Hey, odd question, but how do you think Gabriel and V1 would fight something together? I feel like neither of them would be experinced in team combat, but I like to think that they would find a way to be in sync.

no worries bc i've 100% thought about this hhhfghdfg

i think they would definitely need to do a lot of practice because i also think they likely work alone and don't have the experience/programming to know how to coordinate. plus i believe they approach fights in a very different manner - gabriel is incredibly well honed, his style trained and polished to perfection, and while he can adapt well to adjust his methods, he has a way that he does things that's served him for thousands of years. he has strategies that he customizes to his opponents, his movements are all elegant and thought-through yet are second nature to him, and the art of it is only broken when he loses his composure to become overwhelmingly fast and brutal (happens quite rarely, since few opponents can work him up). v1, on the other hand, is much more chaotic and doesn't necessarily have a fighting "style" - i like to imagine that when it faces a new opponent, it can be quite odd and clumsy for the first minute or so because that's its learning time. it tries to parry too slow or too fast, it uses the wrong weapons, it tracks movements a bit poorly when attempting to aim precise shots (or ricochots), and it's dodging a LOT. however, after this window it's devoured all the information it needs and has broken the enemy down to data sets, ones it uses to form the most effective strategy against that opponent. so the way it fights varies hugely, although it of course has some consistencies since it needs to take itself into account. all that to say that not only are they both not set up to work with others, they have vastly different ways of approaching combat that could easily do more harm than good if they tried going in without practice.

that said, i think they would work great together as a pair once they understood the other. there's definitely bickering over whose way is better but honestly neither of them have the capacity to change how they operate SO they need to learn to work with it instead (not that either of them could ever get the other to change their mind lol) to their advantage, v1 knows gabriel's style inside and out while gabriel is very aware of v1's "lag" time and the staples of its combat. it's worked out quickly that gabriel leads since that gives v1 the buffer time it needs (although that rarely, if ever, means that it hangs back but instead that gabe needs to cover it) but once v1 finds its footing, there's a great synergy to their combat - they are both highly mobile fighters, they both have a lot of flourish in their tactics, and i really think their sizes come into play with v1 fully embracing using gabe for a quick high ground or being launched by him lol (also including a lot of teleporting to drop the wild little beast right on some husk's head). they weave in and around each other, each making nice set ups for the other to finish, gabriel throwing his weapons directly at v1 so it can parry them at the perfect angle; alternatively, v1 will often electrify gabe's projectiles. in addition, it makes crowd control or large arenas a much smoother experience, the two of them splitting up to tackle half and half without needing to worry that the other can't handle it. i think they do pick up a couple of combat quirks from each other, the way other couples might start to talk like one another - they both emulate without even knowing it, but i think sometimes their partner catches it and it makes them feel. a whole lot.

BUT even at their best, i doubt they can ever fully avoid stepping on each other's toes occasionally - v1 definitely runs right into gabe's axes while there's no way gabe hasn't been in the radius of an explosion lol he's a lot more fussed about it than v1 is, thinking he can always do better and trying to figure out what he did wrong, while v1 usually brushes it off since it regularly friendly fires itself anyway

【Hamamatsuchou→Tamachi】 Since Aki was around Hamamatsuchou, we went for a walk together 【Yamanote line #26】

This is a translation of this video of Shinya (Dir en Grey) and Aki. The official subs are up, but they were posted after I had done more than half of the translation, so I decided to finish it anyway.

When Aki was talking about his beliefs, the part about the cardinal directions was super confusing to me (not just the vocabulary, but the concept), so I’ll try to ask him to explain and hopefully correct any possible misunderstandings (update: I asked and still didn’t understand lmao).

Shinya: Hi! It's me, Shinya! Today's plan for our weekly walk around the Yamanote line is brought to you from Hamamatsuchou station. Cameraman: Let's go! Shinya: It seems that this is the main entrance. Cameraman: We were sort of passing by. Shinya: Right. Today the weather is great. Cameraman: It is. Shinya: Wait a sec. There's someone there... Cameraman: Huh? Shinya: What the...? He's checking the angle of view. Cameraman: He looks a little familiar, though. Let's go check. Shinya: Let's see. Cameraman: I get the feeling that I've seen him before. Shinya: It does feel that way. It's the silhouette, right? Look! He's still doing that. Ah, the view, the trains... He's trainspotting! He’s checking the wind. Aki: Eh? What are you doing here, Shinya? It's been a long time, right? Shinya: It's Aki from SID. Aki: Yes, I'm Aki from SID. Why are you at my most private spot? Shinya: On the contrary, what were you doing? Aki: At 2pm on Mondays... Shinya: Waiting for the shinkansen? Aki: I'm cultivating my sensitivity everyday. Shinya: I'll be walking now to Tamachi. Aki: Isn't that great? I don't know the area at all. Shinya: Do you want me to show you around? Aki: Cool. Shinya: First of all, that's Tokyo Tower. Aki: I see. Speaking of which, it’s a good example, right? Shinya: Then let's go that way. Aki: Do you know its height? Shinya: Around 333 meters. Aki: You actually knew it, didn't you? Shinya: No way was I expecting Aki to be up there. I'm glad I looked up. Aki: Right. The only place I know in Hamamatsuchou is that railroad switch. Speaking of Daimon station, I have a memory... We met for the first time at the house of a certain senior of mine, right? Shinya: Yes, yes. Aki: The area around these stations, you know, didn't it often become our base of operations? Like a meeting spot. That was just a natural development, right? Cameraman: That was the first time you two met? Aki: The house of that senpai... Shinya: Well, but for me it was a junior... Aki: I don’t have to hide his name. It was Kagerou, right? So actually we first met at Daisuke's house. Cameraman: Ah, so you met there. Aki: We've been good friends since then. Shinya: It was more than 10 years ago. Aki: Absolutely. Wasn't it even longer ago? Shinya: Around 20 years. But SID was still an indie band. Aki: Right. That's a long time... We saw each other and all that in many different places, right? Shinya: Yes, yes. Cameraman: I definitely also have the impression that you two get along really well. Aki: We really do. Cameraman: Plan-wise, we were originally going to go along the railroad track, right? We might as well go there. Shinya: To a place like a shrine. Cameraman: Let's calmly go there. It doesn't feel like a detour, so I say that today we head towards Tamachi station from there. Aki: This looks like a place to grab a drink along the way. Shinya: I've never tried it [in his videos]. Aki: Is it not okay? Cameraman: We rarely go in shops. Aki: Ah, okay. Are you busy? Shinya: Not at all. It was my birthday the other day. Aki: Ah, that's right. Shinya: But there wasn't much else. Aki: It was my birthday as well! Shinya: I sent him a message on LINE on the day. Aki: Was it on LINE? Shinya: Yes. Aki: I see, I see. Shinya: There was no reply. Aki: It's just that I just... I replied just now. Yeah, now... This... That's a lame excuse, right? Got it! I'll treat you to a taiyaki. I'll give you a taiyaki as a present. Ah, oops. I don't have my wallet with me. My manager has it. Then, it's fine if I choose based on my impression of Shinya, right? Shinya: Let's try it out once. Aki: I guess it'll be this one. Shinya: That's right. Aki: Excuse me, one of custard, please. [replying to the shop assistant] Yes. Since the cashless payment method that I have is not supported, can I borrow 280 yen? Shinya: I don't have cash either, so which electronic methods can we use? Shop assistant: auPay and tadaima Tokyo+. Aki: Ah, I see. Shinya: Thank you. Who uses that? I don't have cash either. Aki: I see, then, wait. It may work with auPay, I might have around 1000 yen. It may be my first chance to use it. Shinya: It's auPay or tadaima Tokyo+. Aki: It may be possible! Wait, here, maybe... The balance... Ah, there are even 3000 yen! [to the shop assistant] With auPay, please. Shop assistant: Okay, thank you. Shinya: What's auPay? It's the first time I hear about it. Aki: Why? Why do I have 3000 yen? So here it is. Please, take it. Cameraman: A sense of walking the streets, amazing. Shinya: I've been given a birthday present. Cameraman: Birthday present! It's a taiyaki! It's at the corner of this intersection. Ah, have you tried it? Shinya: Yes. Cameraman: How is it? Shinya: Very hot. Cameraman: Ah, Aki as well. How is it? Good? Aki: Yeah, it's good. Cameraman: It's a sudden feeling of walking the streets. Shinya: Isn't it like when we ate the pandas somewhere? Cameraman: Yes. That's it, maybe. Shinya: Right. Cameraman: Are both your taiyaki filled with custard? Aki: Yeah, they are the same. To show our good relationship. Cameraman: Shinya, is it good? Shinya: Yes. It's hot, though. Cameraman: All you say is that it's hot. Shinya: Because I'm sensitive to heat. I'm super sensitive to heat. Is that gate Shibadaimon by any chance? Cameraman: That's what it looks like. Shinya: That's Zojoji temple. Aki: Is it? Shinya: That's already well known. Aki: Ah, a road safety tablet. Shinya: For luck. Aki: Right. Cameraman: Excuse me for disturbing. Shinya: Excuse me for disturbing. Aki: Are you the type to do things like going to a temple on New Year? Shinya: No, I never go. Aki: You don't?! Aaaah... Cameraman: Aren't you going for Hatsumode [visiting a shrine for the first time after the New Year]? Shinya: Because I'm a person who thinks there are no gods. Aki: Really? Shinya: Yes. Aki: I see. Actually, in my case... Doing things right, getting good things to happen, following a good direction from the place in my life where I'm currently at... How to be in a position for good things to happen... Yeah, about that... It is said that you should do things such as going to a temple that is in the direction you've taken. This year I had to go to the east anyway, so I went to Saruda shrine, which is at the end of Chiba prefecture. I got purified. Since last year was a calamitous year for me and this one is also dangerous [when men reach 42, calculated by the traditional method, according to which children are born already being one, it is believed that it's an unlucky age. The year after that is also dangerous. Aki is now 42, so he is in his dangerous year after the most unlucky year], I’d better do it. Shinya: I've had my unlucky year, but it finished without me doing anything. Aki: Really? Shinya: It finished well. Aki: Ah, really? I see. On second thought... Cameraman: You are basically fine? Shinya: Yes. Aki: That's true... Since your ideas are solid already, you say there are no gods? Shinya: Exactly. Cameraman: But have you ever gone for Hatsumode, Shinya? Shinya: In the past. Cameraman: You went. Shinya: I did it for some reason. Aki: But today will be your Hatsumode, of course. Shinya: A magnificent gate. Aki: But it seems that it's best not to record without permission, right? Shinya: Wow, it was great, wasn't it? Cameraman: It was. Aki: It was. It made an impact. Shinya: It did. Aki: You can see at the same time the Tokyo Tower and the main temple building, that's quite a combination. That's unique to Tokyo, right? Shinya: Certainly. Aki: It feels like a temple in Tokyo. What number am I today more or less? Shinya: Are you talking about the guests? Aki: Yes. Shinya: One, two, three... You are the fourth! Aki: The fourth? So it's not been long since you started. Shinya: No, I'm already finishing. Aki: Finishing? Shinya: Yes. Aki: What do you mean you are finishing? Shinya: Well, I basically do it by myself, but I have guests every once in a while for this Yamanote line project. Aki: Ah, I see, I see. You don't have guests every time? Shinya: That's it. Aki: Aaaah. Cameraman: It's just a coincidence, even with Mana. Aki: Should I call them guests, then? Shinya: All of them by chance. Aki: I also do this [looking at trains while doing the hand gesture from the beginning] every week. I do it every week at that spot. Shinya: I don't think I'll go there anymore, though. Cameraman: It's pretty, right? Shinya: Tokyo Tower is amazing. It feels like I can reach it, you know. Aki: It's nearby, but... I've been called before to come here from Atsugi. Shinya: When we met, you came from Atsugi. Aki: A great night. Right, I was in Atsugi. Shinya: How long does it take? Aki: Mmm... I think it takes around 2 hours. Shinya: Is that so? Aki: It's a little over an hour to Shinjuku. And from my home there is a bus which is 15 minutes to the station, so I'd go to Shinjuku and from there I'd also ride that train. If I have to walk, it would be around 2 hours? 2 hours, maybe? If we started at the same time from Shinagawa station, we could go further than Shizuoka and more or less arrive at Nagoya. I would say that's the distance. Isn't it amazing? Shinya: Well, it is what it is. Aki: Right, right. Shinya: Have you lived in the same house for several years? Aki: Yes, for quite a while. Since COVID started, I made various changes to the soundproofing and other things in my studio room so that I could do online lives. I do them at night. I also work then. Shinya: Before COVID, didn't you have things such as a soundproofed door and so on? Aki: I did, I did. It will be seen during lives, right? The general image of the room was too seedy. I thought that I would improve it a little. It was DIY, though. I worked hard. It took reasonable expenses, it's a waste to move. Wouldn't it be annoying? Shinya: Since you have never come before... Aki: Right. Shinya: to my house even though we are good friends... Cameraman: Eeeeh? Aki: It's true. I've never been to Shinya's residence. Cameraman: I had the impression that a lot of people are coming and going to Shinya's house. Shinya: Right, right. Even though everyone is coming... Aki: I was not invited. Shinya: I invited you, though. How many times? Cameraman: To play boardgames? Shinya: Yeah, things like that. Aki: Well, it's like, you always want to play difficult games. Games like Momotaro Dentetsu are fine. Shinya: You only play games easier than Momotaro Dentetsu? Aki: I want to take it easy like playing Momotaro Dentetsu and drinking at home. Aren't you doing anything special? Shinya: No. Cameraman: The number of games at Shinya's house is amazing. Boardgames. Aki: I've heard rumors that there is a pool. Shinya: There isn't. Aki: In the best district of Tokyo. Shinya: It's a pond. Aki: With a pool. Cameraman: A pond. Shinya: A house with a pond. Aki: A pond? A pond is still amazing. Cameraman: The ginkgo trees are amazing, right? Shinya: They are amazing in autumn. Aki: I see. I've heard from mutual bandmen friends that Shinya came out wearing one of my tour t-shirts. Cameraman: What about that, Shinya? Shinya: I don't really remember it. Aki: ASH told me. Did ASH ever go to your house? Shinya: Yes. Aki: When I went to Shinya's house, Shinya was wearing Aki's tshirt. It was revealed. Shinya: I probably was in my loungewear. Aki: Did I give it to you? Why do you have it? I'm grateful, though. Cameraman: You went drinking and such quite frequently, right? Aki: Absolutely. We often meet. Even though we don't perform together, we end up at the same places. A long time ago I was the one who made Shinya sing at a karaoke. Cameraman: Eh? Aki: He would never do it, right? Shinya: It was very unusual. Aki: At a certain birthday party a few years ago, it was before corona, though. So there was a party and I also went, we drank quite a bit together and we were having fun. I told him "let's lift the ban, let's break the seal". I was like "let's drink". Telling him that, he sang. Cameraman: Eh? By the way, which song was it? Aki: It was Aku no hana by BUCK-TICK. Cameraman: Eh? Really? Do you remember it? Aki: I do. Shinya: It was after drinking around 100 shots of tequila. Because this person here made me drink a lot. Cameraman: 100 shots of tequila? Shinya: As expected, I was also probably drunk. Aki: It seemed like you had given up. Cameraman: But do you at least remember singing? Shinya: Kind of. Aki: Moreover, he is pretty good at karaoke. He sounded like BUCK-TICK. Cameraman: Eh? Shinya: Because I'm a musician. Aki: Shinya, you absolutely should sing. Shinya: No, no, no, I'm embarrassed, I'm embarrassed. Aki: When I asked, he said he would do it. Cameraman: Drinking 100 shots of tequila is insane, though. Aki: 1 song for 100 tequila shots isn't such a good deal, right? Cameraman: Shinya, aren't you going to escape rooms? Shinya: Yes. Cameraman: You don't go to bars much, right? Aki: He told me about some of those games. I've also played, though. That was definitely fun. Shinya: Ah, really? Aki: Escape rooms were incredibly fun. Shinya: It took you quite some time, though. Aki: Because I'm not that good at this kind of things. Cameraman: What was the situation? Aki: It was like looking at a picture and making associations. It symbolized a whole unit. Shinya: I kept looking for an escape room online and showed it to him. Cameraman: Ah, I see, I see. Aki: Yes, yes, you did. Since for me it was, of course, the first time, I didn't know what to do, how to solve the problems. Problems that even Shinya didn't know from before. We were solving them all together. At that moment, as expected, he solved them fast. Are you used to solving riddles? Shinya: I've been solving them since elementary school. Aki: Is it what you've been doing lately? With your bandmen friends and such. Shinya: There aren't many bandmen with whom I can go to an escape room. Aki: Aaaah. Shinya: So I don't play with them. I lost contact with many bandmen. Cameraman: Because your main focus now are escape rooms, right? Aki: Instead of hanging out with bandmen, you are focused on escape rooms. Shinya: Yes. Aki: So you hang out with those who go there, right? Shinya: Yes, yes. Aki: You are a pro, aren't you? Shinya: I am. Aki: Amazing. Shinya: Oh, this is Mita station. Is Mita station at Tamachi station? Cameraman: Yes, yes. We're almost there. We still have to walk a little to get to Tamachi. Shinya: Do you know that there is another place called Mita? It's nearby. Cameraman: Is there? Shinya: There are two completely different Mitas next to each other. Cameraman: What do you mean? Shinya: That there are 2 different places named Mita. Cameraman: Really? Shinya: A Mita in Minato and a Mita either in Meguro or Shinagawa. Aki: It's unusual to have two places with the same name in the same city, right? In different prefectures, though... Shinya: At first, I was a little confused. Cameraman: Ah, we can see the station! Shinya: We can! That's definitely Tamachi station. Aki: Ah, that's Tamachi! Cameraman: Those are the buildings of Morinaga Milk Industry and such. Shinya: The other side of Tamachi has changed so much in the last 3 years more or less. Cameraman: But it's probably more beautiful now. Shinya: It's more than beautiful, it's totally different. Cameraman: Is it that different? Shinya: Don't you know? Cameraman: It doesn't ring a bell. Shinya: It's totally different. It's astonishingly different. Aki: I don't know how it used to be. I don't know how it used to be, so I can't tell how it changed. But I see. Cameraman: It certainly has become beautiful, though. Shinya: It's on a totally different dimension. Cameraman: As if a whole new district was built? Aki: You are so enthusiastic about it, aren't you? Shinya: I was surprised by it when I went to the studio for rehearsals after a while during the pandemic. Aki: Since you say that it has changed so much, can you please elaborate? Shinya: Yes. Let's finish talking at the other side. Aki: Let's do that. Cameraman: Shinya, should we go to the other side of the station? Shinya: Yes. Aki: Wait, shoes for a stage outfit. Won't we take a look? Is it okay? Shinya: They look pretty good. Aki: They do, right? Shinya: A Rakuten store. It is new. Aki: If it wasn't for this opportunity, I wouldn't have walked around a station that I don't know. I rarely do it, but when I'm walking around, I feel like there are some things here that catch my attention and I want to check. Shinya: There are a lot of interesting things. There is always something. Regarding the things that have changed... Aki: From what to what has it changed? Shinya: It's not that. Cameraman: Because it was on a totally different dimension, right? Shinya: First of all, this didn't exist. This suspended passage thingy. This didn't exist either. That building didn't exist either. Nor that one. Nor the other one. Cameraman: How many years ago are we talking about? Shinya: 3 or 4? Aki: Eeeeh? Cameraman: They were able to do this in 3 or 4 years? Shinya: That thing didn't exist. Cameraman: Right, it looks new. Aki: It has changed completely, hasn't it? Cameraman: Was this here? Shinya: No. Everything above ground level is all new. This here used to be a very dirty street. It's also my first time seeing this properly, though. It's become really amazing. Cameraman: It has. You are excited. Shinya: This sidewalk wasn't this wide, you know? Aki: Certainly. Shinya: It wasn't this wide. This didn't exist either. Cameraman: Incredibly beautiful. Aki: What kind of building is this? Ah, there is a board listing the shops. Shinya: I could live here. Aki: We could. Cameraman: We could, right? Do you want to buy an apartment here? Shinya: I do. Aki: Isn't Gindaco good? I want to eat takoyaki! It's enough already with this building, right? Cameraman: It has anything you need, right? Shinya: There is even a real estate agency. If I ask here, they'll find me a place to live in no time, right? There is also an eye clinic. Cameraman: And a café. Aki: There is more over here! Food is not an issue. Shinya: There is full variety. Cameraman: There is a yakiniku restaurant. Aki: And Starbucks. Shinya: Both Japanese and Western-style cuisine. Aki: The food is fine. Shinya: Is there also a Chinese restaurant? Cameraman: There sure is. Aki: There isn't one? Cameraman: Ah, there was one! Aki: Did you like Chinese food? Shinya: No, not really. Aki: Eeeeh? Shinya: I asked because we were saying that this building has everything. Cameraman: There are two Starbucks. Aki: How can you make the conversation flow so easily from the topic of Chinese food? I love it! How do you do such a thing so easily? I'm shocked. I'm surprised, huh. Cameraman: Shinya, do you want to live here? Shinya: I do. The studio is also nearby. Cameraman: It is. Aki: Now we'll go to Century 21 and ask which kind of properties they have. How would you like it? Shinya: I want the whole building, though. Aki: But this building is all offices, right? You can't go in there. Shinya: I want all of it. Aki: Let's buy it. The S of Station Tower is the S of Shinya? Shinya: Yes. Aki: Tamachi Station Shinya. Shinya: As you'd expect, we've arrived safely. Cameraman: We have! Shinya: How was it? Aki: Well, if it wasn't for this opportunity, I wouldn't do these things in Tokyo, walking from one station to another. Moreover, as a place, since it's an area that I don't visit often, there were some shops that caught my attention, so I'm thinking that I want to come back next time in private with Shinya by all means. Shinya: I fully agree. Aki: Wait, wait. Are you up to it? This is not my corner... Is it okay? Shinya: Yes. Aki: Really? Ah, I'm glad. This is a one-sided love. Cameraman: Shinya, do you also want to go again to Hamamatsuchou and drink with Aki? Shinya: Yes. Aki: I always want. Shinya: Me too. Aki: Let's do it again. You, are you up to it? Shinya: I'm super up to it. Thank you for the taiyaki. Aki: No, sorry about the message. I had so much fun! I would have never thought that I would be able to walk with Shinya, the two of us in this laidback atmosphere. If there is another chance, invite me by all means. Even in a different district, okay? Shinya: Yes. Please, come again by all means. Aki: I would like to go for a walk. Cameraman: Thank you. Shinya: As you'd expect, next time I'll be taking a stroll by myself once again. Then, goodbye!

do you ever have such bad timing that you end up killing a guy 

(backgrounds + train are screenshots from the Warden of Nothing strike) 

Can I get some SFW and nsfw modern day Kaeya and Diluc stuff? Ty ty!

Damn I hadn't even thought about ModernAU Genshin before lol should be interesting- lesgoooo~

Side note- Genshin refuses to make actual sense of any of the ages of its characters, so I'm going with, like... mid-20's, semi-recently out of college for these two.

Kaeya, Diluc x GN Reader - ModernAU! headcanons

SFW (nsfw below the cut)

Kaeya:

- He's in law school, and has a real knack for discovering hilarious and exploitable legal loopholes. It's also a field that suits him for a number of reasons- it makes use of his infectious natural charm, and keeps him entertained with the 'stories' you happen upon working with people's legal and personal problems. He's also the best dressed in any of his classes, and in any given courtroom. Those who know luxury clothing when they see it can't help incredulously wondering how he affords his wardrobe while still technically a student.

- Kaeya is such a shitposter. He habitually 'likes' any and everything you post on any and all social media platforms- but he'll also comment "mmm who's that sexy thing" beneath the most innocuous images of you. He sends you dumb memes at concerning hours of the night- frequently while intoxicated, and especially when you've had a stressful day.

- As a partner, Kaeya is surprisingly loyal. His friends (and yours) will joke about him being a total slut, how you must have to keep him on such a short leash. He doesn't take offense to this though, and in a way, he gets a kick out of being perceived this way. But in truth, since he's been with you, he's never once considered anyone else. When you're alone together, there's a warmth in his gaze and a gentleness to his touch that no one else has ever seen.

- Everywhere Kaeya goes, he seems to "know a guy." He's always got an in- and an elaborate story of how he met this person and why they're, frankly, worryingly open to doing him favors. It's rare that a date with Kaeya goes by without you being offered free drinks, free desserts, a better seat at a restaurant or theatre, etc. Generally, when pressed, he'll wave a hand and say, "Babe come on, you know me- I just love making friends." Though you've heard whispers that some of his "friends" are just people who can't afford to be on his bad side.

Diluc:

- Was on track to become a police officer for some time, but it took barely a month from completing his training for him to become entirely disillusioned with the entire system. He quit (bluntly and forcefully, I might add) and now works as a P.I. His quietly thoughtful and serious nature puts clients at ease while allowing him to examine each case efficiently and effectively. I also figure we'd still carry over the "bartending at night" angle from the games- it's a great way to network and gain intel while undercover.

- His phone is basically a device for work, the news, and sometimes for contacting you, and absolutely nothing else. He hates the constant noise of social media, and refuses to jump on trends when things move too fast to get meaningfully invested in anything. Still, while he tries to angle his screen so you won't see it, he has set a picture of you as his wallpaper.

- Diluc loves the quiet, domestic side of your relationship. He treasures things like cooking together, cuddling on the couch with a movie, or even working on chores and projects together. He comes from money (though he doesn't talk about it much), so the more down to earth life that he's made with you is precious to him, and he appreciates all of the little moments that reaffirm your bond. That said, he does have an excellent memory for things like birthdays, anniversaries and such, and he is not shy about spending some cash on such occasions.

- Your friends all think he's super hot (and they're right), but are also a bit intimidated by him. Once, you tried showing them a sweet message he sent you drowning in heart emojis and they insisted that couldn't be him. Now there's a running joke in your friend group about your secret side-guy who leaves you nice voicemails when you've had a bad day and has flowers sent to your work- since they're convinced someone as serious and put-together as Diluc couldn't be your incredibly affectionate boyfriend.

NSFW 18+ v

Kaeya:

- Kaeya loves showing you off, especially in an outfit he bought just for you. It seriously turns him on to watch you over a nice dinner out wearing something a bit risque that he selected for you, noting the appreciative glances in your direction from others nearby, and knowing that you're his. The way his line of sight wanders your body all night makes it exceedingly clear that he can't wait to tear that lovely outfit off of you when he has you alone.

- Definitely the adventurous and experimental sort when it comes to kink, and he especially enjoys a bit of exhibitionism or semi-public fooling around. During a similar date night, with you looking so positively delicious across the table, he'll watch with a wolfish smirk as you squirm from the vibrations of a toy he pushed inside of you earlier that evening. He reclines in his seat and levels his gaze on you, saying, "My, darling, are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed..." as his hand fiddles with the toy's remote. Then, once he gets you home or- even better -to a hotel, he'll press you against the window as he fucks you into panting, mindless bliss. Sometimes he doesn't even want to wait that long, and he'll find somewhere to park his car and fuck you in his back seat

- Kaeya has sending dick pics and lewd selfies down to an art. Seriously, his pictures are beautiful- of course helped by the fact that his body is gorgeous as well. Naturally, he loves to receive erotic images of you as well, and will save each and every one of them for "later use." If you're into it, he'll gladly send you a video of himself stroking his cock just for you, while describing every filthy thing he imagines doing to you in explicit detail.

Diluc:

- Generally speaking, Diluc wants to wine and dine you before the spicy business. He's a romantic at heart, and he wants you to know that he adores every part of you- and your body just happens to be one item on that list. He's not as obvious with his desires as some, but lingering gazes across the dinner table, or a hand at the small of your back trailing around your waist, all make his intentions clear. There's no doubt your lovely evening together will end with his strong body pressing you against his matress, his lips at your throat and your thighs clinging around his hips.

- He's generally fairly private about his sex life- not shy, per say, but insistent that your mutual pleasure is something for only the two of you. He's also not likely to sext or send lewd photos unless you really, really want them (and he's kind of adorably awkward about it at first even if he does try for you)- but if you tease him by sending him something naughty, his mind short circuits. His face burns crimson and he stops whatever he was doing and just stares at your beautiful body on the screen, as though he can already feel you in his hands.

- Diluc is a busy man, so there's likely to be stretches when the time and energy for sex simply isn't there. But once he's wrapped up a case and he finally has some time to breathe, you can bet he'll lift you into his arms and carry you to the bedroom the first chance he gets. You might even start to suspect that it's a way for him to vent his work stress when his thick cock pounds into you so nice and steady and deep- but you're certainly not about to complain, especially when you've been without him for so long.

Could I request hcs for subtle ways the boys express their protectiveness?

Thank you for the request my love! I got to play a fun little game of ‘Eenie Meenie Miney Mo’ for which request to do.

Protective BatBoys

word count: 1600~

warnings: insinuation of someone getting hit by a car, mentions of attackers

I was quite tempted to write Bruce headcanons to this but I must hold back ><

Dick Grayson

Ah, Dick Grayson, the King of small romantic protective gestures

Every time, without fail, Dick will wait until he watches you get inside your house safely before driving/walking away

Its a really cute tick of his because he covers it up with a goodbye kiss and goofy waves that leave you giggling even after you close your house door

But its so he knows where you are, and he can see for himself that you made it safely inside because the second he turns away too soon, you may get locked out, or someone can crawl out from the bushes and nab you

Paranoid, he knows

He constantly wraps you up in things, when you two go swimming he’ll patter up from behind you and place a towel around your shoulders, patting you dry along the way

Very insignificant gesture but he doesn't want you to catch a cold in the A/C or Gotham wind

He’ll do the same with his jackets, maybe even plop his hat on your head when it's gets to the snowy seasons 1. Because its adorable seeing the hat fall into your eyes and 2. Because it'll warm your head up

Scarves too, he’ll even go on a tangent about how cold it is outside while he wraps you in it

Dick will always offer to drive you places, even if you insist on driving yourself to meet up with him or walking there, Dick will still offer because it means he’ll be present if you get into a wreck, sucks but then he can help with first aid

If you decline his offer though, he’ll politely ask for you to take Titus or Ace with you whenever you walk somewhere, they’re trained and he trusts them to keep you company/safe when he can't 

Jason Todd

Jason’s protectiveness comes from a place of knowing how cruel the world actually is

He can't stand the idea of anything happening to you

If he has to, he will use his reputation of Red Hood as a way to keep you safe, putting a man at gun point and sneering out, “They’re off. Limits.”

He’d bust a whole trafficking ring if it meant ending a person who touched you or hurt you in any way

But Jason’s protectiveness doesn't stop while he's wearing the helmet

Even when you two are sleeping, Jasons unconsciously protecting you, no matter how you two cuddle, Jason always positions himself as closest to the bedroom door

Whether his back is to the door or he’s facing it, Jason needs the comfort of knowing any person coming into the room would have to get through him before even reaching you

He also envelopes you, he's a big guy so its pretty easy for him to wrap you up in his arms as an extra layer of protection from the outside world

Jason doesn't really like the idea of training you past basic combat or gun skills, hell, he doesn't like involving you in the family business if he doesn't have to

So he inserts himself into any situation you may need protection in

Which is exactly why he starts going to the gym with you as a work out buddy

Jason makes it sound like he just wants to spend time with you or help you achieve your goals faster since he knows how the body works from his Robin days

But deep down you both know his true intentions: he wants to keep an eye on you

The gym is crawling with creeps that have the guts to ogle at you or get too touchy, but having Jason’s 6 foot beefcake of an ass standing beside you the entire time is like an instant creep repellent

Plus, he gets to spot you and make sure you don't get injured from bad technique or from pushing yourself too hard

He’ll even encourage you with innuendos the entire time, but at the end of the day, he’ll gladly walk you home

Tim Drake

Tim is the most subtle about his inner protectiveness, a subtle King if you will

Most times when he gets protective, you never even notice

When you two cuddle in your house, it takes him a very long time to actively fall asleep because he doesn't trust your home security system if you even have one so he forces himself to stay awake just incase anything happens

But don't worry, he’ll eventually get to updating the security in your house

He does get these protective eyes whenever something is off when he's around you, they narrow a bit and latch onto whatever is off, glaring holes into the offending object until its all clear

Its quite terrifying to witness and very hard to miss when Tim is staring dead at the man speaking to you from across the room at a Gala, sipping his drink in the corner

If he feels the need, he will walk up and control the situation, whether it mean inserting himself into the convo or simply being present for it, he’ll do it

The thing with Tim though, is when he's protective, he’s almost always touching you in some way

His fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair as he speaks to a random person who walked up to you, clinging to your shirt/sleeves when he’s analyzing a situation and doesn't want you to go forward just yet, or even as simple as holding your hand as he leads you home

Tim also keeps small snacks/waters on hand at all times to protect you from Gotham heat and pesky hunger, very much like a mother hen because he also carries a first aid kit everywhere

He follows you whenever you walk alone around Gotham at night, he’s already on patrol so he might as well make sure you make it home safe, if anything happens he won't think twice about intervening as RR

If your going out somewhere alone he always always always asks you to call him until you make it to your destination, he doesn't care if he's working on something or in the middle of a board meeting, he has an assistant for a reason who can give him notes

Its become a normal thing for you to send him your Uber tracking link so he can watch it, if you don't send it he won't hesitate to hack into your account just to find it

Damian Wayne

Damian? Wayne? Being subtle?

Its usually pretty obvious when Damian gets protective over you

He’s the type who won't hesitate to pull out a knife out of god knows where and threaten whatever is responsible for you being uncomfortable

This leads to very interesting encounters of you having to hold him back because ‘oh no a random guy bumped into you and didn't apologize’ and suddenly Damian is missing 

He’s also incredibly blunt, saying things like “Cover your drink” at galas or handing you one of those hand held tasers before you go out and saying “Go for the neck”

Will insist on training you himself, whether its hand-to-hand combat or with a sword, Damian wants to keep track of your progress himself so he can make sure all your weaknesses are trained

Its also because he doesn't want his grimy brothers near you, so its protective on all counts

But subtlety? Theres a few you can notice after being with him for awhile

He’s very careful when going out around Gotham with you, Damian knows he can fend for himself so he will gladly take the brunt of any possible situation

This leads to him always walking on whichever side of you thats closest to the road, so on the off chance a car derails, he’ll get hit first

Always making sure to match your pace when you two walk together, he doesn't want you getting too far ahead of him because he'd have to run to get to you, too far behind and he might not notice you getting taken silently, he wants you right in arms reach at all times

He has a permanent scowl and narrowed eyes but when he's protective, they get even more prominent

Bonus

All the BatBoys do the same exact thing out of instinct when it comes to protecting you

None of them will hesitate to step in between you and any attacker, pulling you behind them so they are in the line of fire now

Its a subtle action that each of them do, albeit with some differences

Damian will push the attacker back as far as he can from you, putting plenty of distance between the two of them and you, so if anything breaks out, you can run away easily

Dick will hold his arms out, fully covering you but keeping his hands in the fray so if the attacker tries attacking you from any angle, Dick is ready to protect

Tim will grip onto you somehow, keeping his hand right on your bicep or forearm so he can still hold you, he doesn't know if there can be a hidden attacker from behind that will pry you away from him, so touching you is his way of making sure he doesn't lose track of you

Jason will slip in front of you and cross his arms, its a sign of nonchalance but obvious dominance, showcasing that he doesn't need his hands to be intimidating to the attacker, he’ll glare and challenge them so all attention is on him now and not you

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption​

copycat

18+, eren jaeger x fem!reader

part two of pierced

inspired by the 'big stick' scene from jawbreaker (iykyk)

wc: 3.7k

contains: mild dubcon, light dom/sub, ball play, choking, dumbification, degradation, spit, creampie

Eren can’t help but admire you from the doorway of your shared bedroom. One would think, that after 30 days of edging, you would learn not to be such a fucking tease. But here you are flitting around the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a frilly pair of lilac panties.

‘Stop being a perv. It’s hot out.’ You don’t have to say it. The ‘you’ in his head is already chastising him for the lascivious nature of his thoughts.

The ‘you’ in his head is also already bent over the granite top counter, panties long discarded, presenting yourself to him, begging ‘Please Eren. Fuck me.’

He can’t help it. Everyday he’s found himself face to face with your cute little pussy, absolutely begging to get filled and not being able to do anything about it. It’s not his fault that when he sees you wearing next to nothing, he just wants to stick his cock in you.

Except it’s entirely his fault.

That’s why even though you can feel the weight of his stare as you move around the kitchen, you don’t even spare a glance in his direction.

If there’s one thing these last few weeks have taught you, its willpower. And thanks to your newfound self-discipline you’re able to resist the urge to pounce on him when your boyfriend pulls your back against the solid wall of his chest. “Baby.” He rasps. “I’m all healed up.”

The statement makes goosebumps appear on your skin despite the sweltering heat but other than that, you show no signs of exactly how pent up you are.

Eren made you swear not to touch yourself whining about how unfair it would be and how he would really appreciate your support in his hour of need. Yes he used those exact words. You kept your promise but not without intending to receive payback. It was only a matter of how. The idea hadn’t come to you yet.

“Really?” You don’t even bother to turn around, pushing past him. Partly as a way to tease him but also because you don’t trust yourself to be able to resist him once you get a good look at him. From his scent alone you can tell he’s fresh from a shower and that’s when he’s the most dangerous. He smells cool and fresh like his shower gel, spicy and warm like his aftershave and fruity and floral like his your shampoo. It’s hypnotic.

The trance is broken when he pulls you even closer to him, grinding his bulge into your backside.

“Stop buying that 2-in-1 shit if you’re gonna use mine all the time anyways.” You grumble.

Right.

Revenge first. Dick second. The voice in your head reminds you.

You wriggle out of his hold, remembering why you came into the kitchen in the first place. You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the freezer door, the cold air providing a brief reprieve from the near suffocating heat of your apartment. Once you’ve obtained your target; a cherry popsicle hidden behind some ice packs and frozen peas, you finally take a look at your tormentor.

“Babe c’mon.” Eren persists.

He looks good. Unfairly good considering the fact that he’s not even trying. Fresh from the shower, he has on a worn out white t-shirt, stretched around the neckline which gives you a mouthwatering look at his perfectly sculpted collarbones and no more than the top of his pecs that peak out above the seam. His grey athletic shorts hang low on his hips and outline his print a little too well so you know he’s not wearing boxers. Eren hasn’t bothered to tie up his long hair leaving the damp tendrils dangling above his shoulders with a few stray strands framing his handsome face. He’s putting up a nonchalant front but the tick in his eyebrow gives his irritated disposition away.

Surely he didn’t believe that you would let him have his way with you that easily.

Except he did. Because under most circumstances he would. But today, your own stubbornness (only marginally) drowns out your desire for your Adonis of a boyfriend so you push past him into the lounge, plopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Later.” You bring the frozen treat to your lips. “It’s so hot.” Again, Eren tries to keep his face expressionless but you easily spot the way he clenches his jaw as his gaze fixes itself onto your mouth.

Bingo

You close your eyes, enjoying the sweet cherry taste and cool sensation that spreads throughout your body.

“On second thought,” You start, as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “There is something else I’d rather have in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Eren dons a matching smirk and stalks his way over to you, sitting down so that you can straddle him. “Tempting but honestly, your mouth isn’t what I had in mind.” His voice trails off, large hands moving down to cup your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure. But before he can take it any further you’re already manoeuvring your way between his knees.

“Oh. You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout, resting your head against his thigh, trying your best to sound disappointed.

Eren swallows whatever argument he was about to present when he sees your pretty eyes, shaded by fluttering lashes looking up at him with the tip of the crimson popsicle pressed against your sinful mouth. The same sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for a month.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles while you watch him pull his already half hard cock out of his bottoms. It’s so pretty and long, perfectly thick in all the right places, decorated at the tip with a vertical running titanium barbell.

He’s got a hand around his base, waiting for you to replace the sweet treat in your mouth with his aching cock but much to his dismay your attention is drawn a little lower.

The sight of his plush balls all swollen and full of cum proves to be too much for you to resist. He shudders when your cold lips press against the taut skin. You know he’s sensitive from being so backed up. That’s why he starts panting as you leave wet kisses on his sac, leaving your saliva all over it while his shaft grows harder above you.

“Hold this for me.” You pass him your popsicle, that is slowly starting to melt which he takes in his free hand.

“Okay can you just- fuck.” One more kiss, right on the shiny metal of his newly healed piercing, shuts him up quickly.

Your own hands find their place on his thighs. You dip your head down again and take one of his balls in his mouth massaging it with your tongue.

“Christ.” He groans, slowly jerking himself off while you worship his balls.

“Oh poor baby…. so full.” You murmur letting go of the left to suck on the right one, savouring the weight of them.

“Yeah.” His voice is about a whole octave higher than usual. “Hurts.” He scrunches up his face when you let go of his ball with a pop.

“I bet.” You giggle. Eren is now at full mast, veiny shaft resting against his abdomen, dribbling precum which coats the shiny piercing that crowns his angry-red tip. His wrist flicks ever so elegantly as his hand moves languidly up and down, up and down, up and-”

“Princess.” Your boyfriend whines, yanking you out of your daze. “Enough with the teasing. You wanted to suck me off. Do it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not losing sight of your revenge plot.

“Baby,” You pout. “I really want to but-” It’s so hard to bite back your laugh. “But I don’t remember how.”

“Wait what?” His hand stops right in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s been so long. Can you show me?”

Eren’s expression goes from perplexed to vicious but you don’t budge, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes.

“How?” He huffs impatiently. It’s funny actually, seeing him struggle to tolerate a fraction of his own bitter medicine.

Your eyes shift to the frozen treat still in his hand that’s starting to drip down his knuckles. “I’m a visual learner.”

He moves like he’s about to stand up but you won’t make it that easy for him. “Please, Rennie? Please teach me how to suck your cock?”

As much as Eren has you wrapped around his finger, he’s just as whipped for you. So when you look at him with those sparkly eyes and call him the pet name he swears he hates but brings him to his knees when you use it, you know you have him.

Hook, line and sinker.

You use your thumb and middle finger to make a circle around his base, positioning yourself eye level with his leaking slit.

His tongue peaks out cautiously, eyes trained on yours as he flicks it across the tip, testing the waters. Immediately you follow suit, tasting his precum for the first time in so long. His hips buck off the couch, chasing the gone-too-soon sensation but you dig your nails into his thigh, reminding him who’s in control right now.

You quirk your brow at him, making sure he understands what you want.

How many times have you found yourself in this exact position: sitting between your boyfriend’s thighs while he looks down at you, both of you equally as lust drunk as the other. But this time he’s the one panting and whimpering while you have your turn to torture him.

Eren doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to smack that smug little grin right off your face but instead he pulls at your hair, tugging right at the roots and making you yelp in pain. Now you’re scowling. But it’s hard to look at all intimidating sitting beneath him with your head tilted at such an awkward angle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench together either.

Never breaking eye contact, he uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the length of the popsicle. You squirm in place, remembering how it feels to have him lick across your cunt exactly like that.

Fine. He’d play along with your little game. But on his own terms.

You lean forward to copy him but the hand holding your head keeps you in place. Without looking away, Eren launches a glob of spit onto the already drippy ice-cream before licking it away. It’s that simple for him to put a crack in your domineering façade and have you whimpering right at his feet as per usual.

The corners of his lips twitch as a silent challenge to you.

Never one to back down, you use your tongue to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, feeling it pulsate. As you get closer to his prince Albert, you can’t hold back from swirling the wet muscle around the cold metal.

A soft whimper escapes his lips as you pull away, keeping your mouth agape, looking up at him expectantly.

It’s silent for a moment before Eren realises what you’re wordlessly pleading for. “Fucking slut.” He mutters, almost amazed before he gathers more of his saliva to drop into your mouth with a loud khwa pto echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

You close your mouth with a satisfied smile, savouring the taste of sweet, tart cherry and a flavour that is uniquely Eren, letting it mingle with your own saliva before spitting it on to his cock. You use your tongue to spread the wetness all along the shaft, leaving it covered in slick sheen.

“So fuckin’ nasty.” He groans, moving his hand from your head to push his own hair out of his face, not wanting anything to obstruct his view of you right now.

You feel the way his thigh twitches under your palm every time you come even close to his puffy cockhead and your tongue brushes across the sensitive piercing. The idea that you have him like this, desperate and whining, after weeks of him toying with you is exhilarating to say the least.

You have to rein yourself in before you end the fun too soon.

Reluctantly, you pull away and patiently await your next command.

You know what he wants next and so does he but Eren can’t help but feel self-conscious.

Of course, he loves the way you look when you’re going down him. His gallery is filled with pictures of you with your eyes filled to the brim with tears and your lips stretched impossibly wide around his girth. When you’re not around he gets off to the videos him fucking your face, relishing in the way you gag while you try to accommodate him in your throat. He doesn’t think he could ever measure up to how sexy you look with your pupils blown, lips all swollen and your spit dripping down your chin.

But just like you, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and latches on to the blunt top of the popsicle. His plump lips form a perfect O-shaped pout, stained beautiful crimson from the fruit juice. Your gaze is transfixed on his face, the sharp lines and edges tinted with an uncharacteristic blush as his cheeks hollow out, to suck it in deeper.

“So pretty baby.” You breathe out.

He shudders as the cool air fans out across his wet skin.

“Yeah? ‘m pretty?” He smirks, using his free hand to drag his cock across your face, smearing his precum on your lips. “Show me how you treat pretty boys. Please?”

And how could you deny him?

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him in. Only the first few inches, get to enjoy the warm, slippery cavern of your mouth while the rest of him has to make do with the soft skin of your hand gliding up, down and around.

“Fucking take it inside. Christ.” He groans, frustration evident as he glares down at you.

You simply shake your head a ‘no’, far too content with the taste and the weight of him in your mouth to stop suckling at his cock. If he wants more, he knows what he has to do.

The frozen treat is back between his lips and far too quickly, with not enough thought he pushes it inside as far as it can go until his gag reflex forces him to abort his mission, sputtering out red-coloured saliva.

You pull off of him as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Eren takes advantage of the fact that you’re unguarded and in a matter of seconds he has you pinned to the floor. The poor popsicle is left in a sad, melting puddle on your couch while his long, sticky fingers circle around both of your wrists, the other hand keeping a harsh grip on your jaw.

Yeah. Not laughing now, are you?

“Was that funny to you princess?” He questions you, almost daring you to hit back.

Knowing when to quit was never one of your strong points.

“Not funny.” You say despite your giddy smile. “My pretty boy just needs more practice.” You snicker.

You’re pushing his buttons on purpose now. At best, you expect some degrading words fitting of your bratty attitude. At worst, you expect the sting of his palm to come down against the side of your face, reminding you of your place.

What you don’t expect is a wry chuckle before he says, “I forgot how bitchy you get when you don’t get stuffed full of cock enough.”

Eren frees your hands in favour of placing both of his on your knees. He spreads apart your legs as wide as they can go, dragging his coarse palms up and up to rest at the apex of your thighs. He flicks up the hem of your shirt to reveal to him the crotch of your panties that's soaked through with your arousal. He pulls them to the side to expose your cunt to him. Eren barely stops himself from tearing the flimsy fabric right off your body and only because he thinks they're pretty and wants to see you wear them again.

He can smell you. But he suppresses the desire to bury his face between your pillowy thighs for as long as you’ll let him. He knows that’s not what either of you really want.

“This needy pussy been missing me?” He coos, keeping his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. He grinds his pierced tip all along your cunt, dipping under your hood to press right against your clit.

You feel it before you realise what’s happening; the burn of his fat head of his cock prodding at your tiny hole, forcing it to stretch around him.

“Jesus fuck- ‘s tight.” He grits out, managing to pop just the tip in.

Tears gather at your waterline as he impales you further and further on his cock, reintroducing your insides to him and his newest body mod. The bulb of the piercing drags deliciously over every bump and ridge that lines your walls. It just keeps going and going until it’s all too much.

Instinctively, your hand flies to Eren’s abdomen, fingers splaying across his tummy. You want to ask him to stop or wait or at the very least prep you. But you’re just so full.

He’s not even all the way in and you’re full of him everywhere. Did it feel like this before?

He doesn't give you a chance to remember.

“Move. Your fucking. Hand.” He grunts before moving it for you and sheathing his cock fully in your spasming cunt.

“Fuck Eren. ‘s big.” Your voice breaks as you utter that last word right one Eren fills you to the hilt. Your arms fly to his biceps, squeezing the muscle so tight that you’re certain it hurts him but he doesn’t complain.

No one would believe that mere minutes ago Eren was the one under your thumb. Not when he’s so quickly managed to turn you into a blubbering mess.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He mocks you as if he’s doing any better. In reality he’s keeping himself still, with his pressed against yours trying to regain a semblance of control, not wanting this to end so soon.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against you and little by little you open up around him, offering less and less resistance. Hand on the bible, he swears he can feel your gooey pussy sucking him in every time he pulls back, almost like it’s begging him to never leave again. Hand on the bible, he swears that he won’t.

“Huh?” He taunts. “Where’s the bitch who thought she could fuck with me?” He emphasises his point with one sharp snap of his hips that hits the bull’s eye.

“Eren! Right there!” You cry out as you back arches up into him but he forces you to stay down by pressing his palm firmly against your sternum.

“Right there?” He mimics your voice, with a high pitched, nasal tone. You can’t even cringe at how it sounds because the feeling of the rounded metal hitting that squishy patch deep inside you with pinpoint accuracy is too overwhelming for you to think about anything else.

“You want me to fuck you here?” His thrusts start to pick up pace. You’re finally getting used to him again and the slick juices from your pussy let’s him move as fast as he wants, as deep as he wants so you he can use his cock to abuse all of your sweet spots

You can’t exactly speak; only nod, as you dig your nails into his shoulders and back, leaving a trail of crescent shaped indents in your wake. The coil at the base of your belly twists tighter, tighter and tighter still as all your nerve endings work overtime to register the way he fills you up completely, the way the metal rubs along all the right spots and the way Eren rams into you like a man possessed.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Now you’re begging. It’s impossible to stop the fear bubbling in your chest. You’ve become well-acquainted with this feeling. Absolutely drowning in pleasure and right on the edge of an unimaginable peak before having it ripped away. It’s not unreasonable to be worried that Eren might leave you high and dry once again.

He halts his movements the moment he notices the doubt behind your eyes.

Your pleas become more and more frantic, already thinking the worst. “Don’t stop Eren! Please don’t stop.” You sob but go silent when his hand rests itself firmly around your throat.

“Told you.” He punctuates the sentence with one, deep thrust.

“Fuck. What did I say?” He growls as he falls back into the same brutal rhythm that had you teetering on the very brink of an orgasm before.

God above as your witness, you try and answer but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak of his name before he cuts you off completely by squeezing your neck tighter.

“S-said I was gonna fuck you stupid. Right?”

You nod as best you can, head spinning from the lack of air and your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Now fuckin’ cum for me so I can keep my promise.”

The second his hand meets your clit, you’re a goner. The calloused pad of his thumb rubs the neglected nub with exactly the right pressure to push you over the edge. Every muscle clenches as that tightening coil finally snaps. The intoxicating pleasure that shoots through your body reaches your head at the same time as the pressure on your throat is released, much needed oxygen flooding your brain and prolonging the high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as cream around his cock. It’s pointless to hold off his release any longer and with nowhere else to go he spills his load deep in your pussy. The feeling of his hot cum seeping into your pussy has you twitching around him, trying to milk every last drop from him.

You may have blacked for a second, eyes fluttering open as Eren gently taps your cheek. His handsome face, all flushed and sweaty comes into focus. Both of you are wearing equally dopey grins as he asks you, “Did it feel as good as I said?”

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

Truth & Lies

(This picks up directly following this piece)

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing

CONTENT WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, human trafficking, referenced/implied non-con, mentioned past minors of minors, blood, restraints, medical setting. 

Panic washes over him the moment the door closes behind them, putting him alone in the exam room. In the silence, he can hear only the sound of his labored breathing, obstructed by the plastic intrusion that has been secured between his teeth, straps cutting into his temples. His hands are bolted to the front edge of the table on either side of his thighs. The position pulls his posture forward just enough to be uncomfortable, his shoulders curling forward to accommodate the short buckle on the cuffs. He tries, to little avail, to calm the rising panic at the feeling of restraint. 

And all he can think is that he has done this to himself. 

He messed up. He had messed up so, so badly and the reality hadn’t fully settled over him until the door clicked shut, and the blur of the past several minutes came crashing into him with a sudden, sickening clarity. And now there is nothing he can do to take back his actions, his words, and he knows that no apology will be enough to smooth it over regardless. Still, he feels one bubbling in the back of his throat uselessly, trapped behind the gag and the slow, constant trickle of blood.

Suddenly, the sensation steals all his focus, until all he can feel is the warm liquid in his nose and throat, and the suffocating realization that he is helpless to stop himself from choking to death alone in this room, chained to a fucking table. 

His arms tug instinctively against the cuffs, but the steely hold on his wrists only serves to bolster his panic. Oh, god. What has he done? All at once, he is sorry. Jaime is so, so sorry and he wishes he could take it back but ‘sorry doesn’t do shit for me, baby,’ he can hear Mr. Torley’s rumbling voice clear as day in his ear. 

He jerks forward away from the phantom presence, a whimper caught in his throat that has nowhere to go. These flashes of imagination feel so real sometimes and Jaime can’t always tell them apart from what’s in front of him, just like when the Handler had pulled his sweatshirt over his head at intake, and when the gray fabric cleared his eyes it had been Mr. Torley’s face staring back at him, grinning in the glow of the bedside lamp that had been harsh, white Facility fluorescents only seconds before. 

He hadn’t meant to lash out. Jaime can’t recall ever stepping out of line like that, not since… not since his first week in the training facility. He has enough sense to know that fighting back won’t get him anywhere good. But something had snapped in his mind when they began undressing him of his street clothes, and it was as if he was no longer at the helm of his own body. His arm had lurched forward on instinct, striking out at the figment in front of him because this wasn’t right, he was supposed to be done with Mr. Torley, he had served his six month contract and it was supposed to be over.

It was supposed to be over. 

He had barely recognized the crunch that gave under his fist in the moment, nor the white blare of pain as the blow was reciprocated with double the strength. There was blood and a struggle and a distant screaming that made his head vibrate like the sharp, resounding clang of metal on concrete.

And then he blinked, and now he was here, and his head hurts and he can’t breathe right with all the blood and he is so, so sorry no matter how much it won’t matter in the end. It never matters.

He hates that he is sorry. He hates that he is back here. He hates that he can still feel Mr. Torley like static on his skin even though he isn’t legally his anymore. He hates the feeling of the bit between his teeth, reminding him of a hazier time in his memory, carved out with white tiled walls and bright lights and constant, unyielding pain. 

Jaime lets his head fall forward, cringing at the sticky dampness of his t-shirt against his chin, and focuses all his energy on trying not to cry. More than anything now, he needs to retain his already limited ability to breathe.

Even so, he can’t stop his breath from catching when he hears the telltale swipe of a clearance key at the door.

*******

Sebastian’s feet stutter beneath him as he pushes through the door. His eyes are drawn immediately to the anchor points along the front of the exam table, which currently serve to immobilize the terrified young man between them. He can see that the skin around the restraints is already pink with irritation. The boy’s head is ducked in what looks to be a quiet surrender, and he can’t see his face but he watches as a drop of blood hits the lap of his pants. Sebastian’s muscles freeze up. It’s only a fleeting moment, but he’s sure his recovery is not nearly as graceful as he hopes it is as he clears his throat and steps into the room. 

He lets the heavy door fall shut behind him, effectively sealing himself into the reality that he is now in charge of this person bolted to a table. It has become a daily occurrence long ago to question every life choice that had brought him to this place, but especially now he can’t help but think he’s made a horrible mistake. And then the light clinking of metal on metal draws his focus to where the boy has twisted his hand inside his restraints just enough to grip the side of the table, knuckles white and trembling, and it occurs to him how selfish he is for thinking that he is the one in the room who has earned the right to fear. 

He should say something. He knows he has to be the one to say something, because the Companions - the patients - aren’t allowed to initiate conversation without direct invitation. He knows this, but the knowledge doesn’t un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth or dissolve the lump that’s blocking his airway. For a moment, all he can do is stare. 

“Hi,” he says finally by means of a feeble introduction. He clears his throat, trying for something that doesn’t sound so much like a question. “I’m Dr. Tate. Sebastian. You can… just Sebastian is fine. If you want.”

Incredible, Seb. Off to a confident start. 

He might see the slight incline of the patient’s head in acknowledgement, or he could be imagining it. Either way, he moves on. 

“What is your…” He pauses, clearing his throat. Name? Is that what he wanted to say? He knows as well as anyone that he isn't allowed to use his. If he does and anyone hears him, it will only land him in deeper trouble. Which is maybe the last thing on Earth Sebastian wants. Instead, he asks, “What can I call you?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Sebastian sees unmistakable movement in the muscles of the boy’s neck. There seems to be a moment of hesitation, and then he lifts his head to level with Sebastian’s gaze, and he nearly takes a step back.

By some miracle, Sebastian has made it this far into the program without witnessing - or god forbid implementing - the use of heavy restraints on a patient. Today, it seems, his luck has run out. The boy stares up at him with dark, empty eyes over a round bit of black plastic secured over his mouth with the WRU logo emblazoned in silver. A fucking gag.

A slow-dripping acidity makes its way into Sebastian’s stomach. The picture in front of him is so starkly, uniquely horrifying that it stops him in his tracks. It’s exactly the kind of raw imagery that WRU conveniently left out of their pamphlets and commercials and brightly-colored career packets. This, he thinks to himself, is the truth behind every lie they sell. 

“Oh,” he says, stunned, the word slipping out of him in a breathy gasp. He forces himself to take a step toward his patient, choosing to ignore the quickly concealed flinch. “I don’t… I don’t think we really need that, right?” He says a pitch too high. The patient’s eyes track him warily as Sebastian moves closer, an outstretched hand hovering in his direction. “Uh. Can I?”

Instead of the permissive nod he expects, the young man’s eyes flit over to something to the left of Sebastian’s shoulder then back again, holding his gaze. Sebastian turns and finds a tin box affixed to the wall just behind the door. He blinks, and when he looks at the patient again with confusion written all over him, the boy hesitates — which he seems to do before each new move — and then angles his head just enough so that Sebastian catches a flash of silver at the back of his neck.

A small padlock. Holding the straps of his gag in place. 

The room wavers around him. 

“Key,” he chokes out dumbly in a whisper. “Right, I— right.”

He turns on his heel and crosses stiffly to the box on the wall. His hands are shaky when he opens the hinge, fingers brushing over the small selection of keys dangling inside. For a horrified moment, he catches himself wondering what other inhumane devices these could possibly go to. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought. It won’t be helpful here.

The smallest key catches his eye, looking to be the most likely to fit the lock. 

“Is it alright if I—?” He turns back with the intention of seeking his consent, but he finds that the boy has already lowered his head to allow him easier access to the lock. “Okay,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. 

Sebastian works as quickly as his nervous fingers will allow and feels a tangible weight lift from his chest as the lock releases. 

“There,” he says, stepping back immediately once the intrusion has been removed. He tosses it into the sink basin in the corner, not wanting to look at it for a moment longer, as he is sure his patient would agree. “Better?”

The patient waits a moment before raising his head again. “Th...thank you.” He murmurs without meeting his eyes. His voice is low and brittle and nearly knocks something loose inside Sebastian’s chest. 

A slow trickle of blood swells out from his bottom lip, the bit from the gag almost definitely having irritated whatever injury had already been put there. For half a second, Sebastian wonders why he doesn’t reach up and wipe it away, and then he realizes—

“Shit! Your hands.” He’s back at the box before he can spare another thought, sifting through the row of seemingly identical keys. He doesn’t really allow himself time to consider the possible reasons why he shouldn’t be removing the restraints, including but not limited to breaking protocol on his first day off probation and having no actual idea if this person was a physical threat to him or not. All he knows for sure is the visceral feeling he gets in his gut every time he sees him bleeding and bound to a fucking table when he should be here to receive care.

“Sir?”

He whips around to find the boy watching him with naked apprehension, as if he isn’t sure he has clearance to have spoken. 

“Really, Sebastian is okay,” he reiterates. “Or Dr. Tate, if you want to be formal.” Of course he’s going to be formal. His entire existence is a series of formalities, meeting new strangers and having to pay them undue respect, and none of it has anything to do with what he wants.

Sebastian watches something flicker in his eyes, a momentary break in the solid wall before it closes up again. “Yes, Dr. Tate,” he says with an automatic obedience that flips Sebastian’s stomach. His lips part just slightly as if he is going to say something else, but instead he glances pointedly down toward one of his wrists. The way he holds it allows Sebastian to see the silver hook attaching him to the table with what looks to be a similar mechanism to a heavy-duty carabiner. 

Oh. There is no key for these. Just a simplified method that doesn’t allow the restrained person any access to release the clip. 

He wastes no time crossing back to him. “You’re not going to start swinging on me, are you?” Sebastian says, mostly as a joke to cut the tension, but it’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as the boy’s eyes darken and fall away to his lap.

“No, S— Doctor Tate. S-sorry,” the boy stumbles through a rushed assurance, still not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t mean to— I… it wasn’t…” He seems to slow himself with considerable effort, forcing in a deep breath, then out again. “I’m sorry. I will not step out of line again,” he finishes in a quiet, frustrated tone of defeat. 

Sebastian is glad for the distraction of unbuckling his cuffs, which he goes straight to work on, because he’s not sure what to say to any of that. “Sorry,” he murmurs as he frees his left hand from the restraint. “I was only kidding.” 

Another thought pops into his head, and only just stops himself from saying, “Whatever happened, I’m sure those Handlers had it coming.”

Once he is freed, Sebastian tosses the cuffs onto the counter, eager to get them out of his hands. The patient wraps his arms around his middle as soon as he’s able to, keeping his shoulders drawn in even now that he has full mobility to sit up. Sebastian forces himself into clinical mode. He may feel out of his element here and his sense of morality may be steadily decaying in this place with each passing day, but he’s a good doctor. He knows he is. And he needs to remember that he is the one with any amount of power in this room, and he isn’t doing either of them any favors by floundering helplessly. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else,” he says decisively, turning with a bit more confidence in his step to wet some paper towels in the sink. 

“Thank you.” His patient accepts them with something like genuine gratitude, bringing the damp towel to his nose. It seems the bulk of the active bleeding has stopped, so they at least have that going for them. 

It takes a conscious effort to stop himself from staring as the boy cleans himself off with soft, calculated movements. Instead, Sebastian tears himself away to claim the stool in front of the monitor beside the bed. One quick scan of his key card gains him access to the patient intake home screen.

“So, um.” Sebastian clears his throat. “Let’s try that again, shall we? What can I call you?”

“110750, Domestic Services,” the answer comes automatically, as if he didn’t need to be in his own head to recite the words from memory. 

Wordlessly, Sebastian types the numbers into the system. A moment later, a digital chart appears in front of him, and he has to bite down on his cheek to keep from cursing. The photo in the top right corner is dated just over nine months ago, but the person in it looks… so fucking young.

He can’t help but toss a glance at the man on the bed he had just unshackled, gingerly wiping his injuries, and then back at the screen. Less than a year separated the two faces, and yet there was a world of difference etched into the space beneath his eyes, the posture of his spine and shoulders, the hollowness of his gaze. In the photo, he looks afraid. Here, in front of him though, he looks… dismantled.

Which is a horrible thing to think about someone, Sebastian scolds himself immediately. Had things gone differently in his own life and Sebastian himself had somehow landed in this boy’s position, he is quite sure he wouldn’t be handling it with an ounce of the composure most of these people seem to have. He doesn’t like to think about that. 

“Here you are,” he says mostly to fill the silence, nodding toward the screen. “Let’s see…” His eyes scan down the monitor until he sees the highlighted red portion at the bottom, which generally lists the reason for admittance. In his, he finds two lines he immediately wishes he could unread.

Domestic Return Intake Physical.

Comprehensive STI Panel.

As if the words themselves are not enough, it’s the small text inserted next to the second line — only the second line — that really delivers the blow. In barely-there letters next to a bold asterisk, it reads: 

RFR.

Sebastian has seen just enough during his probationary period, in the fleeting glances over Dr. Geer’s shoulder, to understand its meaning. 

Redact From Record.

Sebastian’s mouth feels dry around the swallow he attempts. Despite his best efforts, he’s sure his expression is not as impassive as he hopes. The screen is angled away from his patient, but if what they say about some Companions still losing their literacy during training is true, maybe that doesn’t matter. WRU claims that’s no longer a part of the training process since their rebranding, but as Sebastian is well aware, it wouldn’t be the first or most heinous lie they’ve told. Not by a long shot. 

With the words buzzing around like angry hornets in his skull, Sebastian forces himself to turn toward patient 110750. The blood has been mostly wiped from his face, leaving only trace amounts of pink-tinged skin in its wake, and he has pressed the paper towel into a soiled wad in his fist. 

He is watching Sebastian carefully, like he’s preparing himself for something. Or… like he’s preparing himself for anything, because of course he can’t know what to expect, only that he is helpless to prevent whatever comes. The haunting revelation tucked away inside his patient file is kerosene on the wildfire of Sebastian’s imagination, supplying him with a litany of past horrors that must be swimming behind those eyes to fill them with a dread so pure. 

He suddenly remembers the Handler’s words when they had dragged him in, and it makes more sense now. “Freaked the fuck out at strip and started throwing punches.”

Sebastian can imagine why. 

Overturning the Romantic division of WRU had been the largest, most public part of their new regime. It had come on the heels of several small pockets of the company being blown wide open to expose the outlawed buying, selling, and subsequent abuse of minors within the system. At that point, they’d been left with little choice but to make a big move to save face in whatever way they could. 

There had been liberators that moved in some of Sebastian’s (very small) circles in undergrad. He had heard their vocal disdain for the company’s half-hearted attempts. Sebastian had never once stood in defense of the system, but perhaps some small part of him had always hoped for a grain of truth in their promise to turn over a new leaf, if only for the poor people who are stuck inside of it. 

Now, there’s no shielding himself away from the truth that had always existed, and he felt like an idiot for ever believing their intentions could ever be anything but malicious. Divisions and legalities aside, the people here are given numbers instead of names and sworn to a secrecy disguised as confidentiality regarding the people who have unlimited access to them. They have no legal standing. They have no power. 

The word “Domestic” is etched into this boy’s designation line, but Sebastian knows that doesn’t mean shit. 

Now, Sebastian looks into his wide, guarded eyes and thinks about how his first task as a solo practitioner is going to be forcing this person to undergo a full panel of invasive testing. And he feels the first spark of what he’s sure will stoke a flame of the desire to see this place burn.

Jiujiu Gets A Puppy

Wei Wuxian wants to get Jiang Cheng a gift.

He’s trying to be brave, okay? And no one can be afraid of dogs forever. Have you SEEN puppies?

There’s now a part 2! Mao’er Makes A Friend

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

“Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to do this.” Wei Wuxian knew he was whining and hoped it worked.

It did not. 

“This was your idea,” Lan Zhan reminded him implacably. He continued to move up the stairs at an unnecessarily brisk pace, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion.

“It was a terrible idea. Why do we let me have ideas?” Wei Wuxian tugged Lan Zhan’s sleeve. 

“It is a good idea. A kind and thoughtful idea because you are a kind and thoughtful man.” 

Instead of pausing, Lan Zhan moved his arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist and propelled him forward.

“That’s not true. Ask anyone.”

Finally, Lan Zhan stopped. “Wei Ying. Do you truly want to leave?”

The genuine concern in his voice made Wei Wuxian feel guilty. He switched tactics.

“Why do I have to do it myself? Couldn’t we just have Jin Ling pick one out and send it to Jiang Cheng with our compliments?” He thought this was a particularly good plan, but Lan Zhan shook his head.

“Jin Ling said if you pick it out yourself, you will be less likely to be afraid when it grows up.”

“What if I’m afraid of it now?” The whining was back, and this time he actually meant it. The thought of going near a slobbering toothy monster weighed like a heavy stone in his gut.

“Wei Ying.” This time Lan Zhan’s voice was soft and soothing. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand and pulled him up the last stair. “They were only born a week ago. Jin Ling says you will be safe.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. “What does he know? He’s a child.”

“Thanks, da-jiu.” The young man striding toward them had a frown on his face. “Now I am sorry I left the rest of my dogs inside.”

Attempting to distract Jin Ling from that terrifying thought, Wei Wuxian laughed and bypassed propriety, folding his nephew into an enthusiastic hug. Jin Ling accepted it for a brief moment, having learned it was hopeless to argue, before pushing Wei Wuxian away.

“Come on, then. Even you can’t hate a newborn puppy.”

Wei Wuxian hesitated, but his traitorous husband followed Jin Ling across the plaza, and eventually Wei Wuxian had to jog to catch up.

To his surprise, they didn’t go to the dog yards behind the stables. One of the first things Jin Ling had done after officially being named the Lanling Jin zongzhu was to start getting dogs. It had seriously made Wei Wuxian doubt his nephew’s sanity, but he had to admit, it was nice of Jin Ling to build the low, tidy buildings to keep the dogs when Wei Wuxian visited. The gesture had made for a peaceful three years of visits.

Instead, they headed through one of the inner courtyards of Lanling Tower to the guest quarters that were set aside for his and Lan Zhan’s use. 

“We can only stay for a few minutes. They’re too young to be away from their mother for very long and I thought you’d rather not encounter a full grown dog,” Jin Ling explained as they entered the room, and Wei Wuxian looked at him suspiciously, the words sounding a bit too much like mocking.

There was a huge wooden box in the center of their room and it was making noise. A squeaking noise. Wei Wuxian decided he would be fine here by the door, but he didn’t get a choice.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes,” he complained when Lan Zhan tucked an arm around Wei Wuxian’s elbow and dragged him forward.

“Da-jiu, just sit here,” Jin Ling said, gesturing to a wide cushion on the floor. “I’ll bring you a puppy.”

“Lan Zhan, just sit here,” Wei Wuxian said, gesturing to the cushion, and without rolling his eyes, Lan Zhan did, letting Wei Wuxian settle in front of him.

He knew it was foolish, to be a grown man afraid of dogs. He had fallen from the sky into hell. He had died. He had watched so many people he loved leave him and yet it was always the sound of barking, the expected flash of teeth, the feral eyes that made reason abandon him. He scooted backward until he ran into Lan Zhan. 

Lan Zhan. 

Lan Zhan. 

He repeated the name over and over in his head, a calming mantra, while he watched Jin Ling. His nephew’s face looked completely different crouched next to the box. He was softer, his mouth tipped in a sweet smile, and Wei Wuxian could suddenly imagine him as a toddler. Or a child, being handed his first dog by his uncle, and Wei Wuxian was suddenly sorry that it hadn’t been him.

And then Jin Ling was sitting in front of him, and Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s steading hand in the middle of his back.

“Their eyes are just starting to open, but this one’s hasn’t yet,” Jin Ling told Wei Wuxian, holding out his cupped hands.

Wei Wuxian didn’t really want to touch it, but he couldn’t help it. It was so small, it could hardly be called a dog at all. It made a strange grunting noise when he touched its nose, and he jumped, looking at Jin Ling with worry.

“Is it okay? Should it make that noise?”

Jin Ling was clearly making an effort to be patient. “She’s fine. She’s just a baby. Puppies are hungry all the time, so anytime you touch their face, they think you’re going to feed them. I’m going to hand her to you now, okay? Please don’t drop my puppy.”

Oh, that was a bad idea. That was a much worse idea. He tried to say no, but Lan Zhan interrupted him.

“Hold the puppy, Wei Ying, and I will hold your hands.”

Jin Ling slid the puppy into Wei Wuxian’s cupped hands, supported by Lan Zhan’s hands, and it made the noise again, this time accompanied by wiggling on his palms like a fat furry fish. He could feel her tiny toes digging into his skin, but it didn’t hurt, just tickled. He looked at Jin Ling, who was hiding a smile.

Wei Wuxian held the puppy up a little higher and peered into her black and white face. As Jin Ling had said, her eyes were closed, and her ears were barely even triangles. She had a pink nose with a black smudge under it, right above her frowning mouth.

“She has eyebrows,” Wei Wuxian said in surprise. “And a mustache.”

Lan Zhan moved his hand to pet the puppy’s back and she squirmed again, grunting and crying, tracking the touch with her wobbly head. Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s delighted inhale, and he gave in a little. He was not going to admit out loud that the puppy was cute, but she was. She was very cute. He wanted to sniff the puppy and pet her nose again, but before he could make a complete fool of himself, Jin Ling moved to take her back, returning her to the box.

“Well, da-jiu? Still scared?”

“They grow up,” Wei Wuxian argued, without answering the question. “They grow up and bite.” “Not if you raise them well and give them love,” Jin Ling retorted. “Only if you starve them and treat them badly. Are you planning to starve and abuse the puppy?” Wei Wuxian glared at Jin Ling, who glared back before raising his eyebrows and laughing.

“You like her! Da-jiu, I’m proud of you. Come look at all of them.”

He was being condescended to by a child, Wei Wuxian thought, but he didn’t resist when Jin Ling grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the box to stare down at five wriggling potatoes. They were all different colors, from the black and white one he had held to one that was almost completely white. One rolled on its back, exposing a spotted belly, and it snorted irritably until Jin Ling turned it back over.

“Next time you come, you can pet one of the other ones. They should all have their eyes open by then. Hanguang-Jun, will you make sure he comes back every week until they’re ready to go to new homes? It should be about four months.” “Four months?” Wei Wuxian yelped, but Jin Ling would not be dissuaded.

“Four,” he said firmly. “They’ll be weaned and trained by then. I won’t let you give one of my dogs to jiujiu until it’s been properly trained.”

“I always knew you’d be a tyrant,” Wei Wuxian muttered, following Lan Zhan back out into the courtyard.

“Well, then you shouldn’t have saved my life,” his nephew reminded him cheerfully.

Wei Wuxian turned to grab Jin Ling’s arm, remembering something serious. “Jin Ling, don’t tell Jiang Cheng. If...if I can’t do it...when they get bigger...I don’t want him to be disappointed.”

Jin Ling looked at him with his mother’s face when he patted Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “I won’t. But you won’t disappoint him.”

It was daunting to have Jin Ling have such faith and trust in him, and Wei Wuxian took a deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll be back.”

Wei Wuxian was quiet on the walk back down the tower stairs and when they got to the bottom, Lan Zhan stopped him, angling his head curiously, waiting for Wei Wuxian to say whatever it was he was thinking.

“Do you really think this is a good idea? Or will it just remind him of all the dogs he couldn’t have because of me?”

Lan Zhan’s forehead creased in consideration, and Wei Wuxian loved him for taking his question seriously. “Yes. It is a good idea. Moving forward is a good idea.”

When Wei Wuxian still didn’t look convinced, Lan Zhan sighed. “Do you want to walk or fly with me?”

The question got the response it intended. “Fly, please.”

“Does flying with me make you happy? Or does it remind you of all the times you could not?” Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. “Well, it didn’t until now,” he grumbled. “Fine, you’re right. It’s a good idea. Are we still going to fly home?”

In answer, Lan Zhan pulled him onto Bichen and Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Are you proud of me too?” he whispered, not sure if Lan Zhan would hear him, but of course he did. He always did.

“Of course I am. I always am.”

And that was enough.

What’s Coming to Me Part 9

Master <Part 8 Part 10>

Pairing: Crosshair x Sniper Reader (GN)

Rating and warning: killing and ambivalence to killing

Beta Reader: @unfocusedfish (Updated 7/10/22)

a/n: Decided to split this up into two parts. I wrote more than I thought I would. I did not think I would go so long in this story but it might be longer than my first. Anyway, I am sorry it has been so long for nothing exciting. It's got soft Crosshair though.

Traveling long distances through space never bothered you before. In the past, you didn’t have annoying feelings or morals to eat at you from the inside. It was like your head was filled with tiny buzzing insects now, or maybe the sound of a holofax machine receiving data. Your leg, no matter how much you tried, would not stop bouncing, your fingers twitching, and thoughts were at lightspeed, only bringing up more questions and problems rather than answering anything.

The only thing that was slow, was time and its passing.

Crosshair pretended not to notice at first, only looking at you from the side. When you couldn’t sit any longer, he silently watched as you paced. His eyes tracked you, somewhat like a painting’s eyes that follow you around the room no matter the angle you looked at it.

Your mind couldn’t decide what to do after Crosshair. Quit your job? Do you need to put in a formal resignation as a bounty hunter? Are you even quitting or becoming pickier about your clientele? Does that mean you’ll work for the Republic? Does the Republic even hire bounty hunters?

Then there’s the deal of reparations. Do you have to be held accountable for what you did or can you just… start being a good person right now? Is that the goal now, anyway? Who’s standard of ‘good’ are you going to use anyway, the Republic’s? Because they have committed war crimes—

Your thoughts came to a screeching halt when you felt a hand on your wrist. “Please, sit down. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep going.” Crosshair’s voice held true to his sarcastic nature, but his eyes showed a bit of something else. Concern, maybe.

Hesitantly, you sat down next to Crosshair and resisted the urge to curl into yourself. You didn’t want to look weak, but it took too much energy to turn off your mind. You vaguely knew Crosshair was still observing you and it only made you twitch more. It didn’t help that a part of your dilemma was thinking about what you had done not long ago, sharing the air so close to the clone. Your face was getting hotter, you could tell as you hid your face behind your hands.

After what felt like hours, Crosshair sighed. “Tech paces and gets fidgety when knowledge alone can’t save the day. He’ll look up every grain of information that could possibly be relevant until he can’t look at the screen of his holopad anymore or because Hunter ripped it away from his grasp.” His voice was soft but caught you off guard. The two of you made eye contact and he must have read the confusion on your face.

Crosshair blinked and looked away before continuing. “You asked about my brothers, once. Back in the cave.” Nodding slowly, the memory resurfacing. “Figured now was a better time than any if it gets you to stop thinking so loud.” You allowed the teasing remark to roll off of you, reading into the kindness he was granting you in this moment. Did he not see that it was this kindness that broke you? Maybe he did and was doing this on purpose. Crosshair seemed to enjoy the pain of others.

“Hunter was weaker when we were younger. The accelerated aging really messed with his heightened senses and the long necks didn’t give an osik about it, ready to decommission him since he didn’t immediately fill in the role of leader. The rest of us covered for Hunter while he trained to get control of his senses. Tech actually studied the Force and used Jedi tactics to help him. To prove himself, Hunter got the skull face tattoo. Do you know how much face tattoos hurt, especially when it’s a reg who doesn’t like you doing it? We never thought he needed to prove himself like that, but kriff did it ever demonstrate his stubbornness.

“Wrecker lost his eye in an explosion. Tech had overestimated his own knowledge of explosives, building something unstable. Wrecker realized it and protected Tech but at a cost. Tech thought Wrecker would never forgive him, worried about it the whole time and barely looking at Wrecker once he was released from Medical. Wrecker isn’t like that though. Sometimes, I think he’s the best of us, in a way. Has no room for grudges, a gentle giant. He just picked up Tech one day and asked when he was going to try making another EMP.

“Echo… was a harder adjustment. Not because he didn’t belong, but because of my own problems. You get pushed around by regs your short excuse of an existence, you think you know them all. They love to have their own individuality but something about a squad who looked more different from the template made them viscerally reject us. Tech said something once about how we responded to the treatment by perpetrating the alienation or some kark, it sounded like bantha fodder. We went on a suicide mission to go rescue a certainly dead clone. It made me angry to see the Captain in charge get so determined to find him, knowing none of the regs would do the same for us.

“When we finally got to him, it seemed too good to be true. Hunter expressed as much, pointing out that he could just be a part of the Separatists’ plan. We still had doubts until Echo had pushed himself to finish the mission, against all odds. Hunter saw something in him after that and offered him a place on the team. I was distant, more than usual. He made me unreasonably angry. A reg, fitting in just like that? It didn’t take him long to start throwing in his own brand of snark, questioning Hunter’s decisions, nagging Tech about his experiments, and reprimanding Wrecker when he was too reckless. It took… longer than I care to admit to realize he brought empathy to the team, wanting to keep us in check just a little. It would be an understatement to say we worked better after he joined.”

Crosshair shifted uncomfortably, falling silent. It was the most you had ever heard him speak at once, knowing he barely spoke to you and that was to compensate for your lack of speaking. Your heart ached from the amount of love he had for his brothers, something you saw in his observations more than the words he used. You couldn’t help but look at him with fondness in your eyes. He eventually looked over at you before instantly regretting it, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type,” Crosshair huffed.

Hearing about his brothers humanized them on a level you hadn’t considered. Of course, they fought with each other and didn’t always get along. Relationships of any kind were messy, which is why you worked alone. How can you trust someone to have your back? But hearing about them made you want to try. Experiencing the thrill earlier back in the forest only proved it was possible. Crosshair may have had it easier in the way that his squad was formed but that didn’t guarantee it would work as well as it did. For you to get that, you would have to start from the ground up.

The ship shook under you, and you realized that you already had the foundation of a found family connection. You were just too blind to see it.

You found a holopad and got to work.

Once satisfied, you walked toward the cockpit. Nuwa had obviously dosed off for a bit, reclining back in the pilot’s seat and his feet crossed up against the dash. You made enough noise to wake him up as you sat in the copilot seat but pretended not to notice as he jerked awake.

“What’s going on? No, I wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes, everything is fine.” He started to press some buttons. You fiddled with the holopad nervously before holding it out for Nuwa to take.

He hesitated but eventually took it. “What more demands? Are we going to make a stop at Space Whataburger before we hit Tatooine? Actually, I might be fine with—” Nuwa became fixated on the information on the holopad. “Quiet… what… did you clear my debt with the Hutts? This isn’t a joke, is it?” You huffed at the implication. The Hutts owed you a few favors and you called them in. A few hundred credits was also bargained from, but you had plenty with all the jobs you’ve taken. “So, you did but why? I can’t pay you back, obviously. Wait, you’re not in love with me are you?” You gave the Nautolan an incredulous look before smacking him upside the head. “Okay, okay, sheesh I was just checking.”

He probably wouldn’t believe that you were doing this in a more altruistic sense, so you were going to have to convince him it was for your benefit. You rolled your eyes while you stood up and made a show to tap on the dash.

“Ooooohhhhh, you want to get there faster. This would make things so much easier, yeah. Duh. Well, it’s as they say, Ibi'tuur cuyir a jate tuur par ash'ad at kyr'vhetine.” You couldn’t help the confusion that crossed your face and knit your brows together. The phrase was something you told yourself a lot when you started out, however the Nautolan’s phrasing was off. Nuwa caught onto your uncertainty. “Haha, maybe they don’t say that anymore.”

Maybe helping Nuwa was a mistake.

You left before he could make you regret your decision further.

Part 10

______________________________________________________________________

Notes:

Gif is made by me :)

Mando'a

osik - shit

Ibi'tuur cuyir a jate tuur par ash'ad at kyr'vhetine - it's a good day for someone else to harvest. Harvest and die are similar words, Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur being the correct phrase, "...for someone else to die"

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deactivated: @xxspqcebunsxx

If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me an ask or fax me a picture of a crab

Tempered Glass: Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of wounds, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: Chance brought you and the Mandalorian together on Nevarro. Now, on his ship, you have to broker a careful trust with him, despite both his and your instincts to distrust others. Notes: I’ll be loosely following the events of the first season and see what happens from there. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Taglist:  @bbdoyouloveme​ @beskarhearts​ @dincrypt​ @honey-hi​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​ @red-leaders​ @zoemariefit​ 

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Before you could decide what to say to him, the Mandalorian rushed across the hull in two long strides and grabbed your shoulders forcefully, lifting you from your seated position and pushing you up against the wall. You exclaimed in surprise as a strong forearm came up to hold your chest in place, restricting the expansion of your lungs in a painful way. Your hands automatically scrabbled against his arms, trying to break his grip, but his hold was iron. He was leaning all his weight into you, crushing you into the wall, and even bracing your legs against his armored thighs didn’t budge him.

“Who sent you?” he yelled, his helmet inches from your face. The depth and rasp of his voice through the modulator made your stomach drop, and your fight instincts kicked into high gear.

Here’s the Mandalorian I was expecting.

Your upper arms were trapped against your sides, but you could lash out just enough to dig your fingers into his injured side, exploiting his weakness. He grunted and faltered, loosening his hold, and you took the chance to shove him off of you while pulling the long knife from your belt and whipping it up to his neck. At this same time, he recovered and yanked his blaster out of his holster to press the barrel into your stomach. His left hand had a vice-like hold on your bicep.

“No one! No one sent me!” you panted. Your right hand pressed your knife against the fabric at his throat, and your left gripped the back of his neck so he couldn’t move away from the blade. Your finger hovered over the activation switch on the hilt.

In this position, you had to tilt your head up to look into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. You tried to make out his eyes, but all you could see was your own reflection in the inky black surface. You were sweaty and out of breath. His breath was fast and loud through the modulator, chest heaving just inches from yours. This is not an opportune time to be turned on.

“Why were you following me this morning?” he demanded. So he had known.

“Why were you watching me in the cantina a few weeks ago?” you countered.

He tensed, surprised by the question, and cocked his head to the side, considering. “...You looked familiar,” he offered.

Maybe he really had recognized me from my bounty puck, like the bounty hunter in the alley today.

As you contemplated this possibility, the threat you each posed to the other became almost palpable.

He was worried that you were after him or the child—both of whom were clearly high-value targets. And if you had really run into him by chance and didn’t know that before, then you obviously knew how much they were both worth now. You could easily take advantage of that. You, on the other hand, suspected that he knew you yourself had a bounty on your head—and here you were, on his ship, mostly at his mercy. However, you’d say the stakes were higher for him. He had more than just himself to worry about. He clearly cared about whoever this child was.

“I wasn’t following you today. I wouldn’t have been so obvious if I was tracking you. Is that how you would follow a bounty? I was trying to talk to you,” you admitted.

He seemed unsure of whether or not he should believe you. His grip on your arm loosened almost imperceptibly. You reciprocated by easing the pressure of your hold on his neck.

Perhaps, the fact that you were both so vulnerable meant you could come to an understanding.

“Can we just talk? I’m not after you or the kid. I don’t even know why they’re after you. I saw you the other day in the cantina, and I was curious about why you were watching me, so I followed you to talk today. Then I got caught in the fray when I ran into you in the alley. That’s it. It sounds ridiculous, but that’s it. Let’s lower these and just talk.”

You hoped you could earn back the fragile trust you’d had between you just minutes ago on Nevarro, but you had no reason real reason to trust each other. It was clear that neither of you was used to trusting others.

Trust was a bad habit you’d had to unlearn to survive, and the same was true for bounty hunters. His was also a brutal, solitary profession.

But, there was also no explicit reason you had to be enemies.

He hesitated. “You first.” His voice rasped in the modulator.

You continued to hold him where he was, close to you, for another moment as you considered what to do. You didn’t want to hurt him, and it seemed like his instinct was to protect rather than attack.

You slowly released your grip on his neck and dropped your blade.

He lowered his blaster and replaced it in the holster at his side, still standing just inches from you. You knew that he was only open to this truce because there were several ways he could overpower you if he needed to. You hadn’t forgotten the fire that had erupted from his vambrace. He likely had a myriad of other deadly tricks up his sleeve—literally.

After a tense moment, you both stepped back.

“Why did you help me?” he asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Why did you help me?”

“I... don’t know. It made sense at the time.”

“Why’d you let me on your ship?”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you,” he shrugged, like that was obvious.

“Well, I appreciate that,” you laughed. He cocked his head in surprise. The tension thawed slightly.

You sat down on opposite sides of the hull, a safe distance apart, watching each other warily.

“Are you Guild?”

“I’m not a hunter.” He seemed skeptical but didn’t press the issue.

You reached for your bag, and he tensed.

“Just getting water.” You yanked your water bottle out of your bag and drank.

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “What weapons do you have?”

“Blaster, knife, spare blaster. Not quite the arsenal you have,” you motioned to where his weapons closet was partially open, displaying an impressive array of firearms, explosives, and knives.

He nodded and explained, “Weapons are part of my religion.”

“Right,” you muttered, not really sure what that meant. You met his visor briefly then looked away again. Having his attention trained solely on you felt like sitting under a spotlight. And it wasn’t just the threat of danger that made you squirm.

You flicked your eyes back up to him when he shifted. You followed his movements as he pulled the blaster from his holster and stood to put it on its hook in the closet, then did the same with his rifle and vibroblade. He clicked a button on the wall, and the weapons closet clanged shut. You were still acutely aware that his whole body was a weapon, so this gesture of peace was largely symbolic.

Nonetheless, you responded in kind by placing your large vibroblade and both your blasters on a crate out of your reach.

You sat in awkward silence for a moment. You weren’t really sure if these empty gestures meant anything real... or were just that—empty. How likely was it that you were going to progress from strangers to two people who actually trusted each other in the confines of this tiny ship within the span of minutes? Not very.

“I’m going to use the refresher,” you announced. He nodded.

His searing gaze followed you the short distance to the door, and you suddenly forgot what you usually did with your arms when you walked.

It was a relief to close the door behind you and be alone for a moment. When you washed your hands, you noted the generous amount of the Mandalorian’s blood drying on your fingers, smeared there from when you made contact with his blaster injury. From the looks of it, his injury was worse than yours.

You scrubbed your hands clean and leaned down to splash water on your face, wiping away the sweat and dirt on your brow. Then, you rested your palms on the edge of the sink and took a few steadying breaths, studying your face in the small mirror before you.

I’ve been in tighter spots than this.

And this time, like every one of those other times, you steeled yourself and concentrated on the next immediate step you could take to improve your situation. You let your anxiety fall away as you narrowed your focus to a tangible action: treating your thigh wound. If you let yourself consider more than that, spiral in uncertainty and linger on every unknown and variable in this situation, you’d feel overwhelmed.

One step at a time.

When you returned to the hull, you opened your bag to pull out your med pack, sat back on your crate, and got to work cleaning the graze wound through the hole the blaster shot had left in your pants. 

The Mandalorian reached into a container and pulled out his own much larger med pack. With precise movements, he removed his cape, his bandolier, and the top half of his armor. He turned away to pull up his shirt and inspect his wound. He was careful to stay angled in a way so you couldn’t see any of his exposed skin—you weren’t sure if he didn’t want you to know the extent of his injury or if he wasn’t allowed to reveal any of his skin to you.

From the way he was contorting awkwardly, it was clear that he was struggling to reach the extent of the wound.

“Do you want help?” you offered, knowing he’d refuse. You felt compelled to try anyways.

He snapped his helmet up to look at you, like he was surprised you were there. You waited for his answer. Several moments delayed, he jerked his head slightly, like he’d rediscovered a lost train of thought, and muttered: “I’m fine.”

You shrugged and finished tending to your own wound. When you had finished tying a clean bandage around your thigh, you noticed he was squeezing a tiny amount of bacta from an almost empty tube.

“Do you need this?” You held your full tube out to him.

He looked up. Again, he seemed to have forgotten you were there, or perhaps, was so caught off guard by your question, that his answer came after a long stretch of silence. It seemed like a weird reaction to such benign questions.

“Thank you,” he replied, dropping his shirt to walk toward you.

He reached for the bacta, but instead of taking the tube, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it hard. You cried out in pain as the bacta clattered to the floor. His free hand whipped behind his back to grab a pair of cuffs from his belt. Despite your struggling and flailing, he wrenched your arm over and cuffed your hand to a rung of the ladder that was just a few inches to your left.

You kicked out a foot to trip him, but he evaded it. You reached for him with your unrestrained hand, but he jumped back.

Shit. You cursed yourself for placing your weapons out of reach. The small blade strapped to your ankle wouldn’t be of much help at the moment. You let out a frustrated huff of anger. You were better than this, smarter than this.

“I’m sorry. I have to,” he insisted. He started to pace back and forth.

“You really don’t,” you argued, as you slouched against the wall in defeat. He’d cuffed you part way up the ladder, so your arm stretched uncomfortably above your head when you sank to the floor. You rubbed your free hand over your face, thinking.

“I can’t risk it,” he continued, almost apologetic in tone. He seemed to be convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He tilted his helmet down at you: “Nothing?”

“I mean, what’s the long term plan here?”

“I’ll leave you somewhere nearby—you can choose the planet—but I need to sleep before I can do anything else. And well...” he gestured vaguely to you then to the compartment where the kid was sleeping.

You watched him resume his circuit of the tiny hull and weighed your options. There weren’t many, and the fact that he was so worried about what you’d do to him or to the kid made you feel less threatened by him. He was spending his time thinking about how you might hurt him, not about how he could take advantage of you. At least, you hoped that was the case.

“I understand,” you relented, letting out a heavy sigh. At least he didn’t freeze me in carbonite.

He froze midstride to stare down at you.

As annoyed as you were by the restraints, you couldn’t really blame him. Honestly, you’d do the same exact thing if you were in his position. You’d already started thinking about the safest way to get some sleep in his presence—your next clear course of action—knowing that your temporary truce was fragile.

He regarded you silently, as if waiting for the catch.

“You could have just asked. I probably would have tried to talk you out of it, but I really do get it. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

He stood, looking down at you, incredulous.

It was strange, but not unfamiliar, to have to read someone in full armor, to take all cues from body language and tone. And in the Mandalorian’s case, even his tone was somewhat obscured. You stared back up into his blank helmet but felt sure you were reading him pretty well.

You glanced up at the handcuffs and were comforted by the knowledge that you could pick the mechanism fairly easily with some combination of your small vibroblade, the bobby pin in your hair (which was only there for this express purpose), and—if it came to it—the underwire of your bra. You’d done it before.

He doesn’t need to know that.

It seemed like, as someone who regularly restrained people, he should assume you could pick locks, but you weren’t about to bring that to his attention. You were going to let him think you were completely at his mercy because clearly that’s what he needed to feel safe. Plus, you didn’t want him to resort to a more extreme means of restraining you.

“Could you at least cuff me to something so I can lie down?” You wiggled the arm that was stretched awkwardly over your head.

He tucked his thumbs into his belt and cocked his head as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trick. He sighed quietly though the modulator.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, striding forward to unlock the cuffs. You held your hands up in surrender. He led you toward a spot along the wall where a pipe ran a few inches off the floor and gestured for you to sit by it.

When he leaned over your body to snap the cuffs to the pipe, you caught a glimpse of his neck, where a sliver of skin was exposed between his cowl and his helmet. His skin was golden brown—definitely not green like the child, definitely human. It was less than an inch of skin, but you couldn’t help but feel that you’d witnessed something scandalous or intimate, like you’d accidentally walked in on someone changing. You also couldn’t help but notice that he smelled good under the faint odor of metal and blaster residue.

He wasn’t rough when he secured your hand in the cuffs this time.

Walking around the hull, he collected a ration pack and a thick blanket from two different crates and grabbed your water bottle from where you’d left it by your bag. He tossed the items to you one at a time.

Thoughtful.

He picked up your bacta from where it had fallen to the floor and sat back down to finish tending to his own wound.

You pulled the blanket under you so you weren’t sitting on the cold, hard floor of the ship and leaned back against the wall.

You opened the ration pack, picking at the contents, and considered the man before you.

You had a million questions for him but somehow couldn’t think of one thing to say. Nothing seemed particularly pressing as the stress and exertion of the day were beginning to catch up with you. He wasn’t a particularly chatty guy and didn’t seem interested in conversation beyond determining whether or not you were trying to abduct his child—and the jury was clearly still out on that front as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, he finished treating his wound and replaced his upper armor. He disappeared into the refresher for a few minutes then returned to what you had assumed was a storage bay, where he had placed the child. After shifting the child gently, he climbed—in full armor—into the smallest, most ridiculous bunk you’d ever seen before closing the door and disappearing from view. Doesn’t he have a room?

You finished the ration pack, kicked off your boots, and curled up in the blanket to lie down. You were grateful that your physical exhaustion was absolute. Otherwise, you were sure your mental chatter would have kept you awake. You needed rest before you could decide your next move. Telling yourself that you’d just doze, not sleep deeply, your eyelids drifted shut almost unwillingly.

***

The next morning, you woke to the Mandalorian leaning over you to release your wrist from the cuffs. You started at his unexpected closeness, jerking back, and he looked down. Clearly, you’d fallen into a deep sleep for several hours. Whoops.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You still weren’t used to that rich, raspy voice. Does it ever not sound seductive? It didn’t help that you could smell him again when he was leaned over you like that. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to move away.

“That’s okay.”

He stood, clipping the cuffs to the back of his belt. You sat up, leaning against the wall, and rubbed your eyes.

He sat on a crate across from you, with the baby on his lap, feeding him little pieces of something gross looking. The kid was perched happily on his knee, wiggling his giant ears in satisfaction as he chewed and watching you with unguarded interest.

“Who is that?” you asked.

The baby was alert and cheery, periodically letting out joyful little chirps, a marked difference from their subdued temperament the night before.

“He was a bounty,” the Mandalorian stated simply, as if that explained the whole situation.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his non-answer and didn’t respond. Obviously, there was more to the story, but he didn’t want to share it. That was fine. You didn’t owe each other anything (except maybe your lives, but in that regard, you figured you were even).

You watched the Mandalorian. He was sweet with the child—patient, too—but awkward and unsure. You didn’t have all that much experience with children either, but you knew holding a baby out in front of you with straight arms, as you’d seen him do for a moment yesterday, was not normal. He seemed caring and invested but inexperienced.

How long has he had this baby?

“I think we can help each other.” The Mandalorian spoke slowly, interrupting your train of thought.

This development surprised you, especially considering he’d made you sleep cuffed to a pipe.

From the moment you set eyes on the armored warrior, you had expected him to be cold, withholding: a lone wolf. In some ways, he was—the armor alone was enough to make him seem hostile and untouchable—but in other ways... He was almost... kind? He’d protected you, a stranger, without hesitation. The fact that he was caring for a wanted child was another piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.

“How’s that?” You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket in your hands.

You hadn’t had the chance to formulate a full plan for yourself, but you didn’t really need to. You’d do what you’d always done: disappear. You’d lay low for a few weeks, then return to one of the three places you had hidden supplies: namely, new identification and credits. And then you’d disappear again. Maybe change your hair. Find a temporary job somewhere. Same old routine.

“The same people are after both of us.”

You snapped your head up to look at him.

“They saw you holding the kid and board the Crest. They know you’re with me,” he continued.

The same set of questions played in your head: Did he recognize me as a bounty that day in the cantina? Or did he notice the moment when the bounty hunter had recognized me in the alley yesterday? Or does he really just think I’m caught up in this with him because of pure chance?

He took your silence as an invitation to proceed.

“I can drop you off on a nearby planet. We can go our separate ways, but I think they’ll be looking for you too. It might be best to stay together for the moment.” He spoke carefully, like he knew he was out on a limb, and he didn’t expect you to agree. This was the most you’d heard him say at once. When you really considered it, he was right. Based on they way the fight went down, with you and the Mandalorian protecting each other, everyone would conclude that you were a team. That’s how the word would spread. Hunters would come after you both. If they found you separately, they’d assumed you knew where the other one was.

Between bites, the kid let out the cutest, tiniest sneeze you’d ever heard. The Mandalorian wiped his nose gently with the edge of his cape, and the softness of the gesture made your heart squeeze. You looked away briefly to hide the smile on your face.

You turned back to him, expression neutral, meeting his inscrutable gaze once again. “We’d be harder to find if we went our separate ways. We could lead them in two different directions,” you reasoned, trying to parse out all the options.

“I... feel bad that they’d come after you for no other reason than you happened to run into me in an alley.”

Again, his thoughtfulness surprised you.

For now, it seems safe to assume he doesn’t know about my bounty.

And you weren’t ready to share that yet...even though you knew hiding it was unfair to him and to the child. They were both already at risk. If you decided to stay with him for the moment, you’d eventually need to admit that you were a liability all on your own.

Not yet though.

“What’s your plan?”

“Head somewhere deserted. Lay low for a couple weeks, then go from there.”

That’s what you would be doing alone anyways. He’d already proven his skill in battle. Would it be so bad to have someone looking out for you for once?

It would be a relief, if you were being totally honest with yourself.

“Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. “For now, this makes sense,” you gestured between you two.

He nodded once.

You posed the question that was plaguing you: “What made you change your mind about me? Why are you trusting me all of a sudden?”

“You stayed cuffed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. Apparently, it had been a test, and you had passed. I guess he was being smart, not underestimating me. 

He seemed satisfied to leave the conversation there, but your curiosity got the better of you. You took the chance to build on this blossoming trust.

“So, does the helmet stay on all the time?”

He met your gaze for a moment before looking down at the kid and saying, “No living being has seen my face since I was a child. This is the way.”

Well, that’s super sad.

You thought back to the exchange between him and that huge blue Mandalorian. They’d both said the same thing then too.

Mandalorians have a catchphrase?

You wondered what this helmet rule meant in practice: for instance, does that mean he could be helmetless around someone if they couldn’t see his face... Like, were blindfolds or very dark rooms on the table? And what about the rest of the armor? Can he take that off? How bad should I feel that I’d seen a sliver of his neck? You wanted to know the answers to all these questions but obviously couldn’t ask.

Instead, you nodded and said, “What’s your name?”

“Mando is fine.” Impersonal. Business-like. It’s what Karga had called him.

His proposal to stay together for the time being had felt like an opening, but clearly peeling away all his layers of metaphorical armor would take a long time. He was so guarded, but it seemed like he didn’t really want to be. You related to that on a deep level.

“Mando?” You voiced the question that had popped into your head when Karga called him Mando the first time: “Isn’t Mandalorian spelled m-a-n-d-A-l-o-r-i-a-n?”

“...yes?” he confirmed tentatively, unsure of your point. His hand, which was in the process of feeding the child another bite, paused midair as he watched you. The kid made impatient whiny sounds and reached for his hand.

“So shouldn’t your nickname be Mand-a?”

He scoffed, making a sound somewhere between amusement and annoyance, and resumed feeding the child, who let out a contented coo as he chewed.

There was an awkward beat of silence while you waited for him to ask for your name. When he asked, you’d share your fake name, as always. 

He didn’t ask.

***

Chapter 3

Bear Trap (Part 2/3)

Art done by @doodles-by-noodles

Kyoko was hunched over Makoto, her eyes were darting from place to place over his body. Taking in every gash and tear before acting. Time was critical. She needed to know exactly how to treat him, or Makoto could die right there in front of her. Judging by the sound of his breathing, stressed and heavy, she could tell he’d already lost a lot of blood. Well, not that you needed her expertise to determine that. You could just look at the splattered pink around them. 

“It doesn’t look good,” She had said to Byakuya. It doesn’t look good. Seriously?

“No shit it doesn’t look good,” he spat out, sounding as intolerable as he did the first day they’d met in the killing game “I do have eyes, you know.“ 

Her right eye twitched. The logical side of her said this was just how Byakuya handled stress, by disconnecting himself and becoming irritable instead. The emotional side of her wanted him to shut the hell up. She opted to spare him little more than a glare before placing a hand on Makoto’s neck to check his pulse. It was beating rather hard and fast. It was strange really. She felt as though he was already dead. But that didn’t make any sort of logical sense. He was warm, he was still bleeding, he was shaking, and panting. All of this was right in her hands to be directly experienced. But he still felt like he was dead, putting her fingers to his limp neck. 

She had a morbid thought just then. About how her talents were used to help after a death, never really before one.

"You need bandages,” Byakuya said, ever so helpfully, “how else will you stop the bleeding? Or did the panic render you useless?" 

Kyoko took a deep breath. 

Makoto wouldn’t fight right now, not during an emergency, and neither would she. It’s just how he copes. It’s just how he copes…

"Tear up your jacket then.” She stated, “I’m not certain mine will be enough." 

She had to spark herself into action. She couldn’t let herself fall to something as simple as shock. She had been given mortician training as a part of the Kirigiri Family teachings so that she would have complete expertise on how different injuries came to be. She could glance at the wound on his back and see that it was given to him by the claws of a Mono Unit at a rather awkward angle. As she tied torn pieces of her blazer around his wounds so that they’d hold pressure - she only had two hands after all - she was able to get the entire story of all the brutal suffering Makoto just went through. 

She had seen bodies fresh from the morgue slapped down onto a table in front of her. She had witnessed the aftermath of horrors such as slit throats and dismemberment. She had once solved a case in which she found the victim’s severed head hidden underneath the floorboards in a safe. But Makoto’s disfigured leg, mangled to the point where she wondered how it was hanging on, bone sticking out after tearing through the skin, sharp from where metal teeth caused a clean break: THIS out of everything that she had witnessed in her life was what made her want to throw up. 

His arm was also rather damaged. It was hard to make out under torn fabric and blood, but it seemed more salvageable than his leg…she just needed…

"Togami. Your jacket.” Her tone was unforgiving. 

“I’m working on it.” Byakuya retorted back, a hint of offence in his voice.

It’s just how he copes. She felt like her patience for Byakuya was a rubber band in her hands, slowly getting pulled in either direction.

“Work harder." 

"You should be concerned with yourself.”

Deep breaths. The band was taut, shaking from force.

“Is this the best of your abilities?" 

The band snapped. 

"At least I’m actually doing something to help him!" 

Byakuya paused midway through tearing his blazer. Byakuya thought of himself as a capable man, but all his capable talents extended only towards self preservation. The one time he wished he had the skills to help someone else he could only stand and watch. There was nothing that Byakuya hated more  than being helpless. Kyoko’s words reminded him of the time Aoi slapped him back in the killing game. One of the many wake up calls Byakuya had received over the past few years. 

He could remember as clear as day, the wake up call that Kyoko herself had given him back when they hated each other. His fury at being incorrect over Sakura’s death, at not understanding the case, had all been snuffed out when Kyoko told him he simply lacked any emotional capacity to understand. Kirigiri Kyoko of all people. 

Hearing her remind him of his uselessness now with such a harsh tone. Well, it felt like she hated him all over again. 

He was still angry. Angry that he cared, angry that he wasn’t prepared, angry that he was faltering.

"What do you expect me to do?” He demanded. He spat out the words, but his heart was desperate to be given a task. 

“Make sure our emergency call earlier went through. Update the Foundation on the situation.” Right, that all made sense. How had he not seen that before? It almost made the emergency feel like a quick business move. He could handle that. Kyoko looked up from tending a wound on Makoto’s stomach, the worry in her eyes made him feel sick. “…and when you’re done, try to keep him awake." 

"Keep him-? He’s awake?” The boy had been so still and silent since they’d discovered his mangled body Byakuya hadn’t even considered that possibility. Upon further inspection Byakuya realized Makoto was never still or quiet. The distance he’d kept away from the scene prevented him from hearing the panting or noticing the trembling racking his body. 

A simple “yes” was all he’d gotten in response. He didn’t push or question any further though, it was clear Kyoko had a lot to focus on right now. Makoto’s life was in her hands, and neither wanted him to die like this. Kyoko could only estimate the ETA on help arriving, and she was fearing they would be too late. Memories flashed through her mind of running stitches through the skin of a banana peel during training. But she had nothing to work with, and certainly nothing sterile. Kyoko didn’t believe in God, but she prayed that an infection wouldn’t strike later. 

It was looking hopeless. 

“They said they’ll be here with a helicopter in half an hour." 

Right. She forgot Byakuya was even there. She tied another knot over a wound. Despite her heartbeat moving her entire body with its pounding, her hands remained steady. Just like when stitching banana skin shut. Another deep breath, her hands will stay steady. Any mistake could cause an issue. Mistakes could cause browning fruit to gush between the stitches. Nothing more than an insignificant rotting pile of ruined fruit splattered and smothered against the street like-

"Don’t just stand there, ” she took another deep breath, her hands will stay steady, “keep him awake." 

When Byakuya came over to take place near Makoto’s head she waited for him to pass her the tattered cloths she’d been waiting for. She ended up discovering he’d already thrown them to her side. She needed to focus more. She was by Makoto’s lower body, only half a mind paying attention to what Byakuya was doing. 

Makoto had never looked so disgustingly pale before, and he was the kind of person to lose all color when frightened. His mouth was slightly parted as his breathing continued to take a toll on him. A cold sweat had begun to break out on his clammy face, with a fever glowing across his skin from the blood loss and pain. What made Byakuya the most concerned though were his eyes, half lidded and staring at nothing in particular. His eyes fluttered, but his pupils were lazily taking in the world around him as if he was trying to understand what was going on but couldn’t take hold of anything tangible.

Byakuya held a hand up and froze. He was unsure what to do, all of this was out of his element. He wanted to push it all an arm’s length away. It was a simple task. Just keep him awake. But did he know what to do? In movies he’d seen people slap others awake. But Makoto was hurt, so shouldn’t he be gentle? Why was he even fussing over the method? There was no need to hesitate. He’d touched a corpse before, he could push through any nerves to handle this.

Byakuya put a hand to his face. After an unsure pause his thumb slowly caressed the skin of his cheek in an act of comfort that Makoto probably didn’t even register.

"Naegi, can you hear me?" 

There was a delay in his response, eyes heavily rolling side to side before settling on Byakuya. After the first small victory he prepared to speak, licking his lips and swallowing thickly. The delay felt like hours.

"T'gami…..kun?” Makoto’s lips felt heavy as he spoke.

There was an ache in Byakuya’s chest that he wasn’t used to, “The one and only." 

Makoto let out a breathy laugh. His face turned into this familiar dopey, trusting smile that he hated and loved all at the same time. His eyes seemed to lose track of Byakuya for a moment, he tried to match where they went. 

"Hey, eyes on me.” Makoto’s expression seemed to sink a little.

“W-….where's….” He sounded completely breathless and confused, “where’s Kiri…?”

“She’s right here.”

His head barely moved as he tried to see past Byakuya. Through his blurred vision he could make out that familiar lavender hue. Even with the trembling caused from blood loss he relaxed at the sight, letting out a breath when he processed. He closed his eyes, he didn’t see any reason to be scared anymore. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. Open your damn eyes.” Byakuya sounded angry with him, but he was too busy basking in relief.  

“You're….both ok?” His voice was barely above a whisper, if it wasn’t so quiet around them Byakuya would have to strain to hear it. 

“Of course we are.” It was that rare reassuring tone from Byakuya. Short lived before the anger came back, “I believe I gave you an order did I not? Open your eyes." 

To stress his point, Byakuya patted the side of Makoto’s face repeatedly and rather annoyingly. Both of them felt like they should be worried at how hard it was for him to simply open his eyes. It was like prying something off of hardened glue. Byakuya grit his teeth, he had a dreadful feeling that if Makoto closed his eyes again they wouldn’t be opening any time soon. 

"ETA?” Kyoko asked bluntly.

Byakuya didn’t take his eyes off of Makoto, “five minutes haven’t even passed yet.” So, they’re both impatient then. Makoto seemed to grin a small bit hearing Kyoko’s voice. 

He’s conscious, Byakuya reminded himself, which means that he can keep him awake by talking. But what the hell could he say? His mind felt blank, desperately pulling at drawers to find a single conversation topic locked away in his mind. But Makoto’s eyes were still on him. Perhaps the contact was grounding enough? But for how long? Makoto’s breathing felt heavier than before. 

“Why is he breathing so hard?” He opted to talk to Kyoko instead. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"He’s warm.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"Shouldn’t that make him cold?" 

"I’d rather it not get that bad. I’m sure his hands are cold if you check.”

She was right, his hands were icy cold. Makoto’s hands always felt a little chilly compared to his. Byakuya always ran hot like a furnace while Makoto was always chilly enough to wear multiple layers (I mean, a hoodie under a blazer? Really Makoto?). But this sensation felt like there was no blood in his hands. Wasn’t that a symptom of shock? His body was prioritizing vital functions just to keep him alive. Byakuya wished he could roll Makoto onto his back and elevate his legs like he’d been taught. But he’d seen the gashes on his back. It was the only injury he really took in. 

“You idiot” the words came through grit teeth, “getting yourself into a mess like this for us to clean up. Typical." 

Guilt could be read on Makoto’s face for a moment. “…yeah.” Byakuya once again felt a pang in his chest. Was that really all Makoto had to say? 

Kyoko managed to do something while working that made Makoto wince. Byakuya didn’t think for once, he just continued to rub slow circles across Makoto’s face.

"Hang in there.” Makoto’s face hadn’t relaxed much, still strained with all the pain he was feeling, “I do not permit you to die like this. Understood?" 

Makoto groaned in response, leaning into the hand that was cupping his face. Once again his eyes lost track, doing a big loop around before snagging back onto Byakuya. 

"Hurts…” he said, breath hitching as more pain shot through his body. 

“You can handle this much. You’ll be fine.”

Earlier Makoto felt relaxed when Kyoko and Byakuya had arrived. Their very presence gave Makoto a hope that he’d survive this. But Byakuya’s expression had gone from angry to worried. His eyebrows were furrowed, creasing lines across his forehead. If even Byakuya was openly worried…how bad was it? 

Makoto felt another harsh shiver run through his body. His face felt hot but everything else was like sharp winter air kept blowing over his skin. As the shiver travelled up his spine it caused pain to flare again. He was met with a harsh reminder to open his eyes from Byakuya. His breathing felt even heavier than before, each breath taking more effort than the last. Byakuya’s face was shifting again, but Makoto could hardly make it out through the greying swirls of dots across his vision. Ah, Byakuya looked scared. So Makoto was going to die then? The only sound he could hear was his own rabbit quick heartbeat threatening to break free from his tattered ribcage. Byakuya’s mouth was moving, but none of it made sense to Makoto. He couldn’t even read his lips. One second it was quick, then slow, like time itself was blending together into something incomprehensible. 

Makoto blinked slowly. 

“Naegi?” Byakuya had gone from tapping his face to shaking his shoulder.  He didn’t get much else besides a distracted groan from Makoto. “Naegi, can you hear me?”

“Don’t shake him like that!” Kirigiri scolded, frustrated as she tried her best not to let the movement interfere with her work. 

Byakuya felt like a life was slipping through his finger tips. His own breathing felt tight in his chest from the pure anxiety that Makoto’s unresponsiveness gave him. 

“Naegi if you don’t answer me right now…” his nails dug into the boy’s shoulders.

Makoto’s eyes rolled up, dropped down, fell to the left, all as if there was a weight to it. Another slow blink. More odd drifting. Not a single response from him. 

“Makoto, say something…” Byakuya ordered, pausing to watch the boy’s face; his voice was quieter than he wanted to admit. “Makoto!" 

Makoto sharply inhaled at the sound. Byakuya sounded scared. Byakuya was never scared. "Nn….” Makoto frowned a little bit in worry. He felt like he was drowning, being pushed beneath thick murky water and whenever he got close enough to the surface to even understand a little bit of what was going on he was shoved back down again. He could see Byakuya look towards Kyoko for a moment and watched his expression fall. 

Focus…focus. If he could just make out the words they were saying. His vision left him for a moment, greying out as his body felt weirdly numb and tingly. It wasn’t a bad feeling. If Makoto were to die here and now…he’d be happy to die next to the people he loved with this strange not-bad feeling. It was much better than bleeding out alone and in pain surrounded by the mascot that caused all this suffering in the first place. He could just drift away, and be able to die peacefully, a luxury most people didn’t get any more. If he could see his own face he was sure a weak smile played on it. 

“What do you mean?!” Byakuya snapped, he glared at her out of habit.

“I mean… just look…” Kyoko’s busy hands paused momentarily to grab more fabric from the dwindling pile. Byakuya looked away from Makoto’s face and his breath caught in his throat. The limb Kyoko was working on barely resembled a leg anymore. She had done a decent job at cleaning up the wounds but it only made it more apparent how… disfigured it was. Nothing about it seemed right.

“He can’t-” the words welled up in Byakuya’s throat. He couldn’t speak the words into existence. If he did, then it would become an undeniable reality. 

But Kyoko didn’t have that same hesitation, “There’s no way his leg can recover from this, and that’s without factoring in the high risk of infection.”

Byakuya’s eyes were glued to the horrific sight. Despite the sight of death becoming background noise to them all, it put a pit in his stomach. He felt disgusting. Like any second now his lunch would come back up. Look closer…it was a miracle the leg was even hanging on at all. Kyoko was right. He would lose his leg. 

Makoto, just barely through the swirls of gray blurs and black spots, could see the desperation and worry on Byakuya and Kyoko’s faces. It was only a small thought  in the back of his mind at first. Just a little whisper. But eventually it became bright and loud. A scream next to his ears. A new hope. 

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. 

He couldn’t leave Byakuya and Kyoko heartbroken. They’d drown in the despair.  Letting their trusted friend, their partner in survival, die after doing everything they could to try and save him? It would be heartbreaking. But Makoto couldn’t even make out the color of sky anymore. He couldn’t move his fingers. He didn’t know if it was possible for him to get out of this one alive, but he wouldn’t spend his last moments watching people he loves suffer. 

“ ‘s… ok…y …gami” Makoto’s tongue felt like lead and moved sluggishly in his mouth. Byakuya wished he could take any form of comfort from the broken sentence. 

The fever from Makoto’s face had gone cold, leaving him with all his blood washed pale skin on full display. Byakuya had to pause to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t talk like that, you moron. I know what you’re trying to do.” and he did. Byakuya knew that Makoto was trying to make himself and Kyoko more at ease. Even while walking on a tightrope between life and death the bot still wanted to make sure his friends were okay. Byakuya felt rigid in a mixture of irritation and worry.

“It… d’sn’t hur.. nymore…’s okay." 

The words made cold fear run down Byakuya’s spine. He clenched his fists, glaring down at Makoto like he’d insulted him. But his voice was weak, "I told you to stop…" 

"Really…I pr…mise…’s not going to be bad…" 

Byakuya grinded down on his teeth with enough force to hurt his jaw. He exhaled harshly, ignoring Makoto’s words and turning to Kyoko, "Will you hurry up and save him already?!" 

"I’m doing my best! There’s not much I can do!" 

”’re both… really strong… you c’n overcome …‘nything…” Makoto felt a lump in his throat, he wanted to make it seem like everything was gonna be fine, but he knew that no matter what he said… Byakuya and Kyoko were smart. They were smart enough to know he was lying through his teeth. Maybe it was more for him than for them at this point.

“Dammit Makoto if you don’t stop fucking talking that-!“ 

"Tha…’s why I know….you’ll be okay…” He struggled to speak, tongue heavy as lead, and still he tried to make the words clear as possible. He was afraid, he didn’t want to go, not now. There were so many things left that he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to tell the two people in front of him how much he cared about them but all he could do was watch as their distress increased. His vision started to fade and he wanted to scream for it to come back. He struggled to breath.

“Makoto!" 

Byakuya took Makoto’s face in his hands again. The light in Makoto’s eyes were completely gone, unable to properly process the world around him. Despite Byakuya’s pleas steadily becoming more and more desperate for Makoto to stay awake, he slipped through his fingers like sand. With his eyes drifting to the right, Makoto fell away from the world. 

And both of them felt it with their own hands. They felt the exact moment Makoto lost consciousness for what could very well be the last time. They both stood there frozen in shock. Byakuya still had his hands on Makoto’s face, just watching as if any second he’d open up his eyes again and apologize for scaring them. Kyoko had her hands up, mid-wrapping wounds. She just stared blankly, unable to grapple with the idea that all her work may have been for nothing. 

They sat in silence. No one moved.

It felt like gravity had increased, time had slowed down to a crawl and even the gentle whistling of the wind felt subdued and gentle, as if even it didn’t want to disturb them. Neither wanted to be the first to move. If they were to move, what were they even supposed to do? Both of their minds seemed to cloud. Was it even worth it to move? Was there even a point? There was too much to process, too many unanswered questions. Too many calls to feelings that would be left unanswered. And yet the world kept spinning sluggishly as if nothing had happened at all. 

"Check…” Kyoko felt some clarity dig into her skull, sharp like a breath of cold air, “check his pulse." 

"Huh?" 

"Check his pulse…! Now!" 

They both jumped into action. Kyoko grabbed Makoto’s wrist, pressing two fingers into the pulseline with enough force to bruise. It was manic and ineffective. She didn’t even think about how she had her gloves on, she just needed to know now. Byakuya was pressing his fingers into Makoto’s cold neck again and again. He kept missing the pulse point and getting impatient when he felt nothing.

When they found it, they both sunk back with relief. They could have passed out from the rush of realization. It was weak, and way way too fast, but it was something dammit. He wasn’t gone yet. With a shaky yet confident breath, Kyoko got back to work, hands trembling ever so slightly. Enough for Byakuya to notice, but not enough to comment on. 

Byakuya slowly let go of Makoto’s neck. He dragged himself back to give Kyoko space. The pick up would be here soon. In an effort to keep contact with Makoto and stay out of Kyoko’s way, Byakuya positioned himself so that he could rest the boy’s head in his lap. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this position on any other day but in the moment that didn’t matter. He occasionally glanced up at Kyoko to watch her work, but stayed focused on Makoto. If Makoto woke up he was going to be right there and this time he wouldn’t let him slip away again. 

The pick up was almost there.

bang chan + smut

☾

requested; nope! word count; 1.5k warnings; fingering, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex

you know you’ve met hands with the devil himself when you signed those blood red papers with bright gold ink, the pen almost trembling between your fingers. demon!chan knew the thousand thoughts littered around your mind, but chose to keep quiet as he smirked through it all, hands clasped one above the other behind him.

you sigh and drop the pen next to the papers, looking up and around to see everything slowly morph into darkness; blood, fire, everywhere. your television and refrigerator are replaced by bright lava, spluttering everywhere. the smell of a rotten something lingers in the air —you can’t pinpoint if its eggs or a dead body— and looking up, you notice how your roof is replaced by the dark night sky filled with red and black dragons which was, just a mere minutes ago, spring blue sky with pigeons flying in peace.

“so, uh, i’ve signed the papers—”

“very well, y/n!” chan exclaims, holding the delicate pages carefully between his fingers as he moves close behind you. the atmosphere was already hot, but chan's breath dancing on your neck was hotter, the faint smell of chocolate and vanilla from him filling your lungs.

“so the deal is sealed. let me do the honours of walking you to you— my apologies, our room; may i?” he cocks an eyebrow, smirk never leaving his lips. he extends his hand forward for you to take, but you’re too full-of-ego to hold it, walking right past him.

that’s when chan knew he hadn’t gone wrong with his choice of picking you. he had hundreds of desperate females trying to get onto his good side, doing anything to please him. there were ladies trying to impress him, flaunting out of their homes to sign the ‘devil’s contract’ in a tight black dress, some even going as far as wearing red heels and devil horns. chan never liked those kinds of women; they were just a trial-and-error method to reach out to you — the real win. and now that you were finally wrapped around his little finger, he didn’t mind how you behaved around with him; he knew he had you all for himself.

he meandered close behind you, nudging you when you were going off the track to his room. as you went closer and closer to his room, the rotting smell started fading away, replaced by the intoxicating fragrance of just chan. the sweet vanilla and chocolate musk dominated your senses, almost as if you were under a spell. you didn’t realize when chan walked you into a dimly lit chamber, the interior looking all-too-familiar to your room. you take note of your neatly stacked clothes in one corner of the room; ‘wow, this is really serious business, huh?’ you think, licking your lips as you slowly feel yourself automatically comfortable in the room.

“yeah babygirl, it’s all serious business once you’re in the devil’s room,” chan chuckles, his expression morphing into a serious one, quirking his eyebrows as he leans closer to grab you by the waist, kissing you. 

you expect the kiss to be rough, full of lust, blood and greed; but surprisingly chan went at just the pace you wanted. not too fast, not too slow, just simply perfect. his tongue pushes into your mouth fluidly and right at that moment, chan tugs you to fall onto the bed, your back cushioned by the soft duvet underneath.

chan lies on top of you, soft lips abandoning yours as he moves lower to your jaw, bringing the skin between his slightly pointed teeth to softly nibble at it. you’re too sensitive at this point, almost down to tears when he grinds down on your clothed core with his bulge, pressure on your neck overwhelming you to the point your vision is clouded. the moan bubbling up your throat makes chan smirk against your skin, your grip in his hair tightening further.

“can i,” he kisses a light pink spot which’ll soon turn dark purple, “continue with this?” he asks ever-so-quietly, you wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for his sudden soft eyes staring down at yours.

you’ve signed the devil’s contract, goddamn it. why was he asking you that? wasn’t signing the contract already enough of a sign that you desperately wanted him to fuck the living daylights out of you?

your small trail of thoughts is interrupted by chan attacking your shoulders, swiftly unbuttoning your white shirt as he moved lower and lower to cup your breasts in his hands. he fondled with your clothed nubs, grazing the pads of his thumb over your nipples to drag another moan out of you.

“babygirl wants me to fuck the living daylights out of her?” he mocks, smiling against your shoulder. it hits you almost like a freight train when you realize he can listen to your mind, and you’re trying to scramble for your thoughts to come together, but it’s nearly impossible when chan can listen to anything you’re thinking about.

a soft giggle is heard, before he moves his plump lips lower and lower until he’s facing the waistband of your jeans. pulling them harshly so they’re off, he admires your squirming form under him, and he trails a finger up your thighs and right against your clothed heat, circling where your folds should be.

a choked moan leaves your lips and you arch your back just the slightest, chan's fingers rubbing slow circles on your covered cunt. he grins at how the fabric gets wetter and wetter, and he brings them aside to look at your glistening pussy, smirking before licking a thick strip from the base above; making you involuntarily shudder under him. 

he brings a hand around your waist to hold you down, soft lips rubbing on your clit. his tongue darts out and pushes against the bundle of nerves, and you can all but clutch the soft sheets beneath you tighter, sucking in the warm air of the room. he lazily laps his tongue and lips against your dripping heat, humming occasionally to run shivers up your spine. 

he pushes a finger between your folds, letting out a guttural groan against you as you clench around his appendage. your juices easily coat his digit as he thrusts them inside your hole, curling his finger to brush over your sweet spot deliciously. needless to say, you’re a moaning mess under him, a thin layer of sweat giving you a brighter sheen under the dim lights of the room. without wasting time, he inserts a second finger, thrusting it faster in you as you keep fidgeting under him, wanting more.

his fingers gain momentum, the tips pressing at your sweet spots every time he pushes them knuckles deep. a particular flick of his tongue against your clit paired with his fingers perfectly stretching you out made you arch your back, fingers almost tearing the sheets to shreds as you come around him, splotches of red and black clouding your vision. 

but chan doesn’t stop, pushing a third finger in as you clench around him tighter, yelping as the stretch increases, setting a burning pit in your core. he thrusts them slowly, and deep down you know you can’t take it any further, but just then chan pulls out his fingers with a pop, getting onto his knees. you aren’t given enough time to register the sudden halt of his movements, when chan's length prods at your slit, making the air knock out of your lungs.

you inhale sharply when his thick length pushes in, movements steady as his hands wrap tight around your waist. you’ve had sex before, but chan's cock filled you up to the brim, as if it was up to your stomach.

your pussy clenches around him, perfectly squeezing his length in a way he had never experienced before. he groans, losing the last threads keeping together his resolve as he snaps his hips into you. you’re trying your hardest to not scream, but all attempts are thrown out the door when the demon brings your legs a tad bit higher, the angle making him reach deeper into you.

you know you’re so close you can taste it, but voicing it out isn’t an option when all you can get out is babbles and moans. luckily chan's there to help you out, bringing his fingers down to rub circles on your clit, and just the slightest pressure has you coming around his length, clenching around him uncontrollably.

chan doesn’t take much longer either, thrusting into you twice, thrice, before spilling his seed in you, such that even after he’s pulled out, you’re left feeling full.

“babygirl’s okay?” he questions quietly, taking note of how exhausted you were as you tried catching your breath. you nodded slowly and he smiled, grazing his thumb over your temples and down your cheeks. you keen into his warm touch, the faint fragrance of chocolate and vanilla still lingering even under the smell of sweat and cum.

he plops down next you, bringing the covers up to your chin before snuggling next to you under them. you remember he had told you once how he was a softy under his demonic self but you always failed to believe him, until now.

you could now only hope; signing this contract wasn’t going to take a toll on you.

—

a/n; this, for some reason, took me 3 days to finish :’) i hope it was worth the wait im so sorry sjhdjshdjs

taglist; @joengni @cherryeol04 @lomlminho @bruh-changbin @yooniversalstudios @ann0325441904 @yourdaddychan (message me if you want to be added!)

From Above and Below, Face to Face and Behind (Grelle x Reader)

Anticipation. That was the feeling coursing through me, setting my nerves alight and sharpening my focus. My heart pounded in my ears and I grinned as I brandished my weapon -an elegant, double-bladed scythe- and dropped into a wide ready stance. I faced down a smirking Grelle and watched as she adjusted her scarlet coat with a flourish and readied her own weapon. I could’ve sensed her smug confidence from a mile away. She did, after all, have more experience than me since I’d only been a Reaper for a decade or two. I wasn’t about to chicken out though. I'd scored mostly A's in my intro training, and besides, you should never underestimate those with something to prove.

There was a second of charged stillness. Another. Then a flurry of movement as she surged towards me.

I ducked, and her roaring chainsaw came swinging through the air right where my head had been. I felt my pulse spike with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and my grin widened. Rolling with my momentum, I sprung up and went for a headbutt, but she spun away with graceful agility. As she turned; eyes shining with excitement, scarlet hair streaming out behind; her scythe followed in a streak of gleaming silver, arcing downwards at me.

There was no time to dodge it. Instinct kicked in and my own blade came up to meet it. The resulting CLANG sent a shockwave up my arms, but the sound itself was almost lost amid the cacophony of murmuring spectators, blows, grunts, and clashing Death Scythes echoing off the pale sparring room walls. Grimacing in discomfort, I angled my weapon down and away, which sent hers sliding off with an excruciating screech of metal on metal, overbalancing her. She stumbled and I swung down at her exposed back, but in a blur of speed, she recovered and snapped her chainsaw around behind her, intercepting my strike with another ringing crash.

Grelle's vibrant chartreuse eyes met mine over her shoulder and she languidly turned to face me as she held my scythe away with hers; a casual display of the immense strength her lithely muscled figure held. I saw my own ardor mirrored in the fire of her gaze, and there was a wildness to her razor smile as she drawled,

”I’m impressed, my dear! It’s only been a moment since we began and I very nearly fell head over heels. Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait if you want me on my knees for you.”

My racing heart skipped a beat at the thought, but I forced my mind back on track. If she thought she could throw me off with innuendo, she was mistaken (though I wasn't complaining. Seeing her on her knees would be a pretty picture indeed). I jumped back and out of reach before she could push her advantage.

“Don’t get too cocky. Pride comes before the fall, after all”, I snarked back as I lunged towards her, my scythe swinging. We matched each other blow for blow, dodging and leaping and whirling around the sparring court in a dangerous dance as the other reapers looked on. Gradually, I let my movements slow. I let dodges become near misses. I let her shove me back. But just as she wound up for a powerful swing that likely would have sent my scythe across the room, I dropped my act, dodged the hungry blade, and shoved it harder along its trajectory. With the combination of surprise and force, I sent her sprawling in a heap of limbs, fiery hair, and red fabric.

As soon as she hit the ground, I was looming over her. I pinned her to the ground, hands on her wrists to keep her from fighting back, knees straddling her hips to stop her from getting up.

“I told you you'd fall,” I said, narrowing my eyes and huffing out a quiet chuckle. “Don’t let your guard down, Darling, and don't get too confident. Things usually won't turn out the way you think they will.”

I took a moment to just look at her, her flushed face, her sultry gaze and smirk, and my confident air died on the spot. I shivered ever so slightly. Seeing her like this, blushing and trapped beneath me, was intoxicating. Her hair shone like the most priceless of rubies in the pale light of the room, her smooth lips were gently parted and so so inviting. Without really noticing, I tightened my grip on her wrists and pressed closer. The added pressure elicited a delightful little breathy whine from that enchanting mouth as she tilted her head back and shifted against me, back arching ever so slightly, body seeking out just the slightest bit more contact. The spectators became a distant memory in this haze of lurid heat. Distracted by the whole scenario, I didn't register right away that she was moving again. With two quick twists, she freed her wrists from my grasp, then tucked her legs and kicked me off.

Shit!

The moment broken, my ears reddened in frustrated embarrassment as I rolled away and to my feet. I had just chastised her for getting cocky! How big of an idiot did I have to be to forget my own warning? She'd played the whole thing up knowing full well that it would distract me, and it showed in the smugness that permeated her tone when she spoke,

"You really should take your own advice, Dearest. Pride comes before the fall, as they say, and it seems that you fell in more than one sense of the word. Besides, I'm not quite ready to be subdued yet, since I'm having so much fun with you!"

Oho. I'd show her.

Letting the threat of my intentions show with the tenfold return of my devilish smile, I felt a renewed vigor well up inside me. I had an ace up my sleeve, and now was the time to show my hand. Grelle's smug smirk faltered for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to show me she knew I was up to something. Not giving her a chance to speculate or prepare, I sprung at her; but this time, instead of just lashing out with my double blade, I split it in half at the handle. This was my secret weapon, one that had served me well in days gone by, and one that no one knew about save for the dead. Two scythes gave me a singular style, a unique advantage, but that was not all. No, not at all. When using two blades that were usually one, I, naturally, needed to ensure that one half of my weapon couldn't be lost or knocked from my hand. The simple, rather useful solution to this problem was connecting the two with a chain of adjustable length. This chain seemed almost to respond to my thoughts, changing length as the situation demanded. It could be used as a simple convenience, as a weapon, or as a restraint. It truly was one of the finest made scythes I'd yet encountered (along with Grelle's and Undertaker's, of course).

Now as I sailed through the air, bearing down on a dumbfounded Grelle, the long, silvery chain flew out behind me, glinting in the harsh lighting with a delicate scintillation that belied its strength. On seeing the chain, she must have made a certain sort of connection, likely rather indecent, judging by the color of her cheeks. I huffed a small laugh. How prophetic. After I win, we’re definitely going to get some use out of it. I slashed down hard with my scythes, catching her off guard and forcing her a few steps back. She shot a glare at me over our crossed weapons, and I responded by giving her my biggest, most innocent smile. It probably came off as more of a shit-eating grin, but it did the trick.

She shoved her scythe harder against mine in an attempt to throw me off, but being caught off guard and in a flustered sort of state, she hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize she'd be leaving herself open. Seizing the opportunity, I brought one of my blades around the other side of her chainsaw and yanked, wrenching it from her grasp and sending it spinning away over the ground. She staggered, and I landed a well-aimed kick to her stomach, likely knocking the breath out of her if the huff she let out was any indication. To keep from falling, she leapt backwards, and I pulled out another surprise. Literally, I pulled one end of the chain off its handle. As she flew back, I lashed out with it, fully expecting her to block it, but she made no move to defend herself before it whipped her across the cheek. I might've imagined it, but I thought I heard a yelp underneath the noise and chaos of the sparring area. I flinched as her head jerked to the side.

Oh god, I hope I didn't hurt her!

She landed on her feet, but she remained hunched over, trembling, with one hand on her poor cheek and the other holding her stomach. My energetic fervor evaporated and rained down as worry.

What if she's really injured?!

I'd just taken a step toward her to check when she lifted her head slightly. She certainly didn't look pained. In fact, she seemed to be blushing. Her gaze was intense, yet unfocused; and as I watched, she ran her fingers across her cheek closed her eyes. It looked very much like she was fighting valiantly to hold back something untamable; and though she was trying to hide it, her breathing came in wavering gasps as she struggled to compose herself.

Ah. Uhm... Fuck. I knew where this was going.

I tried to back off a little, unsure if I should risk keeping this up while there were other reapers watching, but Grelle seemed to sense my hesitation, and she was having none of it. Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed and refocused. She darted past me, snatched up her scythe, and took a wild swing at me; one that I batted aside easily enough, but she kept coming.

Oh, so that's how you want to play it. Time to put my knowledge to good use.

My "knowledge" stemmed from something she'd told me one night when I was tipsy and she was dead drunk. We'd simply been friends then (though that had changed soon after), and we'd gone out drinking with Ronald and Othello after work. Ronald disappeared an hour in; probably to go throw up, and Othello wandered off to poke at this newfangled "radio" thing. We were talking about our experiences as trainees, and it sent her off on a spiel about her first reaping with William. She told me everything. Including every detail of her fight with him and what it led her to discover about herself. And alas, as is wont to happen, since she was blackout drunk she forgot pretty much the entire night and woke up with, "One of the most awful hangovers of my life. I felt like I was dying!"

I remembered though. At the time, I was insanely jealous, but now... Now I had a plan. And I was feeling downright devious.

So she wanted to play it rough? I'd give her rough. She wanted to continue, even with reapers there? I'd give them a show. Smirking, I threw all my weight against our locked scythes, forcing her back for a moment, then pushed her chainsaw away with one blade and swung the other at her unguarded torso. She just managed to catch my arm in time, but in one quick movement, I broke her grip and grabbed both her wrists. Through pushing her backwards, we'd ended up near enough to the wall for me to slam her into it, pinning her wrists above her head. The feigned defiance on her face might've been intimidating if her every mannerism wasn't contradicting it.

"I know what you're trying to do, Darling," I intoned, reveling in the way I could feel her knees weaken at my tone. "You get off on the passion of battle, the pleasure of pain, the high of being brought low. It shows. You might be able to fool them for a while," a discreet gesture to the small crowd, "but you aren't fooling me. Now fight back so they don't get wise to your predicament."

Helpless desire dancing in her stare, she murmured, "Oh, y/n Darling, you really know how to get me fired up!"

With a grunt, she freed her wrists, braced her back on the wall, and shoved me off with a solid kick. I sprung back to keep from stumbling, then rushed at her, scythe raised. We traded rapid blows, but I never let her put me on the defense, and I never let myself waver. Hers was a doomed endeavor from the start. Knowing what I knew, there was no way I'd let such a chance slip through my fingers, and I think she felt the same. She was barely putting up a fight at this point, and it felt so good to see her just aching for me to take her down. With every swing, a bit more of Grelle's composure was chipped away and a bit more of her desperate need bled through. The sight of her coming undone was wearing my own restraint to the bone. The lustful miasma welled up again; dense around us, within us, permeating the air and every particle of our being. I wanted to drown in it, surrender to the frenzy it promised, let it grow until it was all that existed.

Unable to hold off any longer, I called on what she'd confessed to me that hazy, drunken night. I slowed my attacks, lifted my scythe, and swung hard from above. When she intercepted it, she let out a small sound of distressed want that only fueled the fire in my core. I let my blade glance off, then brought it back from below. She was panting hard now, and one look at her face was enough to tell me that she wasn't going to last much longer. With a thrill of excitement, I locked eyes with her and struck; first from the right, then the left. I saw the exact moment she realized what I was doing, her electric green eyes widened as I moved to dash around behind her. I poured all my pent-up passion into my kick, striking her square in the small of her back.

Time seemed to slow as she sailed through the air in a graceful arc, the elegant arch of her back strikingly erotic. She threw her head back and let loose a ringing cry of pure, exquisite ecstasy that dug needle-sharp claws into my last shred of self-control and tore it to useless pieces. Thank the high heavens the other reapers had taken the hint and made themselves scarce, because goddamn if the palpable steam of lust in the air and that sound (Oh god, that sound) didn't absolutely destroy my inhibitions. I strode towards the trembling goddess on the ground in front of me, wave after wave of raging heat crashing through me in anticipation of what was coming. Her half-closed, yearning eyes wrapped a tether around my soul, drawing me ever nearer.

As soon as I got close enough, I was on her. I dropped to my knees bestride her hips, pinned her slender body with my own, roughly tangled my fingers in her hair, and yanked her into a desperate, hungry kiss. At the sharp pull of my hand through her hair, she groaned in pleasure against my mouth, a noise that had my already spinning thoughts careening out of control. When I nipped at her lip, she whimpered and my mind went blank. I tried to undo the buttons on her shirt with my shaking hands, but I couldn't get a good enough grip. This is taking too long!

Pulling away, I let out a frustrated growl, grabbed the sides, and ripped it open. Buttons popped and clattered free and fabric gave way beneath my fingers until I could toss what was left off to the side and run my hands over her tantalizingly smooth skin. No matter how many times I saw it, her body never ceased to steal my breath away. All slim, firm muscle and soft angles, hard lines and curves. She was a contradiction in every sense of the word, and she was beautiful.

I pressed my mouth intently against hers again as I slid my hands up from her hips and over her firm stomach, exploring every inch of her flawless skin as heat welled up in me. I couldn’t get enough of the sensation of touching her, of running my hands over her body, of just being able to touch her anywhere and everywhere. My desire was an irresistible force, guiding me higher and higher; as I went, I dragged my nails over her skin, relishing the way she shivered. I palmed her breasts through her bra and squeezed ever so slightly. She squirmed beneath me, pressing into my hands as she entwined her fingers in my hair, intensifying the kiss. Teeth clacked and tongues brushed, and it was electrifying.

I slipped my hands beneath her bra, searching desperately for any and every scrap of contact, of closeness. Anything. Everything. I stroked my thumbs over the tips of her nipples and she whined, a delightful little sound that brought buzzing, blazing lust surging up from where it pulsed in my core. I needed more of those sounds, needed them like I used to need air to breathe. I needed to hear her wail and moan and gasp and scream, needed to hear my name on her lips at the very height of her pleasure.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I broke our kiss and propped myself up, silencing her noise of protest with a smoldering stare that held the promise of everything I’d just imagined. I eyed her chest, watching the way it rose and fell with her rapid breaths, then looked back up. We locked eyes as I snaked my hand under her and undid the clasp of her bra. I held her gaze as I slid its straps off her shoulders and tossed it away, then lowered my head.

As soon as I started running my tongue over her nipple, she let out a ragged gasp and grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, spurring me on. I licked and sucked and worried it with my teeth, sending shivers through her body and eliciting whimpers from her mouth. I knew I’d found a sensitive spot when she cried out and arched her back, digging her fingers into my waist. I kept at it -all the while letting my hands wander lower and lower over her figure- until she was shaking like a leaf and I could feel the wetness of her arousal through her pants. I fiddled with the zipper, having a hard time functioning in the consuming blaze of my desire; but stopped when Grelle grabbed my hand.

”Wait.”

Anxiety cascaded over me like a bucket of ice water and I sat up abruptly. Oh shit, oh fuck, did I do something wrong? We’ve done this before, but did I somehow misread the situa-

“I want to see you, to touch you, too.”

I blinked down at her, then relaxed with a relieved huff. I guided her hands to my chest, to the buttons of my shirt. As she finished undoing them, she leaned in and brushed her lips against my throat, right over my racing pulse. Her touch on my neck and my chest was like fire, and I nipped at her ear in response, shrugging out of my shirt and bra. The sinful heat sunk into my skin and suffused my voice as I whispered,

”Now would be a good time to put my chain to good use, don’t you think? Don’t worry, I won’t tie up your hands, you can still touch me. What I’ll do is restrain you in a way that won’t let you close your legs or interrupt me while I have my way with you. Would you like that?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, love,” Grelle breathed out as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and began to work them off, along with her panties. Her arousal was plain to see, and I couldn’t resist brushing my fingers over her slick skin; slowly, sensually. Her whole body twitched in response and she ground into my hand, letting out a breathy moan. If she was already this sensitive, I couldn’t wait for what was to come. With no small effort, I dragged my hand and my attention away then slipped out of my own pants, basking in her attentive, hungry gaze. I reached for the chain that had so conveniently wound up nearby. For a moment there was no sound but our lust-heavy breaths and the clinking of the chain links as I wrapped them around her spread legs and bare torso in an intricate pattern, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin in response to the touch of the cold metal and the thought of what it meant for her. When I finished, I tugged at the chain to make sure it held.

“Does that feel alright?” I asked. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she wanted me to.

“It feels wonderful,” came the breathless reassurance. “Being exposed and helpless before you... it's thrilling.”

“And seeing you so eager for this is thrilling for me too, darling,” I murmured darkly before pulling her in for a kiss that emanated passion, caressing her face then continuing down. Down over her shoulders and chest and stomach, down to where she wanted me most. She cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples, sending tingles of pleasure through my body, spurring me on. No more hesitation. I plunged two of my fingers into her soaked cunt and was rewarded with a muffled groan of pure rapture, sweet against my mouth. I stroked my fingers over that one spot I knew would absolutely undo her, my thrumming arousal consuming every inch of me at the torturously salacious sound she made. I reveled in the way her whole body shook as I pleasured her, in how wet she already was for me, in the way she threw her head back with each movement inside her. I kept up a steady rhythm, then I brushed my thumb over her clit and began rubbing circles around it, denying her the complete pleasure of my touch on the more sensitive center, but giving her just enough to intensify her bliss to the point of near delirium. I tugged sharply on her hair with my other hand, and she cried out, nails digging into my back and leaving marks on my skin.

Almost at the edge, at the peak of it all, her noises of rapture were music to my ears. A wild symphony, a rhapsody, my feverish magnum opus. Her legs strained at their bonds and her skin glistened with sweat, so close, so desperate. Nearer and nearer, nearly there. I brought my head down to pleasure her with my tongue. I needed to be closer to her, to taste her euphoria as she came. I slid my tongue in and out, finally stroking directly over her center the way she so longed for. Each brush of my tongue sent a shudder through her. Her legs twitched and trembled and her breath came in sharp, ragged, appetent gasps.

"Darling, plea- aah! Please! I'm going to-!"

She came with a wail of unadulterated ecstacy, spasms rocking her entire body, legs jerking in the throes of her climax. Her come was ambrosia on my tongue, sweet and heady as I took it all, working her through her high until she was just on the verge of oversensitive. I raised my head, gaze travelling up her body, limp with exhaustion and satisfaction, to rest on her flushed face. The look in her eyes about melted my heart with the amount of pure affection and deep passion it radiated, and I poured every ounce of my own emotion into a slow, sincere kiss. When we parted, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, just savoring the stillness and affection that suffused the air. She was so beautiful. No matter how hard I tried -and I tried- I could not find words worthy of her. She was indescribable, and I could only hope she could see and feel my reverence in this moment. This moment, and every other moment of every other day. Her eyes told me she did. In them, I could see my feelings reflected back at me, could see that she understood and that she loved me just as much as I did her. Where words failed, our bond did not.

She smiled a bit, just a small upturn of her mouth, and said,

"That was wonderful, love, but you can't expect me to take so much pleasure from you without letting me return the favor. I want to show you just how much I adore you."

Could you do one with essek where S/O is a part of the M9 and is a Eldritch Knight and he is just simping over a strong + smart reader? (Maybe even S/O saving essek?) I hope you have an amazing day!

I’m sorry this took a while. Work have been hectic so I’ve hardly had time to write. I hope this is to your liking and have a great day yourself 😘

At first glance you definitely fit into the ‘heavy hitters’ category with a physique displaying your strength, on par with Yasha. And while you don’t hide the fact you could crush skulls with your fists you do not live up to the strong-as-a-giant-dumb-as-a-rock stereotype. You are what some may refer to as the perfect balance between ‘jock’ and book nerd; days off spent training during the day while studying well into the wee morning hours. You are a magnet for knowledge and your expertises far surpass the limits of trivial subjects they focus on the arcane. Your roots come from Evocation and Abjuration but you’ve been expanding your knowledge beyond those two schools. The prospect of a ninth school of magic, one you had no access or even knowledge of before brought great promise of broadening your horizons.

When you met Essek for the first time he might have been slightly dismissive. Not disrespectful in any way from first impressions you fell into the same category as Beau and Yasha, presumably just different. He was nothing but friendly and respectful towards you but the moment Caleb asked to learn some Dunamancy and when Essek agreed your request to join in on this lesson surprised him. Regardless, he happily allowed you to join. After your early morning runs you found yourself at Essek’s tower discussing books you had read, things you had encountered and even openly deliberating the ongoing conflict. 

You had lost track of time after a quick sparing session with Beau and got dragged into her next routine with Fjord. You ended up having to correct Beau’s ‘teachings’ at times to the point where you took over ending up into another round of sparring sessions with Fjord.

“Again.” Fjord comes at you again swinging his sword. While he certainly knows how to use a falchion his proper technique could use some improvement. You block, parry, turn left around him, strike with the pommel of your own sword against his back and send him stumbling. 

“Footwork. Again.” You say once he’s recovered. He makes sure his feet are in the right position, blade angled right and takes a deep breath as he swings again. This time more calculated and mindful of where he steps and which foot he moves first. You block his hit.

“Much better.” You praise as you push him back putting some distance between the two of you. This time he does not stumble but instead stays steady on his feet. This time you strike giving him the opportunity to parry. He does but comes in a little too close to properly strike and leaves his defences open, a deadly move in close quarters. You shoulder check and kick his feet from under him. Fjord falls to the ground and you hear Beau snicker from behind. You hold out your hand to help Fjord to his feet but behind you you feel a punch hit your side. Sneaky little… You take the punch and while Fjord tries to pull you down you instead pull him up, the momentum pushing him in Beauregard behind you and the both of them barely manage to catch each other. 

“This is how we’re gonna play now?” You give a ‘come at me’ motion and with a grin Beau does. Dropping your sword to the side and out of the way deciding when dealing with a monk not wearing any kind of armour or protection, you’re not intending to actually hurt it’s probably best to not use live steel. Hands up defensive you see Fjord dispel his blade into its dimension too. Game on. 

Beau strikes. You take the first hit but counter with a kick at her shins and a punch to her shoulder. Fjord moves in next you prevent him from moving to your back and manage to keep him to your side. With a high kick you kick Fjord back a few feet. Beau takes this opportunity to go for your other leg but you stand strong and turn it to your favour coming back around with a kick to her side. This goes on for a while, a back and forth of Beau and Fjord teaming up against you. They manage to land some good hit but so do you, to the point where Fjord is almost out of the fight. You notice them make eye contact. You call shenanigans. 

Fjords summons his blade swinging down so you summon yours back to your hand, side stepping and blocking the attack with a quick parry sending Fjord to the ground on his ass. This move took you into Beau’s space who took the opportunity to hit you. You could feel your limbs nearly freeze up for a moment but shrug off the stun. If they’re playing dirty so would you. With an open palm you strike against her sternum releasing a shocking grasp. For good measure you use your newly acquired sapping sting spell to knock her prone. You walk over to Fjord kicking the blade away from his grasp, a foot on his chest while you hold the tip of your blade towards Beau. 

“Cheaters don’t win against me.” You grin helping Fjord to his feet and dropping the blade out of offensive mode. You grab Fjords blade and hand it back to him with a pat on his shoulder. You notice Beau is awfully quiet after her defeat. You see her staring at the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a grin as she crosses her arms. 

“Looks like we got an audience to witness our ass whooping.” Your back still turned you expect it to be one of the others. 

“Seems like he’s been paying more attention to our champion than us, though. Let’s leave them be.” Fjord picks up his things and begins to push Beau out of the room. You finally turn around and see who witnessed your little training session and when you see the floating white-haired wizard looking at you in awe you have a minor panic attack.

“Essek, by the Storm Lord. I am so sorry. I must have lost track of time…” You begin apologising as he is taken out of his trance. 

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll get changed and freshen up a bit if you can still spare the time. I’m so sorry. I should have told Caleb to remind me of the time.” You go on and Essek floats over to you. 

“No need for apologies. You were otherwise engaged. Though I would still appreciate your presence in this endeavour.” He reminds you of your appointment later in the day, or rather now. They had caught a spy with a similar skillset to yours and Essek had asked for your expertise in their questioning. 

“Of course yes.” You take him back out of the training room and to your chambers. He waits outside your door while you get changed and make yourself look presentable washing the sweat from your skin and change into your regular clothes. 

After you’re done the two of you make your way to the prison making small talk. Essek seems a bit more awkward than usual to the point you swear you see a slight blush creep onto his cheeks at one point but that might just be the cold. 

“You have learned quickly. Clever use of your newfound spells.” Essek mentally slaps himself for the way the words came out. Meant as a compliment but sounded like a dig at you. 

“I know. I’m sorry. If anyone knows you don’t just use combat spells for fun and games it’s me. It won’t happen again. Believe me, your teachings are much more valuable than to be used for fun and games.” You really didn’t mean to slip up and use Dunamancy for something as trivial as a fun sparring match. You should have known better. 

“No. My apologies. I did not mean to say it like that. You use your spells cleverly. They compliment your skills and your skills are… exceptional.” Was that a direct compliment coming from the Shadowhand himself? You raise an eyebrow at him pretty sure he caught onto your bewildered look. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. If you knew one thing about the man it was he did not just give compliments. Not to anyone and when he did you had not witnessed it. 

“So about this prisoner…” You change the subject as you approach the prison. There seems to be some kind of commotion going on and no guards up front. You both exchange glances before rushing inside. 

There’s a cowering guard in the front room. Essek goes over to him and seems to have some colourful words for the man while you keep an eye out around. The limited light makes it more difficult to see but you can hear just fine. After Essek finishes the guard rushes out of the prison, to get reinforcements you assume. You begin moving towards the hall that leads deeper into the Dungeon of Penance while Essek joins you. You push a finger to your lips before pointing ahead. 

Watching up ahead you see a few unmoving figures. Essek notices too but stays at your side. It’s too quiet and there’s too many hiding places. 

“Any weapons on them?” You whisper as Essek takes a look. 

“All standard equipment accounted for except for one long sword, a dagger and a crossbow.” Essek relays back to you inspecting the bodies. 

“I assume this is your prisoner’s doing.” Right as you say that someone jumps out from the shadows and makes a run for the Shadowhand. You notice before he does and grab Essek by the collar of his mantle pushing him away and to the other side of you as you summon your sword to deflect the attack. A second attack is made but you manage to prevent it from hitting Essek who’s still caught off guard. In your move to grab the blade you take out some gold dust, speak the words and the swinging blade is stuck in the air. The prisoner tries to grab it but is unable to move it, stuck mid-air. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” You retaliate with an attack. Hit. Essek manages to cast a quick magic missile striking the prisoner who puts some distance between you. He takes out a crossbow and aims it at the two of you. 

“You really prepared to die here? Put down your weapons and we can figure this out. No need for more bloodshed.” You try to persuade. From the corner of your eye you watch Essek reach for his components. The movement provokes the prisoner and he releases an arrow. You just in time manage to deflect trajectory of the arrow and prevent it from striking Essek but the second arrow scrapes your arm, the majority of the impact reduced by the edge of your bracer, it still leaves a bit of a scratch. You’ve had far worse. Essek looks at you bewildered, eyes focused only on you.

“I suggest you do what you save the staring for a later moment and help first?” You say in a half joking manner. He snaps out of it. Essek completes his spell and the prisoner is pulled backwards seemingly pulled in by some gravitational pull crushing his bones. The body falls to the ground unmoving. You go over to the body to make sure the prisoner is actually done for. 

“You are… exquisite.” You can barely hear Essek say under his breath. You freeze up for a moment not having seen that one coming. At that moment the cavalry comes in. He makes sure everything is sorted and you can go on your way, leaving them to clean up the mess, currently no use for either of you. 

“Are you hurt?” He breaks the silence while the two of you make your way back. You look at your arm. Nothing but a small scratch. But a fraction lower and it might have cut something vital but you know what you’re doing.

“No. All peachy.” The silence continues, both of you retreating into your own minds as you walk, or well, float in Essek’s case. You take a moment to look back at the past hour, his words repeating in your head and his ‘off’ behaviour. 

“‘You are… exquisite.’? That’s what you said before.” You try to mimic his voice. You may not be the best impressionist but you got the message across. Essek goes to speak but presses his lips back together swallowing whatever he was going to say. 

“Don’t tell me it’s going to take another fight with someone to get answers out of you. I might just have to show off in that case.” You wink jokingly with a half smile. 

“I wouldn’t complain.” That comment leaves your mouth agape and you stop in your tracks for a hot second to recover. 

“I don’t know if that’s sarcasm, a challenge or you actually mean it.” You fall back in line at his side nearing the tower.

“I wouldn’t complain.” Essek repeats once more.

“Well then, perhaps I should find a nice and rowdy tavern or talk to the Aurora Watch to join some training sessions to grant your wish.” You suggest only half serious with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a date.” He returns your expression as you reach his front door. 

“Though, for now I think some reading would be just fine. Would you like to join?” He opens the door and waits for you. You step inside but stop and lean in a little bit.

“It’s a date.” You say with a smug smile and kiss his cheek as you enter looking over your shoulder. You seem to have the ability to make the Shadowhand swoon and boy, could you get used to it. 

from which they never recovered

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating/warnings: M--alcohol use/abuse as well as death/suicide reference. light spoilers for retribution. there’s some soft fluffy moments, but it ends with pretty heavy angst  words: 2.4k read on ao3

“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise 

 1525 days before            

               Julia winces and drops her hand. The angle she needs to start the braid is putting too much pressure on her injured shoulder. Her long dark hair is still damp after the shower washed away all the traces of blood and grime and God knows what else the fight had left on her. She could just leave it alone, let it air dry, but that’ll just mean a bigger fight later. Better to grin and bear it now, get it braided and tucked away even if hurts. It’s just pain. Julia is no stranger to pain.

               “Let me idiot” Sidestep says from as she rises from her chair on the other end of the breakroom.

              “What are you plotting?” Julia narrows her eyes. She never should have introduced her to Anathema. Themmy had always enjoyed pranks, but they had gotten much more effective ever since Sidestep had begun hanging out at HQ.

               “Nothing, I promise.” It’s amazing how Julia can hear the eye roll behind the unmoving mask. “It’s just a little pathetic watching you struggle, old woman.”

              Not afraid to ruffle feathers this one, maybe that’s why she likes having her around, even if the old barb stung a little. That’s fine, two can play at that game, “do you even know how to braid? For all I know you could be bald under there.”

               “I know how to do lots of things, Marshal.” Sidestep crosses to stand behind the couch, and Juila has to tilt her head back to keep her in her sights. Is she flirting?

               “Oh really? Have any other skills you’d like to show me?” Julia replies with a wink. Is she flirting back? This is new.

               “Do you want help or not?” She doesn’t wait for an answer instead pushing Julia’s head forward and beginning to gather the hair in her hands.  

               Julia is used to other people touching her. The doctors checking on her mods, the media team preparing her for an appearance. Hair and makeup and wardrobe buzzing around her making sure she looks presentable, attractive, heroic. It comes with the territory. So why then is a quiet tension building in her stomach, a fluttering awareness of how close Sidestep, no not Sidestep—Cynthia, stands? It’s still a new concession, the name, a small piece of the mystery of Sidestep. She rolls it around in her mind, still not used to it, but the moment feels too personal, too intimate for aliases.

               Her gloves are off, Cynthia’s bare fingers brushing against the shell of her ear, the back of her neck as she gathers all the loose strands together. Cynthia’s breath ghosts over on her scalp, her body standing so much closer than usual. Cynthia’s movements are soft and timid; the braid is looser than Julia would prefer, as if she’s afraid of making it too tight of pulling her hair, of hurting her.

               A world of difference from training where she never pulls her punches. Julia had gotten more than a handful of bruises from their sparring matches. Had given them too, Sidestep was never one to tap out, just a single minded intensity and desire to win. Julia could understand that.

               “I should have been quicker,” Cynthia’s words breaking the silence. Her voice cracking, just a little, just enough to make Julia reach back and grab her hand. Her skin is cool, softer than she expected.

               “And I should have been more careful.” A gentle squeeze of the hand

              “Fat chance of that happening,” Cynthia says with a laugh, extracting her hand, and returning her attention to finishing the braid.

              “You know me,” Julia’s chuckle is soft, her hand slowly returning to her lap. Her skin tingles, itches and she fiddles with the emitter. “I’d be a hell of a lot worse off than a sore shoulder if you hadn’t been there.” Hospitalized for sure, maybe dead.

               “I couldn’t let that happen when you owe me dinner.” A final twist and the braid is finished.

               “I better clear my debt then; c’mon I know just the place.”

1329 days before            

               “You don’t even know what I look like.” Cyn paces back and forth in the empty training room.  Frustration rolling off of her in waves.

              It had been six weeks, two of which Julia had spent worried sick because Cynthia wouldn’t return her calls. Finally breathing a sigh of relief when she’d shown up at HQ as if nothing had happened, resolutely sidestepping all of Julia’s attempts to get her alone, to talk to her about the kiss.

               Like dealing with a skittish animal, Julia had done her best to give her space. This was all new for her too, but dinner was a safe place to start, wasn’t it?

               “So?” Julia smile is soft her voice certain, “I know you.”

              “You only think you do” Cynthia scoffs, her pacing finally stilled as she stands with her arms crossed. No doubt glaring behind the mask.

               “Then show me, tell me.” Just one step closer. She isn’t moving away.

               “Nosy.”

              “I am.” A pause, “I would also like to kiss you again.” It comes out softer than Julia had intended, more an admission than a tease.

              She waits. Waits for a quip or an insult, something caustic and sharp, a way to put more distance between them, but it doesn’t come. Just silence.

               A deep breath, and then quick, so quick, Cynthia’s hands are moving and the mask is off. Her voice is hard as she asks, “still want to kiss me?”

               She looks smaller without the mask, smaller and younger and fragile. Just Cynthia, not Sidestep. She won’t meet Julia’s eyes. Her stance rigid and fierce as if expecting some sort of condemnation, as if Julia would take one look at be disgusted.

               “Very much so,” Julia admits, and it’s the truth. She’d hardly allowed herself to speculate on what lay under the mask. There were things she knew; facts gathered from the bits and pieces she had seen. The warm tawny color of her skin, the full swell of her lips, the way her smile goes crooked, images which had haunted the edges of her dreams.

               “You’re ridiculous,” Cynthia’s voice is brittle, all the hardness from before falling away.

               Had she really expected rejection? Couldn’t she see how beautiful she is?

               “I’ve been told that once or twice.”

              She’s rolling her eyes, but she isn’t pulling away as Julia tilts her face up. Her lips are chapped, but still soft. Soft, like the gasp that falls out of them just before their lips meet. Cynthia’s arms rising to wrap around Julia’s neck, and the kiss deepens into something molten and breathless.  

               The kiss breaks, and Julia pulls back. Not far, just enough to watch Cynthia’s face, to try and memorize her features and make them fit into the idea of Sidestep, for her brown eyes to begin to replace the white of her mask in her mind.

              She kisses her again, a small peck, and Cynthia chases her lips. Pulling her down, the kiss is hungry and unexpected. Soon, too soon, she’s moving away. Mask pulled down, features concealed, only the familiar blank visage of Sidestep and even that is turning away.

              “I should go,” mumbled almost as an afterthought as she nearly runs for the door. Julia watches her go hoping it won’t be weeks until she sees her again.

 518 days before

               Cyn is sleeping again. Good. Maybe those dark circles under her eyes will start to fade. She’d slept for most of the drive, passing out almost as soon as they left the city limits. Something is wrong, has been wrong for weeks now. Should have forced her to go to the hospital after the nanosurge. Thrown her over her shoulder and carried her there if she had to. It wasn’t right to see her this way. Julia knew using her telepathy took a lot out of Cyn. Had seen her drained and exhausted, but never like this.

                The city would be smoldering ruins if the military had their way.  Julia would be . . . she shudders at the memory. There wouldn’t be anything left but her mods. No piece of Julia left to bury, just Charge.

               Cyn had saved them all, and maybe broke herself in the process.

              At least she’s at the ranch now. Oh, it had taken days to get her to agree, but in the end, Julia had worn her down.  Mama hasn’t quit fussing over her; Cyn has offered little resistance, probably just because she is too sleep deprived and weak to protest, but it’s still a victory.

               Julia rejoins her mother in the kitchen. The last thing she needs is for Cyn to wake up and accuse her of watching her sleep. It would be true, but she can’t let her have the satisfaction.

               “You should have brought her sooner,” Elena admonishes.

               “I tried, Mama. She’s stubborn.”

               Her look is pointed, “so are you. Never stopped me.”

              “It’s not the same, Mama.” Julia sighs. They’ve struck a delicate balance the last few years. Cyn still disappearing on occasion, but only for days at a time. Not like before when she would be gone for weeks at a time. Reappearing with no explanation, but always looking worn. She keeps hoping that one day Cyn will share her secrets and let her help.

              Mama purses her lips, and Julia knows that look, knows she has more she wants to say and prepares herself for the old arguments and questions. Questions she wishes she had the answer for. Or at least wishes she knew Cyn’s answer. Julia knows hers, has for a while now.

              A shuffling sound as Cyn joins them and stops the lecture in its tracks. The circles are still there, but the deep crease between her eyes has softened. Good.

               “Did we wake you mija?” Mama voice is gentle unlike the glare she shoots at Julia. As if she hadn’t been talking too.  

               “It’s fine,” Cyn says with a yawn. “I’ve been napping too much today as it is,” she adds as she leans against Julia.

               It’s still a surprise when she’s willing to do that. To lean in, to hug, to kiss, to initiate contact rather than waiting for Julia to bridge the gap. Perhaps it’s a testament to how much stopping the nanosurge took from her. Cynthia not just accepting comfort, but seeking it out. The nosebleeds haven’t stopped, but at least they are less frequent. Leaning down, Julia presses a quick kiss to Cyn’s temple. She doesn’t even push her away.

              “Well, in that case, come help me with the vegetable, and Julia can work on the sauce.” Mama says as she begins grabbing ingredients and piling them on the counter.

               The three of them work well together, and Julia doesn’t even mind being the butt of all their jokes. Not that she’ll let them know that, after all she has a reputation to uphold. The bruising to her ego is worth it though, because at least Cyn is smiling and laughing. Almost looking like her normal self. Julia doesn’t trust her when she says she’ll be fine, but she hopes its true. Maybe a few days away from the city will be enough.

              Later, Cyn joins her outside. The stars are an unfamiliar sight, so used to the neon haze of Los Diablos, it’s easy to forget about them. It’s strange to think that they are still there, just hidden. They feel so much a part of the ranch and the open air, of childhood and more innocent times. A different world than the one of heroes and villains.

               Slipping her hand in Julia’s she whispers, “I won’t say that you were right, but thank you.”

              Julia can’t hide her smile as she captures Cyn’s lips in a kiss, but at least she resists the urge to say I told you so.

6 days after      

               She’s out of tequila. Fuck. Her edges are coming back into focus and there’s nothing to dull them.

              There’s a bar in walking distance, or she could get a cab. Have it take her to the wrong part of town, maybe get into a fight. Feel someone’s bones crunch under her knuckles, pretend it’s her own face. It’s all her fault after all. Should have trusted her instincts, should have made her stay out of it. Should have been quicker, should have had a firmer grip. Flash of green and the sound of breaking glass, right there in the back of her eyes. Nearer is better. Just need to get another drink. Need to make it all disappear, stop feeling the skinsuit slipping out of her fingers. Stop seeing her face (oh god she’ll never see her face again, never hold it in her hands, never see her crooked smile). Tequila, she needs more tequila.

                Her braid is a sad and tattered thing in her hands. Jagged edges where she’d had to fight to get the knife through the thickness. She shakes her head and it feel light, her hair swinging around, wrong. It feels so wrong. Everything feels wrong now.

               It still feels unreal. An empty coffin in a grave marked by a fake name, it can’t be real, it has to be some cruel joke.

               The braid goes in the trash, she can’t look at it anymore. Can’t look at it without feeling Cyn’s ghostly hands. Always so careful and thorough (not anymore, they can’t do anything anymore), pulling loose strands back from her temple. It had been such a fragile thing at first. A closeness she hadn’t looked for. She could never have expected the way the touch of her hands would make her breath catch. Need more tequila. Have to keep the memories at bay.

               The feeling of loss when the braid was finished and Cynthia stepped away. As if she knew the first thing about loss then (is that her laugh?)

                She’d been such a coward. So afraid of pushing too hard, but she’d lost her anyway and it was her own fault. She’d lost her anyway and the words she never said burn in her stomach. Tequila. She wants to drown them (it won’t be enough) wants to drown herself.

               Tequila. She’s no stranger to pain.  She just needs (needed to tell her, will never get to now) more tequila.

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