almost three years after all.”
Boris waved his hand. The security guards that escorted Tyson turned on their heels and marched out the door. Tyson was left alone with two old men, but he still felt danger.
The silence that ensued was deafening, the glares they locked on Tyson made the hair raise on his spine.
He now understood Tala and Kai’s fear of these men. The pure power they confidently exhibited by just standing there, was compared to nothing he had ever experienced.
Two men, three times his age- two men who should be in jail, serving life sentences- one man who raised and abused his best friend, one man who was his best friend’s flesh and blood.
Tyson took a deep breath. He stabilized his voice before stating his demand.
“Give me back my bit-beasts.”
The men let out deep laughs, starting out as low grumbles, and ascending into loud chortles.
Boris spoke first.
“You think you can just waltz into my high-tech facility- and I’ll just give you back what I stole? And stole so easily mind you-”
“So, you did steal them.” Tyson’s firsts were curled, his fingertips formed indents in his palms, he wanted to lash out in anger, but he knew better.
“Of course, wasn’t it obvious?”
“I have proof- I’ll get the police-”
The men laughed again, this time louder.
“I own the police.” A shadow fell over Voltaire’s face.
For the first time, Tyson felt true fear.
No bit beast- no battle- nothing could compare to this.
Tyson’s heart sunk, as he became painfully aware his overconfidence, could be his downfall.
Now, he was trapped.
“Would joining my team sound better if I told you you could have Dragoon back?” Boris’ voice was coated with honey, but Tyson knew better.
Tyson’s eyes shot in Boris’ direction. He squinted his eyes.
“Without making a deal with me, you and your friends will never see their pets again.”
“I’ll never make a deal with you.” Tyson spat.
“Pretty soon you’ll have no choice-” Voltaire cut Boris off.
“How old are you now Tyson?” His voice had changed, he leaned more into his cane.
“Almost nineteen.” Tyson grinned, “I’m an adult now. You can’t hurt me.”
The two men gave each other a look Tyson didn’t miss. Voltaire spoke first.
“What if we told you we needed your help.”
Tyson put up his shields immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “Help? What could I possibly help two billionaires with?”
“Something that only a blader as strong as you can.”
“No.” Tyson refused.
“Hear us out.” Boris took a step towards him, Tysons swore he heard a door lock behind him.
“We have a theory- if that theory is correct, we can change the future of the sport- no, the future of everything.”
Tyson’s interest was piqued, but that wouldn’t change his decision.
“The answer is still no.”
Boris took a step towards him, “what if we gave you your bit-beasts back in exchange?”
Tyson saw through Boris’ trap, it was a deal he couldn't ignore.
Tyson just stared back at him.
Voltaire interrupted, “we have found a way to merge bit-beasts with humans.”
Tyson felt his heart stop.
Boris grinned, presenting his hands in front of him, “the possibilities are endless Tyson, imagine- superhumans. Beyblading would ascend to a whole new level. The history of warfare changed, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
It was terrifying how a man could keep a smile while talking about changing the history of warfare.
“I’m not helping you experiment by changing people into weapons.” Tyson’s face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl, “what do you need me for anyway?”
“See, Tyson…” Boris continued, “the science has been researched for decades- but I’m fairly confident this process requires someone of a certain caliber…”
“Someone who already has a strong connection to bit-beasts.” Voltaire stated.
“Don’t you have tons of kids lined up in your arsenal? Why me?” Tyson’s voice grew louder.
“Ha! None of my boys are as strong as you and your team Tyson.” Boris chuckled before continuing, “you’re special, your connection to dragoon and other spirits is stronger than anyone on the planet. You are my missing puzzle piece, I’m certain you’ll be the right fit.”
“The other members of your team might work, but no one is like you.” Voltaire nodded,
“No. I refuse.” Tyson took a deep breath, “I’m not your pawn, I won’t help you.”
Silence.
Voltaire clicked his cane on the tile floor.
“I hope you are aware; if you don’t do this, we will make sure Kai will.”
Tyson swung his head in his direction, ready to scream if necessary.
“Ah, watch it Tyson.” Boris threatened the boy, Tyson’s chest heaved erratically.
“What do you mean?” Tyson said through gritted teeth. “He would never agree to this-”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Voltaire shook his head, then became totally still as his glare set on Tyson, “but I don’t need his permission.”
“You’re sick.” Tyson spat.
“It would be so easy.” Boris reached into his pocket grabbing a remote, he pressed a button, a screen rolled down in the large room.
The screen turned on, on it was a picture of Kai, and a ton of numbers Tyson didn’t understand, but what caught his attention, was a simple map, with a blinking red dot.
“We know where Kai is at all times,” Voltaire said in a low voice.
“If you refuse to help us, we will take him as needed.”
“That’s kidnapping.” Tyson pointed out the obvious fact, he should have known better, that stealing a person was one of the minor crimes Boris has committed.
“Not like I haven’t done it before.” Boris shrugged, as if he was talking about taking a candy bar.
Tyson swallowed, “he- he wouldn’t let this happen without a fight.”
“As expected. If he fights it, the process could easily mess up… Ideally we want someone who will work with us, but it’s not necessary.”
“I’ll find him. We will run away-”
“When I say we know everything about Kai I mean we know everything, Tyson.”
Voltaire looked to the ceiling, “We know when he goes for jogs.”
“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” Boris raised a finger in the air.
“We know when he eats, when he sleeps, where he sleeps.” Voltaire emphasized ‘where’ maliciously.
Tyson growled. Voltaire hummed.
“That’s right Tyson, he’s been staying at your place frequently.”
Boris tried to suppress a laugh, “we even know what happened last Saturday-”
“Boris!” Voltaire hissed.
Tyson’s eyes widened, “How would you know that!? We were alone, in my room, in my home!?”
“We know everything, Tyson.”
Tyson met Voltaire’s eyes with disgust.
“It seems like a win-win situation, Tyson. I’m giving you a good deal, when you know I don’t have to.” Boris folded his arms. “You go through with this procedure, we give you- and your friends their bit-beasts back, and we leave Kai alone.”
Tyson’s body felt ice cold.
“I want you to know Tyson, Boris is too afraid to admit it-” Voltaire’s voice was draped in darkness, “we aren’t letting you leave here today without doing something.”
Tyson stopped breathing.
Boris confidently waltzed to Tyson’s side, Tyson didn’t move, he was paralyzed with fear.
The purple-haired man’s face was inches away from Tyson’s now.
“You either take the deal, or have it happen anyways- but if you take the deal, world champion, you must work with us willingly.”
Tyson was his height now, but he still felt small.
Boris placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t- touch me.” Tyson shrugged him off aggressively.
“Last chance world champ.” Voltaire clicked his tongue, “what will it be?”
Tyson met both their eyes, looking back and forth, his breathing showed anger, his fists clenched in frustration.
He was stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to go. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He let his body accept defeat.
“Fine. I’ll take your deal.”
“Where did Tyson go anyways?” Max hummed to Ray while sliding his feet on the smooth wooden floors of the dojo.
“Is he with Kai again? They’ve been hanging out a lot…” Ray pointed out.
Kenny was sitting on the floor with his laptop open. “Tyson left just before lunchtime.”
“No lunch!?” Hilary snapped, “that’s not like him.”
“It’s not like him to miss practice…” Ray tried to hide the subtle worry on his face.
“I’ll try phoning him,” Max suggested, pulling out his rose gold iPhone.
“I’m sure he’s fine guys.” Hilary rolled her eyes, knowing the bluenette was always late.
“We can’t be too careful…” Kenny hesitated before saying his next words, “With Boris being back…”
The room fell quiet, the only sound was the ringing of Max’s phone.
“He’s not picking up.” Max hung up the call.
“Try Kai’s phone,” Ray smirked. “They’re always together now.”
Max flipped through his phone and put it on speaker. The phone rang a few times, they heard the click of it being answered.
“Hello?” They heard Kai’s familiar gruff voice.
“Hey Kai, sorry, are you driving?” Max spoke a little louder than usual.
“Yeah, but I have you on speaker, it’s fine.” They heard the sounds of the highway around him.
“Hey, is Tyson with you?” Ray asked, his voice shaking a bit.
“No, why?” They heard the sound of Kai’s blinker in the background.
“He disappeared before lunch, he's not here for practice yet.” Max eagerly awaited Kai’s response.
“That’s odd,” Kai remarked.
“Are you going to be here soon?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, I’m just coming down the road now. Have you tried phoning him?”
“I tried…” Max fidgeted with his open hand, “he didn’t pick up.”
“He always answers his phone.” The team detected a hint of worry in Kai’s voice. “I’m outside now.”
They heard Kai hang up the phone, without as much as a goodbye, but that was very typical Kai.
They sat in the same positions, wordless. They heard the front door open, the sound of Kai taking off his shoes. They heard the floorboards creak as he made his way down the hall to the dojo. The door slid open.
“Hey Kai!” Hilary tried to be cheerful, but she just sounded worried.
“Hey,” Kai responded. Without missing a beat, “where is Tyson?”
“No one knows.” Kenny stopped typing at his laptop to look up at the master blader. He readjusted his glasses.
“He left before lunch, he’s been gone a few hours.” Kenny had a hard time keeping eye contact with Kai, when Kai got serious- he got scary.
“It’s weird of him to miss practice…” Max fiddled with his thumbs.
Ray looked up at the ceiling, “not like we can do much practicing anyway.”
The room went quiet. They were all still in mourning over the unexpected loss of their blades. The day they woke up to discover all of their blades had been stolen, was the moment they realized Boris coming back now, in their late teens, was serious.
“I’m worried.” Kai admitted, he pulled out his phone, and began to phone Tyson.”
“That was fast, do you have him on speed dial?” Ray grinned trying to lighten the mood.
Kai responded seriously, “yes.”
They heard the phone ring a few times, before going to voicemail. Kai hesitated, before deciding to leave one.
“Hey, Tyson- It’s Kai. Get back to me soon, I’m getting worried.” He hung up the phone and held it loosely in his hands.
“Aw, Kai’s worried.” Hilary cooed.
“With Boris back, and our blades gone, we can’t be too careful.” Ray crossed his arms.
“What’s goin’ on here fellas?” Grandpa poked his head through the doors from the garden.
“Tyson’s been gone for a long time, he’s not answering his phone.” Kenny went back to his laptop, most likely trying to find out any information he could.
“When did he leave?” Kai asked Ryu.
“I told Kenny when he got here, right before lunchtime- Wait K-man didn’t you stay the night last night?”
The whole room went quiet.
“Yeah, but I was gone early in the morning,” Kai responded.
“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off by Ray.
“Was he in an alright mood?”
“He was fine.” Kai knitted his eyebrows in thought, “now that I think about it, he was in his head a bit.”
The ground collectively became agitated, everyone knew a moody Tyson could be anywhere.
“Did you do anything to piss him off?” Ray squinted his eyes in Kai’s direction.
“No.” Kai knew for certain he didn’t hurt Tyson. After all, they had a great night.
Kai tried to suppress a smile, remembering how they fell asleep beside each other watching movies in Tyson’s room.
“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off again by Ray-
“Are you sure Kai? You know you have a habit of annoying him.”
“I’m absolutely certain. Tyson was fine when I left this morning.”
“Was he up? How did you know?” Ray interrogated him more than questioning.
Kai hesitated, he didn’t know if it was okay to tell them they slept in the same bed.
“You *stayed* the night!?” This time Max yelled it, so he couldn’t be ignored.
Everyone stared at Max, “Why did you stay the night? Where did you sleep?”
“Um-” Kai tried to retort back, but suddenly realized he didn’t know what excuse to make.
They caught his awkwardness, it was unlike the silver-tongued boy to not have a sassy remark.
“Family troubles. I stayed in the spare room across from Tyson’s. He got up to eat breakfast with me- He was fine.”
All lies.
“I’m going to check his room.” Kai turned around to go upstairs.
When Kai was out of earshot, Max coyly asked Tyson’s Grandpa, “Did he really stay in the spare room?”
“Ha! No, that boy has been staying here often, and those sheets have never been changed- or used.”
The group followed Kai upstairs like a lost herd.
In Tyson’s room, Kai was scanning it, looking for anything off.
The whole team looked around, but only Kai knew what was out of place.
“Hey Kai.” Ray giggled.
On Tyson’s vanity, yes- Tyson had a vanity, because of course he did. He had a thumb-sized picture of kai stuck to the edge of the mirror.
“There are no pictures of us, just you- what’s up with that?” Ray pretended to act jealous.
Kai ignored him. He gave Tyson that photo when Tyson asked for a photo of him. It wasn’t his favourite thing to look at. When he looked at it he would laugh, because it was, simply, so Tyson.
Kai’s eyes landed on his pillow, it was poofier than usual. He ripped up the pillow and tossed it to the side. Under it was a book. Kai knew it was out of place, he had never seen Tyson pick up a book in his life.
He opened the book and flipped through it, everyone watched him, knowing something was up.
In the middle of the book was a note, Kai pulled it out, and threw the book to the side.
‘I guess if you’ve found this, you’re looking for me huh?’
‘That means I’ve been gone a while, sorry.’
‘I guess you should know, if I’ve been gone a long time, something has probably happened to me.’
‘I’m going to see Boris. I’m leaving at 11am.’
‘He invited me. I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this.’
‘Especially you Kai. You’ve dealt this enough shit from that guy.’
‘I know he stole our blades, even if we don’t have proof, I know.’
‘I’m going to get them back, no matter the cost, and I don’t want anyone else’s help.’
‘I love you guys! I love you Kai.’
Ray snatched the note from Kai and began to read it.
Kai put a hand to his face in shock. His eyes started to water. He was terrified, his body didn’t know how to begin to process this, but he knew he needed to go.
“Where is he?” Kai had a voice of white anger.
“We don’t know Kai.” Kenny recoiled.
“Boris, where is he.”
Kai picked up the book and flipped through it.
“We don’t know where his base is Kai-” Kenny blubbered.
Kai threw the book against the wall at full force.
“WHERE IS HE!?”
Ray flipped the note over, “there’s an address on the back.”
Kai ripped it out of his hands.
“I’m going-”
“No, you are NOT Kai!” Ray scolded him. “We’re going to go to the BBA, tell Mr. Dickenson, and call the police-”
“We don’t have the time for that!” Kai yelled at Ray.
The team was stunned, Kai had never been this angry.
He placed his hands over his face and pulled them down to cover his mouth. “I need to save him.”
“We don’t know he’s in danger-”
“I KNOW he is.” Kai was shaking.
Suddenly, Kai bolted out of the room with the address in hand-
“Kai!” Max called after him.
Kai frantically began to put his shoes on, the team barrelled down the stairs behind him.
“You can’t go in there without a plan, you moron!” Hilary screeched at him.
“Try me!” Kai yelled back.
“What’s going on?” Grandpa had come from the kitchen, Kai used the distraction to bolt out the door to his car.
He started the car as fast as possible and pulled out of the driveway. The team ran out to the street behind him, they watched him leave, worried they could lose both of them.
“Take it off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your jacket, off- now.”
Boris pulled at the zipper on the front of Tyson’s jacket. Tyson sighed and pulled it down.
Boris helped him out of the jacket, he took it and wrapped it in his arms, it was oddly paternal. Boris looked him up and down, judging him, like he was looking for the best cut of meat in a shop.
He only wore a thin black muscle shirt now, and his dark ripped jeans, with the shoes he made Kai help him pick out. He was fully clothed, but he felt naked.
“Boris, what did I say about being creepy?” Voltaire scolded him, like a child.
Boris rolled his shoulder, still keeping his gaze on Tyson, “Sorry, can’t help myself.”
“Come into the lab.” Voltaire turned, heading for another door.
Boris gently pushed Tyson by his shoulder. Tyson followed willingly, worried what would happen if he resisted.
Inside the steel double doors was a dark room. The light turned on upon entry, to reveal computers, servers, chemistry equipment, and large water-filled tubes, big enough for a person, or a monster.
Boris threw Tyson’s jacket to a swivel chair, he turned on a computer, Voltaire stood beside what Tyson recognized as a large bey dish.
“I want to see my friend’s beyblades.”
“Of course.” Voltaire disappeared behind some servers, out of sight.
Boris clicked a mouse a few times, “huh, looks like Kai was in your bedroom. His heart rate has skyrocketed, do you have any idea why that could be?”
Tyson tried to hide his surprise.
*Could he have found my note? No- I don’t want him to come here.*
“I don’t know.” Tyson kept his eyes on the wall.
“Maybe he’s just doing something freaky.” Boris grinned.
“You’re disgusting.”
Voltaire reappeared with a black briefcase. He placed it on a table close to Tyson, but not too close. He opened it, to reveal Dragoon, and the rest of the blades delicately blacked in foam inserts.
“I want to see them.” Tyson reached his hand forward.
Voltaire slammed the case shut. “Not until you finish our task.”
Tyson scowled, all he wanted was to feel Dragoon in his hands again.
“Voltaire, come here.” Boris gestured to bring him over to the computer.
Tyson tried to follow, but Voltaire stopped him with an aggressive hand signal.
Voltaire leaned over the chair and inspected the computer screen.
“It looks like he’s heading in this direction.” Boris was deeply concentrated on the computer screen, clicking around fast.
“And he’s approaching fast.” Voltaire hummed, he rubbed his chin. “Stop the car.”
“Really?” Boris had a surprised expression.
“We can’t have him coming here can we?”
“Alright.” Boris began to type at the keyboard frantically.
Voltaire placed a chair in the middle of the room, he patted it, silently telling Tyson to sit down.
Tyson shook his head, Voltaire gave him an intense glare- Tyson approached the chair and sat down, making sure the men were still in his vision.
“Boris, are you done?” Voltaire demanded.
“Yes.” He reached towards a cupboard with glass drawers. He unlocked it and pulled out some medical supplies.
“What’s that?” Tyson asked, worried it was for him.
Boris swiveled over in his chair towards him. Voltaire grabbed a metal table with wheels and moved it towards Tyson.
Boris unwrapped a cloth to reveal four syringes.
“What are those? They better not be for me.” Tyson flinched as Boris picked one up.
“There’s magic,” Boris got a syringe ready, and grabbed a small damp wipe, “and then there’s science, today we will be utilizing both.”
He wiped the small cloth on Tyson’s bicep. He recoiled.
“Don’t be scared Tyson, it won’t hurt.”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tyson was concerned, Boris got the supplies ready expertly.
“I used to be a doctor.”
Tyson’s focus lingered on ‘used to’.
“Don’t look if it bothers you,” Boris grumbled.
Tyson turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction as he felt the numb jab in his arm.
Kai had never driven faster. He swerved in and out of traffic to get to the building downtown. Flying down the highway with intense speed. He slammed his hand on the wheel.
“Fuck!”
He looked at the speedometer, it was going down, even though he knew he was accelerating.
“What the fuck?”
Kai felt his car lose power.
“No! No no no no no-”
The lights in his car dimmed, and suddenly the whole car lost life.
He pulled over to the side of the road. Slamming his hand on the radio as if it would help. He opened his door and got out kicking the wheels of the car in frustration.
He swore and cursed. He didn’t know enough about cars to know what went wrong, and he didn’t have time to fix it. He stared into the mass of buildings. He could make it.
He just had to run.
Tyon had four needles shoved into his arm in total. Boris refused to tell him exactly what they were, he only answered with ‘you wouldn’t understand even if I told you’.
Now, Voltaire watched the computer and Boris hooked up a few devices to Tyson. He wrapped a bracelet around his wrist, and something around his bicep.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Do I have to?” Tyson tried to give him a sassy retort, he might have been completely vulnerable, but he still wanted to keep his dignity intact.
“Yes.” Boris grinned, flicking the end of his shirt.
“No, you don’t have to,” Voltaire stated without pause.
Tyson narrowed his eyes at Boris.
“I have to attach something to your back.”
Tyson still wore a suspicious expression, but he did it anyway, he didn’t think he could feel any more naked than he already did.
Shirtless, he felt the cold of the lab prick at his skin. Boris attached a few small stickers to his back.
“There.” Boris smiled, looking Tyson up and down, “I’m done.”
“You didn’t have to take off my shirt for that.”
Boris nodded.
“How did I get stuck with a creep like you.” Voltaire squeezed the brim of his nose.
“I’m merging with Dragoon now?” Tyson’s skin prickled in anticipation of getting his bit-beast back, then he realized, his skin was prickling with a different sort of heat.
“Oh no- you won’t be merging with Dragoon.” Voltaire turned to look at Tyson.
“Dragoon is far too unpredictable, we haven't studied him enough yet, but there is one bit-beast who we know everything about.”
Boris turned to open a locked metal box on a table.
Tyson rose from his seat, staring at his forearm, his body felt- weird.
“What did you do to me?”
“Science.” Voltaire said just under his breath, “here.”
Boris held his hand upside down, Tyson held out his palm. He felt the familiar touch of a blade. Boris pulled his hand away, Tyson felt instant panic when he stared into his open hand.
Black Dranzer.
Tyson felt his whole world sway. His eyes felt heavy, but strangely, he felt strong.
“What did you give me? Am I allergic to it?” Tyson stared at Boris.
“No,” he laughed, “You’re fine.”
Voltaire gestured to the dish, “Tyson, launch it.”
Tyson felt the nerve endings in his hand, anything touching black Dranzer felt numb, completely void of power. He could see the veins on his forearm, sticking out more than ever before. He felt cold air enter his lungs, and exhale. Everything was enhanced. His world was spinning, but he felt invincible.
He could feel pulses from black Dranzer, the raw power emanating from it was toxic. Tyson could feel it begging to be used.
‘Use me, use me, use me.’
It pleaded with him. It felt addicting. Tyson now understood why Kai was so attracted to the blade, and he understood how hard it was to give it up.
He noticed Boris had been handing him a launcher for who knows how long.
Tyson took it, a blade and a launcher in his hands was his default state, but now felt foreign.
“Launch it,” Boris demanded.
Tyson turned to the dish near them. He stood in front of it. His pupils invaded his iris.
*The pure power of black Dranzer…*
He loaded it. He stood there, breathing erratically. He got into position.
Silence. Total silence. No sound existed, he forgot what it felt like to hear. He heard the screech of a bird in the back of his skull, and he let go.
A shockwave erupted as black Dranzer was released, finally, after years of being locked up. The equipment in the lab slid backwards, Boris and Voltaire almost lost their footing.
Tyson wobbled as he let the blade center in the dish, perfectly still, spinning so fast it looked stationary.
In front of him, he saw it, the dreaded bit-beast. It felt unnatural. Dragoon felt different, Dragoon felt right, black Dranzer felt… Sad.
*She’s not supposed to exist.*
“I can feel her.” Tyon felt tears roll down his face.
He held open his arms.
“I can save you!”
Black Dranzer screeched, with a powerful gust from her wings she soared into him. He felt a dark sludge seep into his veins, stopping his heart.
“AhK!” Tyson held his chest, suppressing screams.
Then, everything went black.
��Tyson!” Kai screamed in an alleyway behind the building he suspected Boris was holed up in.
He tried a back door, wiggling it frantically. His back was covered in sweat from running. It was locked, with no chance of it opening.
He tried another door, the same issue.
He could run in the front doors, but he would be noticed instantly.
“What’s that?!”
It looked to be an old laundry shoot, a lot of these old buildings had them. Before he could use his brain, he was scaling the shoot, it looked to be only a story and a half until it turned into the building.
He started climbing.
*Tyson, I’m coming. Just hold on.*
Tyson opened his eyes. Boris was beside him holding his shoulder shouting unintelligible phrases at him. Words meant nothing to him.
His head was pounding. He used his arms to hug himself, rocking back and forth.
“Don’t fight it Tyson. Accept it.” Boris whispered in his ear.
“N- No.” Tyson whimpered. His head felt like it had been split open.
His tongue felt different when he talked. His vision felt different, things felt… Wrong. He fell over to his side, letting the feeling overtake him.
Kai was running through the empty corridors. He had run past a training facility and dorms. He had viewed a map and determined where he thought Boris would have put a lab. He threw open a door to a stair corridor and flew down them, almost tripping. He just hoped he was right about the location of Boris’ lab.
He was right.
He found himself in a huge room, He stopped, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air.
In front of him were two steel doors. He knew Tyson was inside.
With every last bit of his strength, he ran towards the doors, when he tried to rattle the doorknob it was locked, he kicked it, once, twice, three times. He took a few steps back and thrusted his whole body against them. The doors ripped open, shattering the lock in between them.
Boris wasn’t a surprise, but his own Grandfather-
In the middle of the room, Tyson’s body was splayed on the ground.
“What did you do to him!?” Kai screamed.
He ran over to Tyson, Boris tried to stop him-
“Fuck off!” Kai hollered landed a fist into Boris’ stomach.
Boris keeled over in pain.
Kai stopped before kneeling down.
The most important person to him- he didn’t look like himself.
His blue hair, now black. His nails, ebony talons. On his back, were black wings. Kai felt nauseous.
“Tyson…” Kai collapsed beside him.
He reached under his lower back and pulled him into a sitting position. Kai brushed back his long hair. He didn’t know what he expected coming here, but not this.
“What happened- what did-”
“He merged with black Dranzer, and he- is beautiful.”
“You don’t get to speak Boris!” Kai screamed but wouldn’t dare take his eyes off Tyson.
Tyson’s eyes flickered open, they stayed half-open, Kai shook him.
“Tyson? Tyson, answer me, please.”
Tyson didn’t move.
“We just got started- You can’t- Don’t you die on me.” Kai’s throat was dry, he could barely make out words.
“Change him back!” The blader who was most well known for being emotionless now threw everything he had at the world. Tears streaming down his face, screaming at the people who held him back his whole life.
“We can, but we won’t right now.”
To hear his Grandfather say it, somehow hurt more.
“Change him back, right now.” Kai shook, holding Tyson close to his chest.
Boris managed to stand upright after taking the powerful blow.
“We will change him back when it suits us.”
“Mm- Kai?”
Kai stared into Tyson’s eyes, “You’re awake!” Kai kissed his forehead, thanking the god he didn’t believe in.
Tyson’s wings seemed to shudder when it happened.
“I’m fine Kai, don’t worry about me.” Tyson held up his hand to stroke Kai’s face, his eyes grew wide when he saw his own fingertips.
“It’s okay- don’t look at them look at me- hey- me, look at me” Kai covered his hand with his own and made sure Tyson was focused on him.
Tyson choked back tears, “I love you-”
Kai closed his eyes and squeezed his hand.
Voltaire took a confident step forward.
“We don’t want to hurt you-”
“Look at what you’ve done to him!” Kai screeched.
“We just want you to join the new BEGA.” Boris wore a cheeky grin, he knew he won.
Kai’s chest heaved, “I’ll never join you, never again-”
“You’ll find you have no choice Kiai.” His grandfather tilted his head.
Boris laughed, his evil sinister laugh, the laugh Kai remembered from the abbey.
“BEGA owns you.”
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
I concur with @dangermousie. This is hands down one of the best scenes - if not the best! - in this amazing drama. It’s the snap we’ve been waiting for and the biggest middle finger imaginable towards those nobles we so love to hate - all rolled into one epic battle of wills.
Xiao Qi enters the hall, having actually asked for an audience, which means he chooses to adhere to the protocol again... Except that he comes armed and accompanied by six armed Ningshuo soldiers, two big no-nos of royal audiences. Wearing mourning white is the third. Three strikes against Zitan’s authority and he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet!
Oh, and here’s the fourth. Xiao Qi does kneel this time, but he does it in the wrong place and only after Turnip Wang asks him what the hell is he doing, does he not know anything about court etiquette? With such suspicious timing it almost looks like Xiao Qi deigns to kneel only because of this pesky thing called etiquette, not because of any actual respect towards the Emperor.
But he does kneel! Only now he refuses to get up. This man!!! In episode 60 he weaponized bowing, in episode 61 he did the same with not-bowing and not-kneeling and now he’s unleashing his kneeling skills. I’m afraid to ask what might be next. Oh, and those six Ningshuo soldiers? They kneel only after their Prince does. Sufficiently after to make it clear they’re taking their cue from him and him alone.
Zitan asks what brings Xiao Qi here and gets the same answer everybody has been getting for some time now. Xiao Qi wants justice for his men. Zitan plays the fool and replies that they were already served justice. Prince Yuzhang’s name is cleared and so are theirs. Ooookay. How is that supposed to work? There’s no word of the investigation being completed, so right now it looks like Potato just keeled over and died. And so did a few thousands of good men and mooks. You need to name a guilty party, Zitan. Or scream to the heavens that you shall find the guilty party and condemn them in absentia, whoever they might be. You haven’t done either of those things.,. This whole regicide business hangs in limbo, ergo, no names are completely cleared and no honour restored.
The problem is not that all those nobles don’t understand that this looks suspicious as hell. They do. It’s just they don’t understand why Xiao Qi doesn’t let it go, once his reputation gets restored. Why does he keep pressing on and on? Hu Yao explained the reason for that quite neatly over her brother’s grave. Soldiers - and Ningshuo soldiers most of all - are alright with going to their death for the right cause. Dying in battle is a professional risk, one they’re used to. It’s also honourable. The problem is not that a few hundred men died, it’s that they died due to deception and daggers in the dark, hunted and killed by their own. That’s no death for a soldier!
Zitan and all those nobles will never in a million years understand that, so Xiao Qi might have to use smaller words. Which he does with great aplomb, once it becomes pretty clear that Zitan is not going to lead the mourning ceremony himself. It’s against tradition, you see. Emperors don’t do that for fallen soldiers, only for the Heavens and for their own ancestors. Well, Xiao Qi does not think that imperial ancestors are inherently more worthy than his soldiers.
And so starts the beatdown.
Zitan is all agog and aghast. Xiao Qi dares to force his hand?! He dares to treat Zitan’s autonomy like a football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Xiao Qi! Jail for Xiao Qi for a thousand years!
Xiao Qi attacks right back. The court forced my soldiers, leaving us no way out, he says, looking straight into Zitan’s eyes as I start to understand what is going on here. It’s not that Xiao Qi does not want a mourning ceremony for his men. He absolutely does; he would keep heaping one honour after another upon them if he could. And having the Emperor lead the ceremony himself is undoubtedly an honor, the Emperor being Zitan notwithstanding. But why this insistence, why this merciless attack? Why, it’s psychological warfare time! Xiao Qi doesn’t want any Emperor for this ceremony, he wants Zitan, his primary suspect. I think he’s counting on Zitan being in possession of such alien and unfathomable things as shame and conscience. No luck there, sorry, Xiao Qi. Zitan will absolutely go and mourn his victims. And he’ll smirk inwardly all the while. He’s only resisting now because he hates you for stealing his girl.
After delivering what would be a devastating blow to any somewhat moral human being, Xiao Qi, almost overcome with emotion, turns his back to Zitan and starts tearing into nobility as a class. No, he really does.
Finally someone has the courage to say what needed to be said a long time ago. Xiao Qi has no compunctions calling the nobles out on their uselessness. If not for the lowborn trash like him and his men, who give their lives and blood daily to protect the borders, where would all those fat nobles be? Not enjoying their fortunes, that’s where. And betrayal is what those soldiers got in return.
And you know what, I think he got through to a few of them, which is a miracle in itself. Song Huaien actually looks ashamed of his noble aspirations, though that won’t last long. Zitan, on the other hand, is absolutely unapologetic. No shame to be seen anywhere in his eyes, only something very close to dark joy. I’m starting to think he’s feeding on Xiao Qi’s emotional pain.
Xiao Qi, instead of murdering this psycho for the betterment of society, keeps using his words. He demands proof! No, not proof of guilt (although that would be nice), proof of Zitan actually deserving to keep living. If there is no such proof? Xiao Qi won’t obey. His (!) Ningshuo soldiers won’t obey. And neither will the common people of Cheng.
Can Zitan lower himself to actually doing this one small ceremony in exchange for his life and throne with anything resembling good grace? Is he able to feel even the smallest tinge of conscience? Or perhaps he may be able to let his passive-aggressiveness go out of sheer self-preservation? Yeah, dream on.
As always, he is saved by the bell. Or, in this case, by knees hitting the floor. Song Huaien is the first to kneel, then Turnip, Gu Himbo is third, the rest follows soon after. And now that it has turned into Zitan vs Ministers, he folds. Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like he cares about anything other than sticking it to Xiao Qi. And he’ll find ample opportunity, no worries about that.
Pity he doesn’t have his bow, he’d try to shoot Xiao Qi dead. What? Knowing his skill, he’d miss anyway!
37 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Can I request a headcanon where the queen of hearts (1951), Maleficent, Cruella, Shang yu and Yzma (separated) take care of a lost (orphaned) little girl (like 5-6) and adopted her as their own. Thank!
These were sooooo fun to think of, omg XD I feel all warm inside, thanks for the request! I hope you like it as much as I do ^^
~~~
Cruella DeVille (You can imagine either animated, OUAT or live action Cruella, but I liked this gif ^^):
· Cruella, is more of a… fun, rich aunt. You know, when you can post the child back to its parents any time you like with a sugar high and new Xbox?
· But, as the capable entrepreneur and businesswoman that she is, she rises to the challenge of ‘parenting’, when the stinky orphaned girl living on the streets (You, obviously) show potential in the fashion industry.
· She takes you right to the adoption agency, picks you up and plops you on the counter like a pair of shoes and asks how much you cost. You just smile sweetly, like the most adorable munchkin ever despite the off way your new caregiver handles you, and the agent has some reservations, of course, but Cruella’s able to speed up the adoption process with her connections and her money.
· Your relationship at first is similar to Oswald Cobblepot and Martin’s. And if you haven’t watched Gotham, I’ll explain; Sort of distant, but the adult is trying at least. They’re just not used to having a pre-teen around. And, somehow, they’re making the child feel more understood and taken care of then anyone else ever has, despite both parties’ reservations.
· Slowly you bond (Over fashion, obviously) and Cruella turns into, honestly, a pretty good mum (For a villain who wants to kidnap puppies from her friend and make a coat for herself out of them, anyway). She learns to not gag when your shows are on the telly, she takes more time off work to take care of you and turn up to your school things (Like parent-teacher interviews, concerts, art exhibitions, and assemblies if you’re going to get an award- she even makes artful collages out of your work on the fridge), and you two even learn how to cook some easy dinners together.
· (Cruella can cook, I think, but I can imagine they’re more fancy stuff that a kid really isn’t interested in)
· You’re a two-person team kind of family.
· She doesn’t like you to be around Jasper and Horace because their stupidity and lack of fashion sense could be contagious.
· For the longest time, you just call her Cruella… until one day she says she loves you (Which is visibly difficult for her. Not because the words aren’t true, but because she’s not sentimental) and you finally call her ‘Mum’.
Maleficent:
· You start following her around, lost and having decide the scary green lady with a cute bird pet is the one to go to for help. She tries to scare you off, but of course you’re already scared anyway! But not of her- of being left alone.
· So you keep following her through the forest, until you reach her castle and Diablo has become attached to you and is sitting on your shoulder instead of hers, nuzzling your little face.
· She leaves out some food for you for dinner and lays a clean blanket down on an abandoned bed in a random room down a dark hallway. It’s a spooky night, in that creepy castle… but the blanket smells like grass and you find that if you close your eyes and smoosh your face into it, you don’t think about the things that could be hidden in the dark. Also, Diablo comes in and keeps you company.
· Mal is sure that you’ll be gone the next day. That’s why she was so kind. She was sure you were just a determined straggler and if she offered you a home for a night, then you would be the fickle little child that you are leave without so much as a thank you the next day.
· But you don’t leave.
· And you do say thank you, and even make her a mud pie outside the castle.
· She gives you a bit of a smile (Not soft, because Mal is still an evil fairy, but it’s a refreshing look on a face that had been pinched the whole time), resigning to you. You’re all alone like her. Maybe it won’t hurt so much to let you stay.
· Okay, as a parent, Mal isn’t so bad. She settles into the pace easier than Cruella or Yzma, at least, and her lifestyle allows for a far stabler childhood for you then Shan Yu’s. Plus, she’s outwardly very calm, which is a huge improvement from if you were living under the Red Queens roof.
· Distracts you with magic when she’s busy or just when she wants to watch the awe in your face as you watch sparkles dance around the room like real life stars.
· Keeps you away from all her villainy- you don’t need to be messed up in all that. Basically no one except her crow knows you exist and she’d like to keep it that way.
Shan Yu:
· Shan Yu finds you after he pillages your village (And you’re the only survivor) and you followed along behind his men for a while until they noticed you. Which didn’t take long, of course, they’re a group of highly skilled Huns in the ways of hunting and warfare.
· He uses his noggin (A very good noggin. Much cleverness) and identifies the favourable factors to having a little girl with them. You’re unassuming, for one, and can be trained (And moulded) to be used as a diversion for them in the kind of situations in which brute force do not apply and wouldn’t be helpful.
· He also acknowledges the need to train the next generation into their image to continue the Huns control over China even after he passes away. So, off on the quest to take over China you go, with them.
· He is so big, that you can perch on his wide shoulder and he’ll be fine still marching along.
· He gets a bit soft when interacting with you. At least, he certainly doesn’t treat you like an adult because you of course aren’t one. He encourages your childish wonder and your playing around. He’ll even play eye spy with you as you travel, or play a little tug of war if you get a piece of fabric or rope (Yes, like a puppy) and he’s just sitting down chilling somewhere on a rest break or at camp, pretending that the game is actually a contest until he smirks and tugs just a tiny bit harder and you fall forward onto your face XD (He only uses one hand the entire time)
· He’s a really chill dad, really, despite the whole… killing everyone in your village… First impressions, amiright? XD
· The rest of his men either hate you with every fibre of their huge beings or love you even more, and that’s the tea. One of them once rolled you up in a blanket and strapped you to a horse so you would stop annoying them by running around in front of the mules. You decide whether this was one who hated you or loved you. (Another came along and put a roll of bread in your mouth so you could eat, but didn’t release you)
· You’ve also been tied (Safely and comfortably, yes but still tied with your feet off the ground) to a tree as a time out and dropped in lakes (Once they knew you could swim) to calm your shit when you got hyper.
· You sleep in Shan Yu’s tent until you’re like 14 and declares that you’re able to defend yourself and can kill a man, so he can keep you safe.
Queen of Hearts:
· Goodness, who let this woman adopt? (Well, I mean, no-one could stop her) Even Hades would be better, and he tried to have a baby assassinated.
· This woman would be unintentionally manipulative towards this child (Like Norma and Norman Bates. Jesus christ). Whenever the kid doesn’t do anything that she wants them to, she’ll get p i s s e d, and that might legitimately mess with the kids psyche. She won’t behead the lil girl, of course, which I guess is bit of a saving grace (she isn’t that cruel) here? But it’s definitely a good thing the gentle King of Hearts is around, to settle the flames and calm down his wife and new daughter when games go awry.
· (And ya’ll play lots of games. Some of the time, living with her and her husband as your parental figures is a dream for a little girl like you)
· She does try her very hardest to be kind and not to lose her temper, and it is made so much easier by the fact that you’re an innocent little girl (Younger than Alice was), and she’s very fond of you. So, in a way, adopting you is helping her with her issues, and by extension, helping the rest of Wonderland.
· You get a big fancy throne-like highchair at the royal dinner table.
· Your little family is a bit or very messy, but you are never not loved. You always know that you’re loved.
Yzma:
· When Yzma takes you in, its because Kronk discovered your little form sleeping in an alleyway and ran with you in his hands back to her, and BEGGED her. This sweetheart (Kronk, not Yzma) could not handle the knowledge that a little baby girl was abandoned and all alone on the streets. And Yzma’s the most well-off, influential person he knows! Of course he’s going to go to her for help.
· When she finally gives in, its because you called her pretty. She’s just like… pause… “Seems like an intelligent enough… eugh… child... Kronk come! We have to disinfect it.”
· Kronk rushes after Yzma, still holding you and clarifies for you: “She means a bath.”
· So, now, you have your protective, psycho, affection-challenged mother and your sweet, dumb, beloved… uncle. Yeah, uncle. We’ll go with uncle.
· Yzma takes a while to get used to you, and she’s very defiant against getting called ‘Mum’ or ‘Mother’ (Mama or Mummy have a more youthful feel, according to Yzma.), but she’s pretty immature due to her psychosis so she tends to blend well with your child personality.
· You laugh so much, with her. Most of the things she says are hilarious, especially when she’s exasperated and mutters about Kronk.
· She doesn’t want you to grow up without a brain like him (Or to mix with other children- she will not be dealing with chicken pox or nits. If you did get either of those things, she would be living in a full-on hazmat suit and spray everything you touch, and you. Kronk would end up getting the sickness because he gives you lots of hugs and takes care of you while you’re sick or you have the nits) so she gets you a home school teacher.
· On your birthday (They do the day Kronk found you if you don’t know it), Kronk wakes Yzma up at the buttcrack of dawn drags her along to set up the day for you. Including a treasure hunt, where its clear that Yzma wrote the clues because its very translucent through the sentences she wrote that she didn’t have coffee before writing them. Very bitter.
· She does want to make you happy though and buys you literally the best present for a child of that time. I don’t know what it is, but it’s the equivalent for them of a little car or coloured TV (Like the Barbie or Hot Wheel ones) for us. She’s so smug about it, too, like ‘Shove that up your 4 layer cake with different flavours, Kronk.’.
257 notes
·
View notes
Text
shot through the heart (and you’re to blame) | Chapter 3 [Russell Adler/Female Bell!Reader Soulmate AU]
As you listened to the familiar gradual crescendo of Morning Mood overlap with the regular hiss of your oxygen mask, you looked around the darkly lit interior of the C-130. Red netting that comprised the seats stood out starkly against the dark interior. It was certainly uncomfortable but nothing you haven’t dealt with before.
Aside from the several MI6 operatives sent as support for the operation, Belikov and Sims were seated next to you while Adler was seated across from you with some files in hand. Although, you didn’t know how he could read them in the darkly lit cabin while also having sunglasses on.
You almost wished you brought sunglasses like Adler always did. The harsh desert sunlight was going to be quite the shock. But you were never sure how the hell he kept those things on his head. He somehow managed to do that in Cuba.
Speaking of the man…
“How does he do that?” you asked lowly, well as quietly as you could in the cabin of a C-130 Hercules with an oxygen mask on and a walkman blaring Morning Mood, “I always see him with a cigarette yet he’s doing fine up here.”
“Doc?” Sims replied before adding, “He knows how to handle hypoxia. Hell, he was one of the first in our unit to go through with HALO jumping in its experimental days.”
You recalled that from your “memories” of being on Adler’s team in MACV-SOG. That did come up once in a conversation. Although, like everything else that “happened” in Vietnam, it was foggy.
Truth be told, you were a bit envious.
Adler could be a chain smoker and take only a quick breather with the oxygen mask while you and the rest of the team had to breathe through an oxygen mask for most of the flight to flush out nitrogen in the body.
You must have trailed off into your thoughts at one point as you felt an elbow nudge you out of your thoughts. You glanced over at Sims only to notice the very topic of your idle thoughts staring at you.
You stared at him for several moments before simply blinking. You were too tired and hungry for this especially after Lazar spent a whole 30 minutes talking with Sims about quarter pound burgers...
“Anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked tiredly. You saw his hands move minutely as if he wanted to take a drag from a non-existent cigarette.
Habit, you thought vaguely. Military plane transport rides must be quite annoying to him since he couldn’t smoke in the military transport.
“I had a friend in Vietnam,” Adler began abruptly with his voice taking that familiar turn you heard before, “His canopy got tangled after a collision with one of our own during terminal. He ended up in the treetops. Alive though that wasn’t a damn mercy.”
...Really at this point, you weren’t sure if Adler was conducting psychological warfare on you or not.
“...that’s uh unfortunate,” you said awkwardly, not quite sure of what exactly to say to that story.
Especially since the very thought of crashing like Adler’s buddy was something you were trying to keep off your mind.
You really were just too tired for a sudden story time with Adler, especially since you couldn’t figure out his angle like this. You’ve pulled all-nighters before back in your desk job at Langley but you had caffeine. Coffee had not been offered in the outpost and most of the team was going through caffeine withdrawal...hard.
Well, Belikov was fine considering how he primarily drank tea in the morning but you and Sims on the other hand...
“I wasn’t finished,” Adler stated before adding as if simply stating a fact, “His radio wasn’t working. He was alone and panicking. You won’t.”
Oh .
“...Understood.” was all you could quietly say as you turned your head to the side, suddenly finding the cargo box of M16s to be quite interesting.
Perhaps if you had a heavy dose of caffeine, you’d have come with a more clever response to Adler's apparent vote of confidence or...support? You really didn’t know.
Things really did seem simpler the last time you were on his team.
Regardless, as you heard the pilots announce over the intercom about the approach to the drop zone, you couldn’t help but feel steadier.
It was time.
Watching in a trance
The crew is certain
Nothing left to chance
All is working
Trying to relax
“Bell, my friend!” Belikov said rather cheerily while adjusting the straps of his harness as if he wasn’t just about to jump from a plane 30,000 ft in the air, “You ready for this?”
“...You’ll get my life insurance benefits.”
And really that was an answer in and of itself.
All that earned you was an amused laugh by Belikov and a slap on the back as he cheerily said, “Just aim for the bushes!”
As you chuckled at his jest, you vaguely noted that your own harness was a little too loose as it had shifted from the simple action.
Up in the capsule
"Send me up a drink."
Jokes Major Tom
The count goes on...
“There is always the reserve parachute, да?” The light-heartedness in his voice made you couldn’t help but relax minutely. Although, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had nagged at you since the start of the plane ride.
There were numerous possible scenarios where the reserve chute failed that ran through your mind at that moment: mispacking, entanglement of both the main and reserve parachutes, premature activation of the AAD...
And really it wasn’t quite the possibility of death that scared you as much as it was surviving a bad fall and dealing with the injuries...and the health insurance afterwards.
The medical bills for the gunshot wound courtesy of Adler nearly made you go broke.
“Well, at least I’ll die to the sound of Major Tom. There’s worse ways to die.” you murmured to yourself with Belikov looking curiously at you.
But all you did was simply nod at Belikov as you busied yourself with getting the harness properly fitted to your form.
Like Lazar, the man always had a way of lightening things.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sounding of the alarm. You noticed the light at the ramp turned to yellow for standby.
The pilots were about to give the go-ahead for the drop.
As you fell into line with the other operatives of the operation field team on standby near the ramp, you fidgeted with the straps of the oxygen mask on your head as well as the harness before checking the jump bottle attached to your harness.
“Alright, guys,” Adler curtly said, “You know the drill. Keep the formation tight. I don’t want to see anyone trekking through the desert for miles to get to the satellite site.”
Somehow, you felt that last bit was directed at you with how the man’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before looking over at the others.
And you could tell the others felt the same way. The MI6 members were already looking at you as if you were the “problem child” of the group.
Truthfully, you expected that, considering your rather...notable past even though you could only recall a handful of memories from it at best.
If there was a bit of a bounce in your step as you lined up with your assigned group formation at the ramp, well you certainly weren’t going to pay no mind to the looks it may garner.
You were going to be jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 ft while listening to Major Tom.
Fewer pleasures in life , you told yourself.
With a beep over the plane’s intercom system and the switch to the green light, the first cracks of painfully bright sunlight streamed into the dark interior of the plane.
The glare of the desert sun only got more intense as the ramp fully unloaded. You could see the cloudless, clear blue skies and yellow sand dunes being akin to small yellow hills in the distance down below.
As you followed the MI16 operative in front of you to the now open ramp, you took a deep, steadying breath through your oxygen mask.
It was time.
You secured the glasses on your face as you motioned silently with your free hand, signalling the countdown of Major Tom to yourself.
4
3
2
1-
And on a wing and a prayer, you let yourself just fall .
Earth below us
Drifting, falling
Floating weightless
Calling, calling home…
You could feel your heartbeat thudding in your chest as your stomach dropped. The adrenaline rush was similar to your previous jumps.
Although, you didn’t quite feel this...giddy.
Looking down, you read the marked dials of your altimeter at your wrist.
29,500 ft.
All you had to do was follow the “leader” or rather navigator in this case and make sure the parachute was deployed. If shit hit the fan, well...there was always your automatic activation device to deploy the main or reserve parachutes.
You vaguely noticed the sharp hiss of the oxygen mask as you took each and every breath became louder and louder.
Even as the low music in your headset- secured by your helmet -played the verses of Major Tom , you could still hear the whistling of the wind in your ears.
“Approaching drop zone.” you heard the navigator’s voice come over the radio. As you listened to the confirmations over the radio by the other operatives, you shook your head idly. The whistling of the wind was triggering the ringing in your ears apparently.
Second stage is cut, we're now in orbit
Stabilizers up, running perfect
Starting to collect requested data
"What will it effect, when all is done?"
Thinks Major Tom
You looked down at your altimeter yet again only to see a blur of red, orange, and blue at your wrist-
And suddenly, there was a flash of light before your eyes.
Back at ground control
There is a problem
"Go to rockets full."
Not responding
"Hello Major Tom
Are you receiving?
Turn the thrusters on
We're standing by."
There's no reply
________________________________________________________________
You vaguely registered the static of the radio in your ears.
“We’ve got a job to do, Bell-”
“Wake the hell up!”
You blinked. Why the hell was Adler calling you on the radio like that? You had only blinked for a split second-
And then you looked down at your altimeter.
4,000 ft.
What...what the hell-
“ Your main chute is fucked, kid. You need to do a cutaway with your hook knife-” Yes...your hook knife. You reached over to the harness straps where you pulled the hook knife out from the pocket there.
“Yes, good, now cut the lines.”
You blinked.
There...there were a lot of lines.
Almost like that of a cat’s cradle game...
“Bell, focus.”
You were already sawing away at the tangled white lines of your main parachute. They were twisted so at least you sawed several out in one go-
“2,000 ft.”
“...sir...I uh dropped my hook knife.” you said hazily with a sheepish laugh.
“Then use your other knife.”
Oh .
“Yessir.”
It really was supposed to be simple. But really reaching for the knife in your thigh holster was an awkward affair when falling at terminal velocity.
You brought your knee closer up to yourself as you reached for the knife. Suddenly, you felt the world spin-
“Bell, you’re going sideways. Get the knife. Now.”
You felt the firm handle of the knife as you quickly brought it up to the lines above you and dragged the edge across the parachute cord lines.
“1,000 ft. Hurry the fuck up, Bell. Your AAD will deploy at any second now.”
Your AAD...oh fuck .
How the hell had you forgotten about that...
4, 3, 2, 1
Earth below us
Drifting, falling
Floating weightless
Calling, calling home...
On a hope and prayer, you sliced through the last remaining line and just prayed that the reserve chute wouldn’t get entangled on the main parachute you had just cut away.
700 ft.
Belikov , you thought with resignation, I sure hope you get my life insurance benefits .
And just like that, you felt like a Soviet heavy soldier had just suckerpunched you with a cinderblock.
Across the stratosphere
A final message:
"Give my wife my love."
Then nothing more
________________________________________________________________
You stared down at the-relatively-solid ground beneath you. The grains of sand were hot to the touch even as you wore gloves.
Were you dead…?
Suddenly, you felt a hand wrench away the oxygen mask you wore. You looked up into the blazing sun only to squint and see a dark figure.
There was the distinct smell of nicotine and smoke…
“Sir?” you asked only to see a large gloved hand holding a dark grey oxygen mask and shoving it onto your face.
“Breathe.”
It wasn’t a request.
You took a deep breath, hearing the hiss of oxygen and finally registering the ending notes of Major Tom . Wait, the next song was about to begin-
You shot to your feet, pulling the mask away from your face and handing it back to Adler.
“I’m fine,” you swore fervently with a perhaps bit too forced of a smile.
Sure, you were a bit dazed.
But that was just the adrenaline working its magic, right?
You unclipped the bag attached to your waist and quickly got out your XM4 with the magazine loaded and ready after two trusty taps on your helmet.
“You’re experiencing decompression sickness right now, kid.” Adler sighed. You couldn’t help but wince at that slightly.
You had disappointed him. Although, you had warned him about your inexperience with HALO jumping.
“Just do overwatch for the operation at the cliff side.”
You opted to just obediently nod.
You’d keep overwatch over the site unless the marked targets were secured and destroyed by the marked time designations.
If that wasn’t the case...well you always had your good ol’ trusty C4 in your bag.
________________________________________________________________
As it would turn out, things became a shitshow.
Apparently Perseus supplied their hired DGI soldiers with more aid than expected. The team had come into the site expecting all kinds of things. Assault helicopters, spy planes, artillery-
But not radio jammers .
Well, there was Plan B…
But you hadn’t seen the signal for it yet.
And so you turned off your radio, no longer wanting to hear the crackling static of it all.
Looking down the scope of your XM4 rifle, you decided to finally resume playing your Walkman.
Sun is shinin' in the sky
There ain't a cloud in sight
It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play
And don't you know
It's a beautiful new day, hey hey
Humming the merry little tune lightly to yourself, you fired several shots in a short burst through the skull of a DGI soldier emerging from the small canyon where the satellite had crashed. The body crumpled to the ground and you saw a shadow dart away from the entrance to the canyon. That was the tenth one you sniped down so far-
Your thoughts were cut short by the sight of blue smoke contrasting sharply against the yellow sand dunes.
Plan B it was then , you mused to yourself.
Runnin' down the avenue
See how the sun shines brightly in the city
On the streets where once was pity
Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey
Electric Light Orchestra’s Mr. Blue Sky graced your ears under the clear blue skies of Angola as you soon descended down to the canyon floor. Your gloved hands tightly gripped the ropes.
The last thing you needed was to make another abrupt fall and land on your ass.
As you let go of the ropes and fell the remaining several feet to the floor, you scanned your surroundings. The rocks to your left were a good cover in case the enemy tried to flank or ambush you.
Although, you couldn’t afford to play defense at the moment.
Plant the C4 and get the hell out of dodge, you told yourself.
Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long (so long)
Where did we go wrong?
However, even the best laid plans were burned away by the fog of war.
And just as you finally arrived at the designated Zone A of the KH-9 satellite crash site, yours were stomped to pieces by all too familiar steps.
Well, shiitake .
It was your worst kind of enemy.
A Heavy.
Now, you could just waste an entire magazine trying to shoot that impossibly sturdy bucket off their head. But that would give away your position, expose you to those damn concussion grenades, and deplete your ammo.
Hence why you decided on the only rational thing to do.
You were going to kill that buckethead with your trusty 7-inch bowie knife.
Hey you with the pretty face
Welcome to the human race
A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin'
And today is the day we've waited for
With a light whistle from your lips, you heard the Heavy’s footsteps approach your location.
Just like Belikov taught , you thought as you readied your Magnum, cocking the hammer back.
The large shadow cast from their figure was already past your hiding place behind the rock.
They walked closer and closer until you could see the heavily armored plates protecting their legs walking past you.
And then you took the shot.
There was a muffled, strangled cry of pain from the DGI Heavy as they staggered back from the shot. You took advantage of the momentum by lunging from behind, sinking the bowie knife deep into the narrow gap between the helmet and the neck.
The height difference made it somewhat difficult but you could deal with it.
Hey there Mr. Blue
We're so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do
Everybody smiles at you
That small fleshy opening was just enough for you to sink your knife several inches in.
You were quite sure you nicked the carotid artery.
But that wasn’t nearly a quick enough death.
Still, you didn’t have time to go for a second strike. A short burst of gunfire erupted from their LMG. You ducked back under the cover of the rock that really was just getting obliterated by the LMG fire.
You silently counted. It wouldn’t take long for them to be forced to reload and throw a concussion grenade your way.
They always did that.
It was simply protocol that came from training.
And you would use that against them.
Mr. Blue, you did it right
But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over
Now his hand is on your shoulder
Never mind I'll remember you this
I'll remember you this way
And true as church bells rang on Sundays, you heard the rapid fire of the LMG die down and you fired a quick round from your Magnum at the Heavy before lunging.
This time, you didn’t half-ass it.
Large hands were already heavy punches at your ribs but your padded combat vest absorbed most of the blows. Not stopping your momentum, you forced the bowie knife in through the same fleshy gap. This time though, it was a frontal attack.
You felt the knife enter smoothly into the neck until it hit resistance in the muscle protecting the jugular vein and then you just twisted it. There was a choking gurgling sound erupting from the Heavy’s throat as you felt the hands now grappling at your shoulders squeeze painfully before relaxing.
You severed their jugular and carotid artery.
It was only when you withdrew the knife from the neck of the Heavy that you noticed the wet feeling on your eyelashes as you blinked. You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your glove. You stared down at the crimson stain on the fabric when you pulled your hand back.
Your hands never really were clean.
With a sigh, you stood up from straddling the dead body and set your knife in its sheath at your thigh.
You still had to plant that C4-
And that’s when you heard it.
That all too familiar beeping sound.
It had been nearly instinct for you to simply drop to the ground and partially roll the still heavily-armored corpse of the Heavy to face you, shielding you from the direction the inevitable detonation was going to come from.
Of course like clockwork, the beeping stopped.
Hey there Mr. Blue (sky)
We're so pleased to be with you (sky)
Look around see what you do (blue)
Everybody smiles at you-
(And you proceeded to see stars in your vision as you felt what seemed to be a cannonball slam into you.)
________________________________________________________________
“Bloody hell! Are you okay?” you heard an accented voice ask above you.
It was one of those MI6 field agents sent as support for the operation.
“Yeah,” you murmured hazily, blinking away the blotches of color and stars still littering your vision, “I...uh should have paid more attention.”
You didn’t quite know how you missed one of the operatives planting C4 at Zone A. They must have been stealthy about it while you were in the middle of stabbing a Heavy repeatedly in the neck.
“Sorry about that, mate. I got a bit overzealous with the C4. We’re about to head to exfil.” the operative offered out his arm to you which you quickly took. Your balance was still wobbly as you could hear the deafening ringing in your ears drown out whatever songs your Walkman was playing.
Speaking of your Walkman, you looked down at it worriedly only to sigh in relief.
Miraculously, it hadn’t taken severe damage. Nothing not unrepairable.
That was good.
You could heal from bruises, concussions, and whatever the hell was thrown at you. But you couldn’t replace this Walkman.
You idly looked down to see the corpse of the Heavy you had taken down. The armor had gotten large fragments but it looked like the corpse was still intact. With a glance at the retreating MI6 agent, you knelt down quickly, pulling away the armor from the corpse.
Only a select few got to wear this kind of heavy duty armor. It was a privilege due to the sheer expensiveness and maintenance costs of the armor plates.
Patting down the corpse, you felt a familiar rectangular shape in one of the pockets on the corpse’s vest. Pulling it out, you found that it was-
...a cassette tape?
‘ Миллион алых роз ’ was written on the white label on the cassette tape.
Your musings were cut short by the crackling of the radio at your waist. The radio jammers must have been destroyed by now.
“If I were you, I’d get to exfil now, Bell. Doc’s waiting for you.”
You sighed.
Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were going to face disappointment at how little you contributed to the operation or how you intervened in the operation after the radio jammers went off.
Either one wasn’t good.
Story Time With Adler it was, you thought hazily. At least, you liked his voice. There was just an assuredness and husky tone to his voice that was pleasant to listen to…
And with that idle thought in mind, you hurriedly made your way to exfil, trying not to trip on the rocks on the way there with your still wobbly sense of balance.
_______________________________________________________________
“ Bell.” was all the man in question had to say. He took a drag of his cigarette in the helicopter as you reluctantly grabbed the offered oxygen mask in hand and took a deep breath from it.
After breathing in and out for several seconds, you took off the oxygen mask and smiled with widened eyes as you gave a thumbs up gesture to the man across from you. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit too much but you really did want him to get off your back regarding the matter of oxygen.
It hadn’t helped you much back during the HALO jump apparently.
Perhaps, he’d buy into it-
“Bell, it’s oxygen, not cocaine.”
...or maybe not…
And so you resigned yourself to spending the next several hours wearing an oxygen mask while Adler watched you like a hawk while taking drags of his cigarette.
#Russell Adler#Russell Adler x Bell#russell adler x Female Bell!Reader#reader-insert#cod cold war fanfiction#cod cold war black ops#fic: shot through the heart (and you're to blame)#Female Bell#Female Bell!Reader#Fem!Bell
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Julianne Hough Is (maybe) a Thing (October 2009 - January 2010)
So Taylor and Julianne had interacted before this point. Taylor and Kellie and Julianne had hosted something together earlier, and Julianne was on Dance Wars back when Liz was, but Julianne’s presence in Taylor’s life ramps up a TON for this very brief period of time. Julianne was 21 and Taylor was 18 (slightly larger age gap than TayLiz).
The important thing about JH’s presence in Taylor’s life for this period of time, however, is that Julianne is out as “not straight,” and is the only woman possibly romantically connected to Taylor to have come out like this -- unless you could Dianna with #Shirtgate and/or think Cara Delevingne and Taylor have hooked up at some point. So, let’s keep this in mind moving forward. However, JH is also incredibly racist and even did blackface at one point, so we do not stan and are not shipping this.
24 October 2009 - Taylor and JH paint each other for Katy Perry’s birthday party. Taylor maybe gives JH a blue boob grab and JH paints her initials onto Taylor’s dress. This is the evidence most people point to as to something happening with them during the “Lost Years.” Is it a smoking gun? No, but it’s definitely interesting.
I’m divided into two camps of belief on Taylor’s relationship with JH: either they were hooking up, or JH was just a big gay mentor/friend figure for Taylor. I’ve put the evidence of their interactions below, so you can try to figure it out with me:
25 October 2009 - JH and Taylor tweet at each other a bunch about the party.
Taylor Squared also attend a hockey game together.
27 October 2009 - Taylor and Selena have dinner. JH crashes. She tweets at Taylor then invites her to the “MJ premiere.” Taylor tweets about being chased by the paps, presumably because she was hanging out publicly with Selena and JH.
That night, Liz and Taylor perform together on Dancing With the Stars:
28 October 2009 - Taylor Squared go shopping and have a dinner date. They also take these obviously staged car photos.
(The lens has to have been on the hood of the car or something. There’s no way they didn’t notice the camera).
29 October 2009 - Taylor films the Roomies Sketch for SNL. If you haven’t go seen it yet, go WATCH IT RIGHT NOW. It is the start of all of the Gaylor Swift rumors (which we’ll get to later).
youtube
Considering how Taylor reacted when Liz got sick, and the fact that a lot of SNL sketches are based on jokes about the guest’s life/work, etc., I’m thinking this sketch was possibly about tour roommates TayLiz. But if that doesn’t sell you on it, maybe this gif comparison will:
1 November 2009 - Taylor and Liz go to Paramore concert in Nashville. They dance together to the songs “Misery Business” and “That’s What You Get.” Very girlfriend-y.
7 November 2009 - Taylor hosts Saturday Night Live and the Roomies Sketch airs.
Immediately after the Roomies Sketch airs, people flood After Ellen (a lesbian forum site -- think the L Chat but earlier) with gossip about Taylor being gay. Unfortunately, the original screenshot does not exist, but here’s someone on the L Chat talking about what happened that night:
Now while, once again, I hope all that stuff with Emily didn’t actually happen, for Taylor’s sake, it is really intriguing that the possibly-TayLiz-based Roomies sketch is the start of all of Taylor’s gay rumors.
11 November 2009 - CMT Awards. Taylor performs and wins an award. JH congratulates her on it with a tweet.
The secret message for Story of Us is “CMT Awards.” At the CMT awards in 2009, Taylor was separated from the band, so if TayLiz was having a hard time, (possibly due to JH jealousy, maybe because they hadn’t seen each other that much since tour ended) this would fit the line “standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not speaking.” Liz had retweeted Taylor about SNL earlier this week, though, so they may have been on good terms and this is not the CMT Awards that the linter note refers to. Or the liner notes are all lies. Who knows?
“Now I’m standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not speaking”????
12 November 2009 - JH and Taylor have a movie night together.
16 November 2009 - Taylor leaves for the Fearless tour in London. JH tweets at her to “have fun.”
18 November 2009 - TayLiz are papped in London returning to their hotel at midnight. (The London paps LOVE Taylor around this period of time, so a lot of the best TayLiz photos come from when they’re in London).
20 November 2009 - Liz tweets that she loves London. Taylor and Co are specifically in London for the Fearless tour, and TayLiz seem to be most “on” when they’re touring together. Perhaps that’s why she’s so excited to be in London...
21 November 2009 - Taylor and Liz go shopping and get lunch with Caitlin and Andrea at Portobello Market.
23-24 November 2009 - Fearless in London. The tour goes on break for the holidays after this.
December 2009 - Taylor and Taylor “break up”.
9 December 2009 Taylor goes on an ice cream date with Emma Stone in New York after connecting over email (note that this is the same story she tells about who she wrote Enchanted about -- connecting over e-mail and then meeting in person in NYC). So as much as I’d like to give Enchanted to Liz, it fits better with Emma.
What this implies to me is that whatever was going on with JH wasn’t that serious, if Enchanted is indeed about Emma and Taylor went and got ice cream because she was trying to pursue something with her. Or nothing was going on at all and JH was just some big gay mentor. Or even just a friend.
10 December 2009 - Taylor tweets about liking the song I Know About You by Dashboard Confessional that has a bunch of lyrical parallels to cardigan. Here’s a few choice ones:
It’s a shame, I know
But it all shakes out real slow
When the forays of your weekend
Hang like smoke on your clothes
11 December 2009 - TayLiz and Caitlin go shopping together in NYC
13 December 2009 - Taylor’s 20th Birthday. Her backup dancer, Brandon, comes out at her party (something that’s interesting because he notes that it was while touring with her that he’d found a queer community):
The first time Stansell came out publicly was at Taylor Swift’s birthday party 10 years ago. “I was dancing on Taylor Swift’s Fearless tour,” says Stansell, 33. He was also juggling his studies as a senior at the conservative Belmont College in Nashville. He wasn’t out there, and he wasn’t out to his conservative parents. But he had found a support system for the first time. “I had queer friends in my life,” he says. “And I had a boyfriend.”
To me, this suggests that there were multiple queer people on tour at the time, and Taylor and Liz may have been two of them. However, it’s also possible that he had just found a queer community within Nashville, but the fact that the quote goes straight from “I was touring with Taylor” to “I had queer friends” implies to me some sort of connection between the two.
Liz tweets Happy Birthday at Taylor:
24 December 2009 - Taylor and JH are caught by a fan shopping together at Walmart:
31 December 2009 - Taylor spends NYE going to the spa with Julianne, going to dinner with Hayley Williams and then goes to her brother’s NYE party.
2 January 2010 - Liz tweets the lyrics to John Mayer’s Heartbreak Warfare
Maybe Liz just likes the song. But I think it’s interesting considering Taylor seems to be out and about with another woman after a whole summer of them being Roomies. I also think it’s intriguing that one of Liz’s favorite nicknames for Taylor is “Tay,” which just happens to be the secret message of Back to December... Did something go wrong between TayLiz at the end of December? Or is the song really for Taylor Lautner, despite the obvious stuntiness of that relationship?
6 January 2010 - Liz congratulates Taylor on something and says she “missed our family,” implying they haven’t seen each other since touring in London together.
9 January 2010 - TayLiz attend a housewarming party together.
19 January 2010 - TayLiz and Caitlin hang out.
23 January 2010 - TayLiz and Caitlin get on a plane to get back on tour.
25 January 2010 - Taylor films something with The Agency and there are a lot of laughs.
27 January 2010 - Taylor and JH attend the same cancer charity event together,
This is the last time we see Taylor and JH together for a long while, and judging by the way Taylor seems to be deliberately avoiding touching JH’s bare back in that last hug, if they had anything, it’s over by this point. Taylor is single and ready to mingle mope about it for a few months.
CONCLUSION: So, did Taylor and JH happen? Maybe. Maybe not. On one hand, I want to believe it did, since, as stated previously, JH is the only out queer woman that Taylor has rumors with.
The SNL Roomies sketch certainly reads to me as being about TayLiz being roomies on tour, and so the fact that all of Taylor’s gay rumors started here certainly makes a case for TayLiz having been doing something during the first half of the Fearless tour. However, they seem to have drifted apart a bit during the winter. Could this be due to JH? Or something else entirely? Could JH have just been a gay mentor? Who knows for sure. However, something must’ve caused TayLiz to cool down because what’s next is:
Single Taylor and The Gay Australia Trip (February 2010)
88 notes
·
View notes
Note
Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻
hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long!
Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)
Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.
Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?
That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.
Checked Out
Summary: Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.
A Ghost Story
Summary: Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.
Patient Love
Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?
After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.
Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?
The Unbroken
Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.
But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.
Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.
There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.
While You Were Sleeping
Summary: A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?
Purgatory, director's cut
Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!
Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise
Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.
But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.
What Greater Gift
Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.
From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.
I know when you go down all your darkest roads
Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.
They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.
But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?
A Fish Out of Water
Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.
It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.
But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.
The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia
Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.
Just as lost as I
Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.
Love Bites
Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.
Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.
A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.
The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers
Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.
After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?
The Care and Feeding of Castiel
Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.
First Gentleman Wanted
Summary: President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.
The Graveyard Shift
Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.
The Path of Fireflies
Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.
There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.
They are the five people you meet in heaven.
Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)
18 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
drxgunov-blog
[Silence Is] Louder than Words
keeptheturtlesfertile-blog
Keep the Turtles Fertile
echo-80
Nothing Really
oirdin
you were angelic,
beautifil in every way
zanyvenombotanyturkey
Untitled