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lacheri · 2 years

Text

|| moon river. || part x. ||

|| masterpost || taglist form || part ix. || part xi. ||

pairing: Levi x fem bodied reader

chapter content: modern au, neighbors au, coworkers au, smut, oral (m and f), body worshipping, multiple orgasms, protected sex (condoms), praise kink, FLUFF, undefined relationship, both Levi and reader are switches, a little romanticized because c'mon I'm in love with Levi, minors/ageless blogs do not interact.

summary: in which you let Levi inside your apartment. “we were never going to be friends.”

wc: 10k (holy shit)

a/n: THANK YOU FIRSTLY TO ALL OF YOU THAT HAVE BEEN SO VERY PATIENT WITH ME WHILE I WROTE THIS. I'm so excited to post this. thank you for reading, and all your continued support on my little story. thank you to my wonderful friends, Mochi, @sinnerofthewalls, and @astridthevalkyrie for supporting me while I physically wrestled with this chapter for an entire month. thank you for betaing as well! I hope you guys enjoy (:

ALSO HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED LEVI THIS ONE'S FOR U BABY BOY

If you were asked prior to right now how you bold you thought Levi to be — you wouldn’t really know how to answer. He’s blunt, even abrasive at times, but you never pegged him as one to chase after what he wants. Not that he isn’t passionate, but just because he’s a notoriously stoic guy.

If you were asked right now, you’d answer with such clarity — Levi is nothing but ambitious.

Your hands slide into perfect position, palms stationed on the back of Levi’s neck keeping him pressed to you, nails scratching against his skin. Levi hisses into your mouth, groaning out his pleasure. You can almost taste it, his passion settles onto your tongue like honey — thick, sweet, syrupy. You could inhale his breath for hours, if he’d let you.

Your back slams against a wall, Levi’s palms cupping and kneading the hardly concealed fat of your ass. Your mouths move in synchronized harmony, pushing and pulling your lips with his. His pout feels heavenly, soft and plush. You breathe heavily through your nose, somehow out of air but overstimulated with oxygen.

Levi tugs your left thigh upwards, your knee placed against his waist as he slots himself between your hips. Your back arches, pushing yourself even closer to his form. Your teeth clash together, and you know without a doubt that when you pull away from this kiss, your lips will be swollen and raw.

He decides then to shift his head, barely touching your lips as he moans, deep and raspy, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

You arch an eyebrow, a smirk develops as you speak, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to do this.”

The hand cradling your back slides up your torso, past your neck, settling on the back of your head as he chuckles, “Such a smart mouth on you.”

“Wait until you see what else it does,” you nip at his bottom lip, and Levi groans.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, “Guess I have to make it worth your while then.”

A sound closely resembling a growl leaves his throat, his lips returning faithfully to yours. You roll your hips forward, the two of you gasping at the friction of your middles. You can feel Levi with crystal clarity through his jeans, his long and hard member pressing directly across your center. He bucks, pleasure rocketing through your nerve endings.

“Bedroom,” you mumble into his mouth.

Levi chuckles darkly, “This wall looks pretty nice though, sure you don’t want me to take you right here?”

“Why? Are you that desperate to fuck me?” your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging roughly at the roots. His whine vibrates against your lips, “I said bedroom, Levi.”

Levi yanks your hand out of his hair, releases your thigh, and spins you around so fast you get dizzy. Your breasts flatten against the wall, his hips lodge against your ass. He gives an experiment thrust, placing his lips to your ear.

“I don’t remember you being the one in charge here, princesse.”

(Princess.)

“Bedroom, Levi,” you say desperately, a distinct pounding in your core.

“Say please,” his breath is hot against the shell of your ear, his hands caressing your hips.

“Please,” you press your forehead to the wall, the cold surface alleviating from the heat that floods your lower abdomen.

“You can do better than that,” he coos mockingly.

In the sweetest, softest voice you can muster, you try again, “Please Levi, take me to bed.”

“Bonne fille,” his teeth nip on your earlobe, and his grip loosens on your body.

(Good girl.)

You stand fully upright, spin, and circle your arms around Levi’s neck. His eyes are lidded with lust, you don’t even give him a warning before you’re tugging at the back of his head to reconnect your lips to his. He walks backwards, palms steady on your waist, reciprocating your kiss with equal amounts of fever.

Levi is exceptionally good at kissing — you can practically taste the passion he holds between the creases of his lips, feel it with every squeeze and grab of his hands. He tilts his head, making sure every roll of his jaw prompts a flurry of electric excitement. Each movement is special and unique in their own ways, each kiss feels like the first time your lips are acquainting. Sometimes hurried, pops and moans slipping through gasps of breath. Mostly, you can feel his tongue work behind his plump skin as he puts his everything into kissing you.

Levi tugs you down into his lap once you reach the sanctuary of your bedroom, interrupting your train of thought. Your knees spread, your bed giving you the support to straddle the ravenette. You smile into his mouth when you feel a palm place pressure against your lower back, the other cupping the back of your head. There’s not a single chance he’s letting you fall off of him. You find the placements sort of romantic.

Once you think Levi confirms your safety, his fingers leave the base of your spine and circle to your front. Your robe is tied in a messy knot against your navel, but you’re glad you didn’t go through the trouble of caring about your state of dress when you initially opened your door. It makes it easier for Levi to tug this silk off of you, anyways.

With a single hand, he works the material loose, and slides his palm back to its original spot against your back. The feeling of skin to skin elicits a shutter to run throughout your body, and short gasps are forced from your throat.

Levi chuckles against your lips, “So sensitive.”

“I like it when you touch me,” you confess.

You don’t know if it’s your comment or the heat of the moment that makes Levi slow down, but the tone shifts — his lips roll softer, his touch lightens, and his movements become more precise, more purposeful. It holds all the same passion, but you can feel the way the ravenette savors this moment. You feel yourself latching on to the new pace yourself.

You’re not very experienced when it comes to, well, this, but a lifetime of romance movies and steamy novels have prepared you for what comes next. You don’t know why exactly, maybe it’s because you truly do like Levi, but you feel confident. Maybe it’s because it’s dark, and the night is moonless, and the warm lighting from the hallway makes you feel like a goddess. Maybe Levi just makes you feel like your best self. You steady yourself on Levi’s lap, tug at the shoulders of your robe, and let it fall gracefully to the floor.

Immediately, Levi’s lips trail down your exposed throat and clavicle, the hand on your head playing with the straps of your bra. His fingertips dance down the thin material, tracing the lines of your cups. His hands are icy cold, but it feels relieving, as you feel as if you’re burning up with desire. He mouths down your skin, tongue prodding at your cleavage, his careful touch becoming a full palm of your right breast. You whimper and push yourself further into his hold.

You don’t think you’re a greedy person, but you want more.

Claps undone on your back from your own hands, the bra slacks against your chest, and Levi is the one tugging the clothing off your arms. Your nipples harden to pebbled peaks once the air greets them, his breath fanning across your naked skin. It contrasts so greatly to the stagnant air of your apartment, you can practically feel the texture of his exhales. Hot, sticky, and smooth, it churns your abdomen into yearning knots of selfishness.

You’re flooded with want — you want Levi’s mouth all over you, you want to lick him dry yourself. You want his hands to touch you everywhere, you want to claw at his back until he bleeds. Slam yourself down on his lap in divine union, you want him to pin you to the mattress until a permanent body outline is carved into the bed. You want him, you want him to want you.

It seems as though Levi has the same greedy thoughts.

Blunt nails dig into your ribs as he holds you still, his lips impatient and ravenous as they suck and bite at the skin of your breasts. His tongue is merciless as it meets your left bud, swirling and lapping with striking sloppy noises. He groans, you whine, you both roll your hips. The fabric of his jeans bunches your panties together, the material sliding between your lower lips in accidental relief. You choke on a gasp, his covered length pressing directly into your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss through your teeth, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You miscalculate your center of gravity though, and forget about the silly fact of Levi’s limbs being attached to his torso. His back hits the mattress, and with that, you fully straddle his hips. His knees bend behind you, guiding you forward until your dripping core is centered directly over the bulge in his pants once again.

Levi’s gorgeous black locks halo around his head, his eyes half lidded and hazy, arms relaxed at his sides. He looks angelic. His palms slide ever so greedily up your exposed thighs, and you dip down.

Your lips graze along his Adam’s apple as you purr, “Levi, want you.”

His voice is warm and thunderous, “Then do something about it.”

Your teeth nip at the skin of his neck, your tongue smoothing over the quickly reddening abrasion. You feel his whimper vibrate against your lips, and you giggle. He’s so tempting, so vulnerable and exposed. Levi’s hands caress heatedly up your torso, his fingers landing on the swaying of your breasts. He pinches at your nipples, and you yelp.

It seems as though you both have met your match.

You like to consider yourself flexible with your sexuality. Granted, you haven’t had too many experiences, but you have enough knowledge to understand that you enjoy being on both the receiving and giving ends of things.

Levi, however? You just have a feeling, but you think he’s the same. It’s the way he holds a growl and a whimper in the same tone, in the same breath. The way he’s simultaneously desperate and in charge, just like you.

Before you can continue your assault on his throat, you’re flipped onto your back. Levi shuffles off the bed, locking his swirling eyes with yours as he tugs off his shirt. His pants follow shortly after, and your jaw drops at the sight.

Levi’s dick is huge. Not in an abnormal way, but in a “holy shit how’d you fit all of that in your pants?” kind of way. You’ve felt it a time or two before, but never have you seen the mass between his legs. He hasn’t even taken his briefs off yet. The material hugs his member tightly, the tip stuffed into the elastic band, creating a noticeable bulge. You can see the distinct shape even in the dark.

You gulp, your mouth waters, and you’re spreading your legs before you can even think about the action.

Levi lunges forward with ferocity, attaching his mouth to yours. That same heated, fierce passion rears its head once more, this time with somehow an even harsher flame.

You wish you had the patience to trace the outline of Levi’s torso. Feel the peaks and valleys of his abdomen, pluck and toy at his pebbled nipples, dip your fingers into his navel. You just don’t have that kind of time, not when Levi’s cock is begging for attention — your attention.

Your palm cups his girth, and he shutters. His arms cage around your head, his hips roll into your touch. You map out every inch behind your closed eyes, thumbing along the prominent vein that stripes up the underside of his cock. Your digit bumps against his frenulum, and you smirk. Levi’s wet.

The prespend is sticky, hot and damp against your touch. If your mouth were free, you’d indulge yourself in what must be the divine taste of his arousal. Wrap your lips around your thumb and suck, rolling the flavor around your tongue.

Your hands are not gentle nor are they kind as you yank down the elastic of his briefs. You feel Levi’s sharp intake of breath as his member springs free, assumingly in gleeful relief of being unconstrained. In an instant, your fist circles around the circumference of his desire, and you roll your wrist.

His reaction is immediate, a raspy moan leaves Levi’s lips and he’s shoving his face into your neck. His hips jerk forward, his arousal coating your fingers liberally. Your thumb swipes along his slit, and your jaw slacks. You can feel him throbbing in the palm of your hand, you’re barely able to stifle your own gasp — one of amazement and pleasure.

“Wanna see you,” you say eagerly.

Levi pushes upwards, and you mirror his movements. He follows you as you inch yourself backwards, your back meeting the soft plush of your pillows. He tugs your thighs over his, his gaze set hungrily to your dripping panties, and your fingers return faithfully to his cock.

You start to jerk languidly, slow and precise motions up and down his girth. Levi’s face scrunches together, his head falls back as he chokes on a strangled breath.

You’ve always thought Levi was beautiful, but right now, he looks like art. His abdomen flexes with the weight of his heavy cock in your hand, his own palms gripping at the meat of your thighs. His bangs fall in front of his eyes as he dips his head forward, his fingers inching closer and closer to where you need him the most.

He doesn’t need to ask you to part your legs further, Levi sends you one dark smolder and you understand perfectly what he wants you to do. Lay back, let out pretty little moans, and allow him to deliver you mind blowing pleasure.

You decide that there’ll be time for you later. Levi’s already had his way with you once, now it’s his turn to get some head.

With all the strength you can muster, you jolt forward, catching the ravenette completely off guard. His silver eyes widen, and gravity plunges his back straight into the mattress. You flash him a teasing smile, situated once again on his lap. Before he can protest, you unhook your legs from around his hips, and wiggle down. Your knees slot between his, prying his thighs apart while your lips meet the flushed skin of his neck.

“Brat,” Levi huffs huskily. You only smirk in response.

Your mouth greedily makes its descent down his body — traveling over his collarbone, down his chest, nipping your teeth over the ridges of his abdomen. Defined muscles meet your eyes, hands, and tongue with every passing moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’d let you leave marks all over his skin. Would he be pleased with the erratic patches of discoloration? Would he gaze into a mirror when he’s all alone, fingertips tracing the reminders you’ve lovingly left behind? Remember all the sensations your lips and teeth painted across the expanse of his body? Would he get hard, pressing a curious digit into a particularly blotchy spot, thinking of all the places your mouth had been?

You nip a little harder at his stomach with that thought in mind.

You’re not really one to tease, but as your lips trail past sparse black hairs underneath Levi’s navel, you’re reminded of how good it felt when Levi had taken his sweet time with you. Tracing the malleable flesh of your lower lips, massaging and ogling at your body. You felt so alive, so wanted and desired. You want Levi to feel the exact same way, wanted.

Your fingers circle around his base, rock solid and throbbing. You dare to raise your vision, taking in the beautiful sight of his expression. His eyes are half lidded, swollen mouth is parted, his chest rises and falls. More than anything, there’s a patience in his features. Levi doesn’t look troubled, in fact, he hardly looks like he’s thinking at all.

“Hey,” you speak, timidly and honestly. “Tell me if you like it, or not.”

Levi’s hand reaches for your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, “I will.”

“You promise?” you press a kiss to his digit, never removing your gaze from his.

“Promise,” he smiles so softly. Your heart leaps, and confidence builds within you.

You nod, and shift your attention to the digit still lingering on your lip. He rubs gentle circles into your pout, tugging and pulling. Feeling bold, you part your mouth, and lick a slow stripe before wrapping your lips around his thumb.

Your tongue swirls slowly around the circumference, your cheeks hollow the tiniest bit, sucking ever so softly. Levi pins your tongue down flat in your mouth, rubbing along your taste buds. His knuckle hits the back of your teeth, and you whine in protest.

You’re supposed to be the one calling the shots right now — your fingers placed so delicately on his shaft, thumb stroking along that distinguished vein lining the underside. But as you look into those glittering, hardened eyes of his, you understand your hand placement is just a formality. Levi’s being polite. His finger in your mouth is a reminder of his control, or whatever he thinks control is. You can flip the script, you’re sure of it.

You graze your teeth along his knuckle with a fierce look of determination, ‘I’m not backing down.’

A single arch of his eyebrow says ‘good’. His thumb leaves your lips with a pop, and Levi half heartedly smears your spit across your lips. You pay it little attention, you’ll probably need it for where your mouth is now headed.

You want Levi to moan for you now, whine and grab onto the back of your neck in needy desperation. You want to watch the tears well in his eyes in pleasure, pupils roll into the back of his skull. You don’t waste anymore time, you can’t, not when the line between your wants and needs are this blurred.

Facing the underside of his cock, you do allow yourself a split second to admire Levi’s beauty in all its astounding manhood. His shaft blooms in hues of pinks and reds, the opacity strengthens before his frenulum, erupting into a bright cherry red tip. It’s almost purple in this lighting. Levi’s well endowed, and he clearly takes care of himself. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you plunge.

Flattening your tongue right above his sack, you drag your muscle from base to tip in a slow lick. Applying pressure directly to the vein, you hold your eyes to his. You want him to watch you do this. Levi’s hips jolt at the sensation, his eyes flying wide open, jaw slacking. You would smirk if you weren’t so focused on your current task.

Then, you suck his tip into your drooling mouth, and lose yourself in the bliss of Levi’s body.

Your wet muscle works in teasing tandem with your hollowing cheeks, being mindful of your teeth. A graveling whine meets your attentive ears, and confidence floods your ego. Once you’re filled with the emotion, you slide down just a bit further, tonguing at the underside of his shaft. Even feeling bold enough to bob your head, you close your eyes, and try your hardest to shut off your brain.

It’d be easy to fall into a moment of insecurity, had you not been incredibly turned on by the stimulation of all your senses. Levi pants hard, you can smell the lingerings of the soap he’d used to wash himself — cedarwood, you think. You can taste his arousal on your tongue, your hands slide up and down his bare thighs, and you peek through lidded eyes.

Levi’s back is arched, head propped up by his elbow as he locks in the vision of you between his legs. Obsidian hair is an utter mess on his forehead, his skin flushing bright pink and red, you can even spot a glistening of saliva over his pout. His eyes are what really get you, as they always do. Gun metal, silver, and speckled blue colors swirl in the casing of his irises. His pupils expand and dilate, working hard to make sure he doesn’t miss a single thing.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, free hand traveling down the expanse of his side to cup gently at your face. His thumb brushes over a bulge of skin, his cock poking through the hollow of your cheek, and he groans, “C'est si bon.”

(It’s so good/So good.)

A stifled moan vibrates across his cock, and for a moment, you’re tempted to remove your mouth to tell him how much you love it when he speaks to you in his native tongue. Although, you’d really love to understand what exactly he’s saying, you can’t deny the effect ignorance has on you. Maybe one day you’ll get Levi, or anyone really, to teach you French. Just so you’ll be able to mouth back the same filth Levi speaks to you now.

That particular idea gets you to kiss at his tip, muttering languidly, “‘M gonna talk to you like that one day.”

His pelvis jerks as you swipe at his slit, collecting the oozing prespend leaking, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyes, talking through thick stripes of licks. “Tell you how sexy you look, using your own words. Tell you how much I like the taste of you, and you taste so good, Levi.”

“J'aime votre goût,” he simpers, watching his cock catch the fat of your bottom lip.

“J'aime votre goût,” you repeat, and descend back down his shaft.

(I like your taste.)

You watch those beautiful greys roll into the back of his head, feel goosebumps arise under your fingertips at your actions and words. You remove a hand from the expanse of his thighs, placing it at his throbbing base, and jerk his cock in synchronicity with your bobbing mouth.

His member is pretty girthy, so trying to swallow him whole is nearly impossible. You’re trying your best though, letting his weeping head prod at the opening of your throat, milking every pulse and throb of his shaft. It’s almost perfectly timed, every roll of your tongue and movement of your head matches each ripple of his subtle contractions. All the while Levi tries his best not to thrust up into your mouth, you feel his legs twitch and tense. He’s practically squirming under your attention.

Just when you think he’s about to rip you off his cock, his fingers starting a promising tug at the roots of your hair, you hold your breath, and allow his tip to pass the lining of your esophagus.

“Putain!” he wails, throwing his head back and desperately clutching onto your head. “Don’t, fuck, don’t move, keep it — oh my fucking god, keep it right there. Yes, yes, shit.”

You listen to his requests, his words shooting right to your ignited core. Your eyes water, but you listen.

His desperate expression turns dark as he grits out, “Look at you, fuck, look at you. You like this so much, don’t you? Bet you’re fucking soaked right now, my cock in your mouth, oh fuck, don’t move.”

You whine, allowing a few tears to slip out of the corners of your eyes. Your mouth feels so full, your throat contracting around his shaft. It’s taking everything in you not to move, to not take him to heights only you can bring him to in this moment. You want to hear his cries, add fuel to his unhinged speech, feel his hands hold onto you in welcoming desperation.

Levi moans loudly as he tugs you off his cock, sparing an admiring glance to the copious spit your mouth leaves behind. You take a deep breath, and pout, “Why’d you stop me?”

“Was gonna cum,” he huffs, eyelids drooping as your hand lightly works him. “Stop, gonna cum.”

“What if I want you to?” you breathe, no intentions on stopping your movements. “Don’t you want to cum all over me?”

“I’d rather cum inside you,” he growls. “I said stop.”

Sitting fully upright, Levi’s hand leaves the back of your head and grips at your chin. Fingers pressing into your jaw, your lips are closed by the gentle force. He takes in the sight of you — your powerful demeanor turning so sweetly submissive, how you lean into his hold.

“We really are one in the same, aren’t we?” he muses, tilting your chin up, inspecting the drool shimmering down your neck. “Give and take, take and give.”

Through the small space of your lips, you respond, “Deep.”

Levi chuckles, “Pillow thoughts.”

You want to tell him there’s time for reflection later. You can ponder the complexities and mystique of your mirroring souls after Levi fucks you stupid. Or, you fuck him stupid, whichever happens first.

“Lay on your back again,” he requests, and you abide. “Good girl.”

You make a mental note. Levi likes praise.

As it turns out, so do you.

There’s something about the way he says those words, spoken so endearingly and honestly. It births butterflies in the pits of your stomach, licks at the affection and lust you hold for the man currently looming over you. Levi’s breath meets your cheek, and he kisses it so gently, you lose your train of thought.

You like this, you like the way he takes his time with you. The way he’s peppering sweet kisses down your clavicle, mouthing down at the valley between your breasts, hands covering every section of skin he finds. It’s soft, it’s fast, it’s passionate, it’s loving, it’s worship, it’s destruction. Building you all the way up to break you down, all in the best ways. There’s not a sliver of skin he misses, and you feel really beautiful under his attention.

His fingers land with finality at your breasts, plucking and tweaking at your nipples. You whimper, and he continues his path down until his breath hits right above the elastic of your panties. Levi’s eyes slither up your form, silently judging your level of consent. You wiggle your hips and hope he takes the hint.

“Been thinking about you like this,” his tongue traces along your lower belly. “Haven’t been able to stop, just remembering how sweet you looked, how you tasted. Drove me crazy.”

“Yeah?” you speak a pitch above a whisper. “Me too.”

“Yeah,” he nods his head, teasingly biting at your hip. “Couldn’t wait to do this again, have you cum on my tongue. Could spend hours tasting you, angel.”

“Levi, don’t tease,” you squirm, his fingers tugging a bit harder on your pebbled peaks. “Need you.”

“You want me,” he attempts to correct you.

“No, need.”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Levi hums, allowing a single hand to leave the plush of your mound, slipping his pointer finger over your clothed slit. “Shit, you’re soaked.”

The sparks of arousal created by his teasing only cause you to grit your teeth, “Please.”

“So sweet when you ask nicely,” you can’t bring yourself to hate the condescending tone of his words. In fact, you sort of like it, “Ask again.”

“Please,” you swallow your pride, panting out in the sweetest beg you can muster.

“Yes? Please, what?”

“Please, touch me. Can’t take it.”

“Yes you can,” Levi’s mouth resumes its teasing, his teeth nipping at your inner thighs. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

You burn with embarrassment, he should know where you want him, “Levi!”

“Where?” he growls, smacking your opposing thigh lightly.

Your body jolts at the unexpected contact, “Between my legs.”

“Not the exact answer I wanted, but I’ll take it.”

Both hands lay on your inner thighs then, nearly exactly as they had the last time Levi was face to face with your aching core. It becomes increasingly obvious this is a ritual of sorts — thumbs side by side on each lower lip, massaging your skin right outside the hem of your panties. The material starts to bunch in the center, his fingers working the clothing inwards. Levi breathes heavily, light groans and indistinguishable words space out between each exhale. Your ears long to understand the speech, you know it’s filthy, whatever he’s saying. All you’re greeted with is slurring gibberish, but you make out a few words.

“Pretty,” you hear clear as day. Shivers run down your body the second he hooks a digit under your soaked through underwear, and he tugs it aside. Is this how he’s going to devour you every time? Pull your panties to the side like he’s unwrapping a gift, making sure you’re barely stimulated enough to accept the divine pleasure he’s about to bestow on you?

You throb, you ache, you yearn, you whine. Mind going blank, you buck your hips, catching a lone knuckle to your clit. You breathe out a shaky moan, electricity shooting through every nerve ending — even through some you didn’t know you had.

Levi pulls the hood of your clit up, and wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves. Tongue flat, rolling across in the most passionate lick you’ve ever felt. His patience must snap then, the first taste not enough for his starving mouth, and he throws himself into your folds.

You feel the pleasure everywhere — your back arches off the mattress, your toes curl, calves tighten, hands clutch at the pillow your head lays on. Each stripe leaves you breathless, a panting, wanton mess. Levi’s eating you like a man deprived, wet muscle descending down every other lick to drink at the gushing of arousal pouring from your cunt. He’s fucking moaning into your pussy.

You allow your eyes to take in the sight between your legs, and you catch it. Levi rolls his hips down in tandem to each lick, he’s actually getting off to eating you out. It’s so unapologetic, so raw, so honestly carnal, you can’t help but moan louder. Completely unashamed in the paradise of mutual pleasure, you’re almost moved to tears. There’s so much to unpack, but the most prominent thought is this: He’s throwing himself fully into this, into you.

“Oh my god,” you cry, moving your hands down to card your digits into his hair. You hold steady onto his roots, a futile attempt to ground yourself, “So good!”

If he hears you, he doesn’t react. In fact, the only noise you can hear is the lewd squelch coming from yourself as Levi presses the tip of his finger into your tight soaking ring. Your pelvic muscles flex, clenching around the small intrusion, desperately trying to suck him in for more. Your heart beats wildly across your pulse points, you can feel the drumming deep within your abdomen. His knuckle passes through your gushing tightness, and you clench the digit hard.

Overwhelmed with pleasure, your toes curl, and you abandon any remaining shreds of self control. You whine, rolling your hips to sink his finger in deeper. Levi curls the digit upwards, hooking directly into the sweetest spot residing in your slicked walls.

“Relax,” he lifts his head, kissing along your drenched folds. “So tight, you really that worked up?”

You nod, even though his question is rhetorical. Yes, you are worked up. Between the days of pretending Levi doesn’t harbor feelings for you, to the nights of laying your own hand to your body imagining it was his — in a way, none of this feels real. You really hope you’re not dreaming this right now, locked in clear subconscious whims and desires. Because simply put, Levi’s touching you as if you’re in one right now. There should be awkwardness, fumbling of sorts, but there is not. The way his middle finger brushes along the thin wall separating your walls from your gushing insides, preparing to join his pointer, is all entirely too confident, too perfect.

Still, you try your best to relax your muscles. It’s hard, especially when his sheathed digit begins to stroke the most intimate parts laying inside of you. His tongue catches your clit again, you pulse, and he seizes his opportunity. You stretch around the intrusion of his second finger, his knuckles synchronizing in a cutting motion, and find it’s impossible to follow his advice. You can feel pleasure in every cell of your body.

“Doing so good for me,” Levi offers his comfort, lips vibrating across your bundle of nerves. Hair stands on end on your body, you shiver, he continues, “So responsive. You react to everything, even my voice.”

How can you not? Levi’s barely begun and you feel like you’re about to spasm an early release around his fingers. You can feel his licks from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head, you feel his steady pumping motions deep within your gut. Standing on the cliff of absolution, staring into the depths of nothing, holding on to the promise of creation. It’s moving, it’s physical, it’s everything.

You snap, and feel no shame in your disgusting words, “Please, fuck me, I can’t, Levi. Wanna cum on your tongue, oh my god, on your cock, please, please.”

His smirk burns a mark into your pussy, his fingers slide in and almost out as he begins to make good on your requests, “Yeah? You want to cum for me?”

You rock your hips into his motions, “Mhm, so bad.”

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. “Cum for me, princesse. Wanna feel you squeeze down on my fingers.”

You yelp as his mouth swallows your clit once more, body jerking. If you felt like you were about to explode before, you feel comparable to a volcano right now. Your oozing arousal mimics molten lava, coating your inner thighs and you can only assume Levi’s face and hand. It’s a mess. You can hear yourself, in fact, the wet sounds emanating from your core are loud. Your moans and cries hardly cover up the squelching, and under different circumstances, you might be embarrassed. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before in your life. Levi hits the mark every time — fingertips rolling into your g-spot, stroking your ridged walls, tongue swirling up and down and in devoted circles. This act keeps you on a constant edge, stuck in the permanent state of initial sensations, one’s that do not die down after a few pets to your clit. Levi doesn’t know your body well, but it seems as if he has no qualms on becoming well acquainted with it.

You feel the beginnings of an eruption bubble in the pit of your stomach, your eyes squeeze tightly shut as you try your best to keep up with Levi. You bounce against his hand, quite literally fucking yourself on his tongue and fingers. Rotating your hips up into his lips when his wet muscles hits that one particular spot of nerves, a spot your body decides is needed stimulation the most. He catches on quickly, flicking directly into it, sucking your clit between the plush of his lips. His heavy pants flow out in puffs from his nose, fanning across your thighs, making you increasingly aware of how drenched you truly are. The air cools the wetness painted along your skin, your spine arches, and you can barely manage to choke out a warning to the man between your thighs.

“Lev’, I’m-,” your muscles tighten everywhere as you start to go rigid. You swallow, seeing the tell tale stars behind your eyelids, “Oh my god I’m gonna cum.”

Levi growls into your cunt, fucking his fingers faster, suctioning even sturdier onto your bundle of nerves. Your mind blanks, you tug on his hair in a fierce grip, and fall apart completely.

You can’t move a single muscle, you cum so hard. Mouth gaping, sharp inhales of air burn down your throat and into your lungs, your eyes wide open. You can’t keep them closed, you’re completely astonished by the force of your orgasm. Your cunt squeezes the life out of Levi’s fingers, you cry as your walls refuse ease up. You hold that beat, clenching and squeezing for what seems like an eternity, and then finally, a pulse shatters your locked in bones.

Your hole contracts wildly, spasming and gushing and it’s too much. Way too fucking much. You’re helpless, aimlessly bucking your hips as Levi’s tongue doesn’t relent, only working you through the crashing tides of your climax. You gasp, sobbing out as you hold onto his hair for dear life. You only realize you’re actually crying when a tear slides down your temple, disappearing into your hairline.

You go entirely limp the second the convulsations slow, becoming a dull heartbeat between your legs. You laugh deliriously, overwhelmed with emotion. Happiness, relief, you even find humor swimming around in your brain. Levi gave you an orgasm strong enough to knock common sense out of you. Your own body betrayed you, you think fleetingly. You’ve never came that hard before. Not even when it’s been you, alone, fingers dipping down to swirl your clit in practiced motions. You could never replicate this with yourself, no matter how hard you might try.

“Fuck,” you heave as Levi slowly slides his digits out. He smears your slick along your folds, and you shutter at the overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he repeats, removing his mouth entirely to kiss at your thighs.

His palm runs back up your torso, a chilling trail of your release left along in its travels, and he squeezes a breast. His body follows shortly after, wiping his face with his other forearm, before meeting you at eye level to kiss your lips. You taste yourself on his mouth — tangy, but sweet.

Levi pulls away with a gasp of air, silver eyes lidded, “Get on your stomach.”

With all the strength you can muster, you nod, and begin to roll onto your stomach. Levi moves backwards on his knees, allowing you the space to do so. His hands grasp onto your hips, guiding them up, arching your back and allowing your upper body to rest entirely on the mattress. A low groan reverberates throughout the room, followed by a gentle smoothing over your ass. He grips a cheek, spreading you open, and you can only imagine the look on his face as he releases the fat, watching it bounce back to place.

You feel his presence leave behind you, and you turn your head, hearing rustling to your left. It’s hard to tell through the bunched up sheets around your head, but you can see him bending over, shuffling through his discarded pants. You hear a crinkle, and you understand. Levi returns just as quickly as he had left, and you spread your legs apart.

More crinkling meets your ears, and a weight slaps gently against the seam of your ass. You feel Levi’s hips align along your cheeks, and you realize that weight is his cock. You gasp, arching your back further. It feels heavier now laid against your backside than it did in your hand, thicker, even. Lube smears along your skin, accompanied by the feel of latex, and your pussy throbs once more.

“You look so fucking good,” he praises, steady and slow. “So pretty, spreading your legs for me.”

“Please,” you beg, pushing your ass back into his teasing. “Need you inside.”

“You want this? You want me?”

Of course you want him. You want him with every fucking fiber in your being. You want him to slide his cock into your dripping core, take you, claim you. You want the marks on your body, want to feel the ache in your thighs in the morning. You want to pulse on his member, you want his cum shooting inside that condom. You want him to cum so fucking hard he forgets every word in every language he knows aside from your name.

You want to fall asleep beside him. You want to wake up next to him. You want to kiss him goodnight, murmur a sleepy ‘good morning’. You want to know him, all of him. The good, the bad, the flaws, the perfections — you want Levi.

“Yes.”

With the clear green light of consent given, Levi leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to the small of your back. His girth slides through your folds, parting them until his head nudges at your sensitive clit. Goosebumps rise on your flesh, and you bite down on your lip, stifling a quiet moan. Levi does this motion a few times, letting your mixed arousal and release coat his dick liberally. His tip moves down, nudges at your quivering hole, and you brace yourself.

Levi sinks in so slowly, so precisely, you fear for a moment you might cum again. He fills you up perfectly, your walls pulsate around his cock and he sheaths himself inside your heat. You barely register the sounds of his moans, you’re too focused on your own. He doesn’t stop until his hips are fully pressed into the meat of your ass, his member throbbing and jumping inside of you.

“Squeezing me so tight,” he rasps, taking a deep inhale of oxygen between his sentences. “So, so warm. Fuck, parfait.”

(Perfect.)

He stays there for a moment, keeping you stuffed to the brim, letting his length bob within you, allowing you time to adjust. As nice as the gesture is, you don’t hold the patience to wait anymore than what you have to.

You take matters into your own hands. Tucking your forearms under your sternum, you use the stability to rock your hips away, moaning into the pillow when the head catches your sweetest spot. Then, you slam yourself back, catching both of you off guard. You choke on a gasp, and Levi releases a shaky lustful noise of surprise.

You consider this a hint, but Levi must take it as a warning.

His hands gripping at your sides, fingers digging through the flesh and muscle to hold at your bones, Levi pulls himself back. The tip of his cock almost falls out as he fucks the head in the shallow depths of you cunt. You immediately miss that feeling of being full, pushing back to feel it once more. His hold keeps you still, and he continues as if uninterrupted.

“You want it that bad, huh? Desperate little thing, aren’t you?” he grits, teasing his cock in just a little further.

Not enough for you though, so you plead brokenly, “Levi.”

“Louder, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You burn with desire, your voice hoarse as you turn your head and cast a sultry look over your shoulder, “Levi, please fuck me.”

You barely get out your sentence before Levi rams his length into your center, brushing along the wall of your cervix. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, mouth gaping, eyebrows scrunched together. You hear his humorless chuckle, dark and gravely.

“Good girl. Bonne fille.”

Levi puts all his strength into his outward stroke then — seemingly hitting every single ridge and spot of your cunt. You sink your teeth into the pillow, biting and pulling at the fabric to contain a scream. No one should be this good at this, no one, and you just started. You already feel like you’re going to combust. The pleasure of it all bubbles under the surface of your skin, you’re almost positive that’s what the coat of goosebumps covering your body is. All the excitement roaring to the top, clawing to find its way out of you.

He groans, low and deep and sensual. The noise flares a wave of gushing from you, and you clench fiercely around his girth as Levi begins to set his pace. Smack, smack, smack. Slow, intentful, and you can feel every fucking roll and thrust as if you’re experiencing this all in third person.

You feel out of your body, out of your mind. Your conjoined union grounds you though, keeps you trapped in your vessel. As if Levi holds an invisible string, linking your soul to his. It’s beautiful, it’s euphoric, it’s indescribable the feelings, the sensations, Levi pulls forth from you.

Levi gathers all the fat of your cheek in one hand, holding onto you, steadying himself on his knees, and he picks up his speed. He angles his hips upwards, hitting that one magnificent spot within you. You choke on a cry, unconsciously pushing your own hips down. Levi seems to understand, keeping that position, guiding you back and forth on his cock to consistently rut along your g-spot.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he heaves, astonished. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Not only can you still hear yourself, you can feel how wet you are in this position. Your slick covers the insides of your thighs, smears along the back of your legs. Fuck, you can feel yourself on Levi’s hips. Painting him in your undeniable arousal, you can only imagine how you look. Legs spread, ass high in the air, back arched — the image spurs you to meet his thrusts, bouncing yourself with what little leverage you have.

“Feels so good,” you turn your head, gasping for air as you find your rhythm. “Oh fuck, Levi.”

“Again,” he begs with a wavering voice and needy tone. “Say, say it again.”

“Levi!” you cry, eyes slamming shut as he plows forward. “Oh fuck, touch me!”

Your clit throbs in agonizing impatience, his consistent thrusts aiming for a different kind of high. Your orgasm lurks deep within the confines of your soul, dark and foreboding. You want to unveil the beast, you want Levi to wrap his hands around your personified pleasure and bring it out into the light. You want to constrict and contract on his cock. You want to hear all his pretty, unhinged noises as you grip onto him with all your might.

Levi’s palms force you down further into the mattress, the new angle allowing a repetitious slap of his balls to tap against your clit. Your cunt sloshes, his pace irregular, and for an ignorant moment you think Levi’s about to bust before you reach your own release. Granted, it would be your second, but still — selfishly, you want the promise of a second climax. A third, too, if he’s feeling generous.

Fortunately, you assume incorrectly. Levi pushes every inch inside, stilling his hips once they press flush against your backside.

He groans, “Don’t move, shit.”

You can’t listen to him. Not when your pussy has a mind of its own, pulsing and milking and searching for relief. It feels like a weight is stationed deep within your insides, a divine pressure customized just for Levi. Your body halts, but your muscles do not, though you try your best.

You throw all of that effort out the second Levi’s arm wraps around your stomach. His hand dips down, fingertips brushing along your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, and you’re face to face with the realization if he moves anymore you’re going to cum. The stillness of it all feels like heaven and hell. You want the sex to last as long as possible, it feels great. On the other hand, the stagnancy feels like torture.

“So, so close,” you choke, licking your chapped lips. “If you move, I’m gonna-“

And so, Levi rolls his hips, and you fly over the edge. You grit your teeth, Levi’s the fucking brat.

His moans outdo your own, surprisingly. Levi shakes behind you, his fingers tremble as he circles your clit in fast, purposeful movements. His torso presses along your spine, doubling over with the sheer strength of your release.

Your muscles clench. Your brain shuts off, and not a coherent thought makes an appearance. You speak, but you’re entirely sure it’s gibberish. Probably pleads and affirmations, but you’re not there to know for certain. Your consciousness floats to the ceiling, honestly, probably to fucking space as an orgasm tears through every cell in your body. You squirm, tears lining your eyes, gripping onto whatever you possibly can within your reach.

You go deadweight in Levi’s hold the moment your contractions slow, gasping for sweet oxygen. He kisses along your back, sloppy with a languid tongue. His left hand leaves your ass, petting along the back of your head.

“Good girl,” he husks. “Think you can give me one more?”

You shake your head, utterly wrecked, “Dunno’.”

“One more,” he decides, leisurely pulling his length from your depths. You moan, shaky and oh so sensitive. He curses, “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. Shit.”

Levi’s cock leaves your hole with a wet pop, and your entire body relaxes. It’s not over though, you know this, he knows this.

With soft, gentle hands, Levi rolls you over onto your back. Your hair sticks to your sweaty forehead, drool is smeared along your cheek, your eyes half lidded. You know you look like a mess, but as your eyes meet his, Levi looks at you with such adoration it nearly breaks your heart.

The underside of his shaft stations itself between your soaked lower lips, and he dips forward, “Magnifique.”

(Beautiful.)

You crane your head up, lips searching for his, “Kiss me.”

He indulges you, connecting his mouth to yours. The kiss is objectively flawed, his teeth grazing against yours, tongues slipping and sliding everywhere. It’s passionate though, meaningful. It speaks volumes, and you’re content with the sloppiness.

His lips still locked to yours, his hands slide down your torso until they meet your hips. Circling around, his digits splay on the backs of your thighs, lifting them up and apart. He breaks your connection, tilting his head down to watch the scene unfold below him.

The head of his latex covered cock nudges your quivering hole, and he moans loudly as he sinks in. His eyes flicker up, taking in your expression. You’re awestruck, overwhelmed by the sight and the feeling. You meet his gaze, and you share a soft smile. Levi pecks your lips sweetly one last time, and loses himself in the deepness of your body.

“Want you to cum,” you whisper, hands coming up to cradle his face. “Please?”

“So sweet,” Levi murmurs, rolling his lower half. “Need you to give me one more, ‘kay? Just one more, yeah?”

You nod, breaths becoming erratic, “Yeah.”

His lips, swollen and flushed, hover above yours. Not once do his pupils waver from your face, nor do your own. Levi’s shaking, putting his weight onto a single forearm by your head, while his other appendage seeks out your precious clit. His thumb is the digit of choice, but his touch is much softer. He strokes your puffy pearl, up and down and in circles in perfect timing of his thrusts. They’re deeper somehow in this position, but maybe it’s the intimacy of this moment.

You’re pressed so closely to one another, you can feel his abdomen flex with every plunge into your weeping cunt. Your knees cage his hips, locking him in place, feet stationed solidly by his calves. Your conjoined moans and whines sound like a song, one is not without the other. You inhale his noises while he swallows yours. His free hand brushes along your cheek, caressing your face.

“Si beau,” Levi whimpers. “Si proche.”

(So beautiful — so close.)

“Cum for me,” you ask of him, his sweaty forehead resting down against yours.

His thumb swirls faster, his thrusts losing all rhythm and reason. You feel your final orgasm on the horizon, this one much more gentle in nature.

“I’m cumming,” Levi whines, eyes widening. “Fuck, oh.”

Your name is a symphony on his lips as he climaxes, strings of moans and swears following suit. His digit never pauses, and you meet him at the edge of absolution. Holding onto one another desperately, watching the other unfold in harmony.

Your release feels like gentle waves on the shoreline. Grazing along the soles of your feet, tickling at your ankles. Soft, delicate, merciful. Levi throbs within you, pulsing and jerking like a tsunami. You could find symbolism in this, if you had the brain to. However, all you can feel is the weight of mindfulness — the casual brutality of unity, the catastrophic beauty of release. How tightly you hold onto each other in these final moments, relishing in the afterglow of an intimacy so sacred, so raw and honest.

You stare at one another, exposed and vulnerable. Breathing heavily, stilling completely. Levi’s hand twitches at your cheek, and your hold on his face slacks. You can’t speak, you can’t find the right words. What do you say, what are you supposed to say, to someone after they’ve brought you euphoria on a silver platter?

Nothing. At least, not right now.

Levi’s lips crack into a lazy smile, his eyes so soft as they gaze adoringly down at you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip before he flips his hand, his knuckles grazing along your cheekbone. Your hands regain their cognisance, and your grip solidifies, mimicking his actions. You hold his cheeks in your palms, fingertips brushing right before his ears. For all the noise the two of you created, you can’t help but admire how beautiful the silence sounds.

And when he dips down to kiss you, you lift your head up to meet him halfway. Delicate, sweet molding greets your mouth. You suppose this is a declaration of sorts, that there wasn’t a single thing either of you can find to regret. It warms your heart, knowing that all of this was meant to happen, that both of you felt this way for one another all along.

You decide then to worry about tomorrow and what this means for you and Levi. He slips out of your arms, and out of your body. You feel boneless, but you follow him as he stands from the bed.

Your bathroom is too small to hold two people, but you make it work. Wiping away at sticky reminders of your sex, he discards the condom into a trashbin underneath your sink. Your elbows knock against each other as you clean yourselves, and you share knowing glances. And when you try to slip behind him as he washes his hands, to retreat back to your bedroom, he takes a playful step back to prevent you from doing so. You laugh, and push at his shoulder blades until he takes a step forward. Levi rolls his eyes, a smile still hanging on the edges of his mouth. You place a peck to his shoulder, and make your way back to your beloved mattress.

Thankfully, the sheets aren’t utterly disgusting. You’ll definitely have to wash them tomorrow, they reek of sex and passion, but they’ll do for tonight. You shimmy under your comforter, and await to see if Levi returns to you or decides to greet you with a goodbye.

Your eyes close, but your entire body tenses when you hear the tell tale sounds of bare feet on your floor. You relax completely but when the bed dips, and the fabric of your blanket shifts across your form. You roll onto your side, facing Levi as he settles in. You peek through sleepy eyelids, and catch Levi mirroring you. On his right side, eyes gazing at you, his arm slips over your waist, and pulls you closer. Your vision blackens, your consciousness slipping from your grasp, and you fall asleep with Levi’s lips pressed against your forehead.

Rustling. Warmth. A light pressure on your shoulder. The slide of your comforter across your skin. A tickling running down your waist. Breath on your neck.

“Hey,” a voice. Raspy, deep, radiating comfort.

You sigh, sleep still hanging on tightly behind your eyelids, “Mhm?”

You recognize with your slowly awakening consciousness that the gentle weight on your shoulder is a pair of plush lips. The gravel vibrates across your collarbone, “Don’t tell me I tuckered you out. Didn’t even go that hard.”

“Hard enough,” you murmur teasingly. “‘Dunno how you’re ‘wake right now.”

Levi chuckles, “Hard to sleep in when you get a personal good morning from the sun. Is it always this bright in here?”

“Are you usually this annoying before noon?” you mock back, a smile cracking across your face.

“Funny,” he remarks sarcastically. “Using my own words against me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Witty as ever, even when you’re half asleep.”

You peel your eyelids open then, peaking at the blurry image of the top of Levi’s raven locks, “I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Can't let you catch me slipping on being funny and charming.”

“You’re charming?” he snorts.

“Very,” you hum, deciding your eyes aren’t quite ready for the blaring light of the day. They shut just as quickly as they had opened, “You liked me enough last night, friend.”

“Friend, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I think I earned a bit more than that.”

“Hm?”

Levi’s lips travel up the side of your neck, “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Why not?” you pout. “Thought we had a good friendship going here.”

Levi nips at your skin playfully, “We were never going to be friends.”

“So then,” you hesitate, nerves growing in your stomach. “What would you say we are?”

“Not friends,” he says, and although the words themselves aren’t nice, they’re spoken with a delicate sweetness.

“Not friends,” you repeat, turning onto your side to face him. Levi looks up at you, eyes shining with the fragments of illuminated sun that shines through your balcony. His hair is a mess, his lips are swollen, eyelids droopy. You giggle, “I can work with that.”

Levi tilts his head up to place a kiss onto your lips, a gentle peck conveying much more than what his speech can ever tell you. He smiles as he pulls away, “What a mess we’ve gotten into.”

You chase after his retreating mouth, capturing it in a deeper embrace.

Yeah, it is a mess, isn’t it?

“You hungry?” you pull away, now fully wide awake.

“Starving, actually,” he purrs, smoothing his palm flat down your back, cupping your ass cheek.

You smack his hand away, laughing, “C’mon! I’m sore, don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” he breathes, fingers trailing up your naked thigh.

“That,” you glare, taking his wandering digits into your hold. His fingers lace through yours, and your heart skips a beat. “Seriously, I am hungry.”

“Alright,” Levi accepts defeat, or maybe your intertwined hands are what soothes his seeking. “After we shower and you wash these disgusting sheets. I can’t believe you didn’t strip the bed last night.”

“I was tired,” you defend yourself, huffing as you begin to sit up. Your joints pop as you stretch your legs, pushing your shoulders back to crack your spine, “And boneless.”

“Think I gave you an extra one, actually.”

“Shut up.”

Levi laughs, loud and boisterous. Completely opposed to how you’ve seen him thus far — stoic, collected, in control. It warms you, just like the sunlight dripping in from your balcony, and you think to yourself that you could listen to him laugh for hours.

He watches you as you stand, eyes filled with an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint. It’s soft, whatever it is. Levi looks as if he belongs here, in your bed, the morning after, well, before. Whatever last night was, it was more than sex, but you refuse to jump the gun and call it something it may not be. At the very least, something it isn’t quite yet.

Love making is reserved for lovers, and you and Levi haven’t exactly defined what you are aside from “not friends”.

But truly, you’re happy. You won’t ask for more than what he’s willing to give you. Because if keeping a label off of your relationship is what grants you the blissful sight of seeing Levi’s smile, hearing his genuine laughter reverberate off your bedroom walls, feeling the heat his body exudes holding you within his arms — you’ll take it without any complaint.

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happyselves · 3 years

Text

Drugs ( part 1 ) { Daniel Ricciardo x reader }

" I'm a fucking mess sometimes, you needed me as much as I needed you. We were a drug for each other, but we need to heal and in order to get better I need to let you go "

You watch Daniel in the opposite corner of the room, lost in your thought.He was looking at you like he knew how much it was hurting you to be here, be there for him like you are a simple friend to him. You wanted more, you needed more and you knew he couldn't give you that, not Daniel Ricciardo. You had way too many long sleepless nights talking about it, he did not want a partner before the end of his career, yet until now you were hoping that he would change his mind,until last night. You had one of those sleepless night conversations again and it was the one that made your emotion's vase overflow. You hide so well how your heart broke in millions pieces last night. After all those years of friendship you had to let him go. He was hurting you and keeping you close " as a friend " . He knew now how much you were in love with him when you were doing so well hiding it all together. The smile, the touch, the gaze, you put your best acting for so long but you couldn't anymore. I was toxic for you when all he was, was the best friend you could hope for, always supportive, always here for you, but the more he cared for you the more he made you hope.

Last night was a mess, you both got drunk, both ended up on his room balcony in that beautiful hotel in Bahrain. You laugh for hours until the alcohol hits you both really hard and makes you confess things that you would normally keep to yourself. He starts by rambling about life outside f1, then it comes to your friendship and your brain isn't functioning properly, only your heart was able to make a decision. So when he started describing how perfect your friendship was for him and how essential you were in his life, your heart spoke for you but only in whispers.

You : You have no idea what's going on in my mind.

Dan : What did you say ?

And then you feel the alcohol effect, the one that makes you brave.

You : I said you have no idea what's going on in my mind right now ...

You waited a bit, not daringly looking at him, he was waiting for you to continue, looking at you with a curious gaze in his eyes, very intrigued that he patiently waited until you took a breath and gained enough courage to say what you had in mind.

You : You have no idea how much torture it is for me.

That where you saw his face close itself, the seriousness taking place like he just hit a wall in full force. He realised something, he realised that you weren't happy and his heart broke, you didn't need to say more he got it right away by the tears forming on the corners of your eyes. He realised that the friendship he thought was perfect wasn't, he finally saw after all this year how much you were unhappy. He was so selfish that even if he knew you by heart he didn't see the suffering you were giving him every time you too spoke during a sleepless night. Now he sees it, the pain, the hurt but most important the love and all he could feel right now was his heart aching and sinking into a dark hole.

He was losing you,

killing you,

torturing you,

helding you captive...

At this instant he hated himself so much for wanting to keep you just for him, no wanted to let you go, he wanted you only for him and it was unhealthy cause he knew that he couldn't give you what you needed from him. He felt sick to his stomach, he was toxic for you but you were a drug for him, he needed you to be well, to do well, to be happy. This man was confused because he didn't know how to explain his own feeling, he didn't know if it was love, possession, friendship, ownership, the only thing he was sure of was that without you he would be nothing. His mind needed to be clear, he needed to act fast before you left him for good, he needed to make sure of what he was feeling ...

So that night, under the stars, on this balcony, both of you were drunk. On this sleepless night, he grabbed the chair you were sitting in and brought it close to him with a firm attention to put an end to this. You got so surprised by his sudden gesture that you almost fell, he caught you with his arm like he always does when you are about to strumble. His arms having a firm grip on your waist he never let go of you, he didn't intend too even for a second until he was sure of what was going on between the two of you and you felt a tension building between your bodies. You dreamed of this for so long but living it was beyond every expectation because as soon as you ended up on his legs, it was like your soul left your body admiring this moment from afar, but you never felt more alive. Your skin was burning, your head spinning as the sight of him getting his face closer to you. He hesitates for a second that lasts an eternity for you before closing the gap between your lips and pressing his onto yours. They were soft, like kissing a cloud and your eyes shut themself automatically to make this moment captured in your brain forever cause you knew it would be a one time thing. You didn't want to think of this not right now, not when the man who was kissing you softly was here doing what you've always wanted and you were determined to show him how useless words were useless in this instant.

His lips still on yours, no moving like he was waiting for something, an approbation from you to make a move, you didn't realise that you were overthinking so much that you didn't respond to the kiss but the alcohol in his system wasn't letting him pull away just yet, and you were glad for it because you could react just in time and open your mouth to catch his lips, licking the dry spot on it, making them yours and only yours for what could last some longs minutes. His whole body relaxes and he releases a sigh he didn't know he was holding, his hands finally leaving your arm to fiercely grab your neck and making your forehead touch each other, deepening the kiss, introducing his tongue to the party. It was becoming sloppy and you were so intoxicated that your head was feeling dizzy but you weren't sure if it was because of the toxicity running through your veins or the way Daniel was eating you literally alive, like you let nobody do before. Your cold hands were finding their place at the hem of his shirt, pulling the last millimeters separating you from him. You wanted to feel him everywhere on your body as much as possible, the burning sensation was addictive and you needed more, you needed more of him ... again and again, savoring the few stolen moments.

But you had to let go, you couldn't breathe anymore, and he had too but it felt like he didn't want to. Coming back to reality was brutal for both of you as it seems to appear when you both pull away from each other, not moving your hands to lean on the contact, the fire and electricity who was roaming between your two bodies. At this point you couldn't open your eyes yet, you couldn't face him, face his terror of what you had just done, face the saddest of a lost friendship ...

His hand moves to caress your cheek, and like a fool, you lean to it, purring like a cat enjoying being petted. His thumb was stroking your skin, encouraging you to finally meet his gaze and when you do so, you've met the most beautiful brown eyes like it was the first time you were really seeing them from a close side. They weren't as light as you remember and his pupil was so dilated, yet so alive, sparkling like the sky during the 4th of July. He wasn't blinking and you weren't either, to scare to miss something , it was even more deep in the meaning that the exchange you just had, so intimate to lock eyes with each others, communicating only with your eyes, wondering what's the other is thinking, quietly battling to know which of you will break the contact first.

It end up being you when you felt your lungs lacking of air, opening your mouth to gather a huge breath of air which bring you a new clarity in your brain and made you jump out of his lap, finding yourself search for the balcony ledge, regretting right away the decision because you were already missing him. He was looking at you, his arms still up in the air where you were a second ago, still shocked from your sudden change of heart. How could you look at him and be around him after that ? You wouldn't dare to meet his eyes right now, deeply ashamed of what you just did. So you didn't and you left without a word, leaving him hanging on his own, leaving the room and probably leaving his life.

You spend the remainder of the night crying in your room, grieving the loss of the friendship you had with him, hoping to disappear from this place and not meeting him in the morning.

But that was without counting on the elevator taking too much time to come to your floor and the door of Daniel's room opening. It was too late for you to run and take the stairs plus you had too much luggages with you to carry. You pull on your best act, like nothing happened last night, hiding your puffy eyes and your miserable face as much as you can in the hood of your oversized hoodie ... his oversized hoodie. That thought made your eyes water again, you were about to betray him, leaving him alone but after like night.

That was where he called your name from the back of that room, and like an idiot you lifted up your head meeting his gaze from afar. He looked at you like he knew ... and your heart broke again replacing it with dust as the elevator's doors finally opened in front of you. You entered it, looking at him one last time.

MASTERLIST

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morkleemelon · 3 years

Text

off the ice || chapter 6: grab my hand

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

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

genre: fluff, humor, angst, sports au, college au

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, suggestive material, depictions of bullying

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog and @skiimmiilk I’ve made the executive decision to split up the last chapter since it was so long! Chapter 7, the finale, is done and will be posted in a few days <3

Distance. Distance isn’t a word you would use to describe your relationship as he pulls you close at night. There’s no distance between the two of you as he lifts you up in the air during your nightly practice, strong hands firmly gripping your waist as you dance across the empty rink.

No.

But if one were to look past your smile, to wipe away the condensation and see clearly what’s really going through your head when you were together with Mark, they might just name the dreadful feeling caving in your chest “distance”.

Weeks have passed by since the hate message incident in Mark’s room. You tried to pull out the arrow, to convince yourself it wasn’t true and that you could ignore it just like all the rest. Alas, its words struck so deep, you still bleed.

It poisons your thoughts. Your anxieties had already worsened and you found yourself pulling away from his affections, afraid of the way the people walking past might somehow be talking about you.

Mark is starting to have his suspicions too, flashing you concerned looks when you uncomfortably shrug his arm off your shoulders in public. To you, it’s because you’re scared of the ‘hateful’ stares from others. To him, it’s a riddle he can’t solve.

Because when it’s just the two of you, you let yourself relax. Like yin and yang, you fight an internal battle between how much you adore your boyfriend and how terrified you are that you aren’t good enough for him. When it’s just the two of you alone, you stop running and let him close the distance.

Right now is one of those rare times - the familiar cold and scraping of ice below your skates bringing you peace.

Mark glides easily beside you on the empty rink. He’s improved a lot, much to your astonishment. A golden boy through and through, he proves that there’s nothing he can’t do as he conquers each move you show him.

Coach Tanya was surprised when you spoke with her after practice one day to notify her that you’d decided to pair with Mark Lee, captain of the hockey team, for the winter competition. Her thin eyebrows were perked in playful judgement when you started to defend yourself, ready to bring up Yuna’s accident and your financial situation before she stopped you: “You’re my best skater, y/n, and I look forward to your performance. Work hard, captivate your audience, and you just might win”.

Watching Mark skate on ahead of you in the borrowed skates he makes do with, you can’t wait to prove her right.

“What are we going to practice tonight, y/n?,” Mark asks as he arcs a wide circle around you.

“I think you’ve gotten most of the basics down, so let’s go over the first part of the choreography,” you decide, grabbing onto his hand and giggling as he swings you around with him.

“We have choreography?,” Mark lifts your arm up to twirl you around. He stops you as you face him, a laugh leaving your lips before he smothers them with kisses. His fingers tickle at the hem of your shirt, cold to your bare skin. You squeal, the sound carrying eerily over the spacious rink.

“I thought about it a lot in my head,” you explain as you shove him away gaily, “and I planned a bit during my own practices. It’s not done yet, but I think we can make it work”.

“My talented, beautiful girl,” Mark murmurs, catching up to you and wrapping you in a back hug. You sigh blissfully, catching his warm lips in the crook of your neck.

“Mark, we seriously do have to practice. The festival’s only a month away,” you mumble. Some nights, let's just say, you spend more time in the locker room showers than you do on the ice. Using your best intuition, Mark’s lips travelling down towards your collarbones equals not a lot of practice time. And as much as you want for him to distract you all night long, you have to put your skate down and bring your boyfriend back to focus on the task at hand.

He huffs slightly against your skin, but releases you obediently.

“It’s gonna start like this,” you swiftly continue on, positioning your arm gracefully behind Mark’s head, “put your hand here,” you move his hand behind your back like you had planned, “and tilt your head to look at me,”. You tip his jaw slightly so he now peers down at you, face not inches from yours.

Dropping your gaze, you maintain what little self control you have and refrain from thinking about the locker room. It’s right by the rink exit. It’d be so easy to just...

“And then?,” Mark whispers, voice low, waiting patiently in the starting position. His hand is warm against your back, but it tugs at your heartstrings too.

“And then you’re gonna spin me out like we practiced before”. You help him perform the motion, unfurling yourself from his grip and gliding down to spin a slow circle around.

You bring him slowly through the rest of the introduction, Mark copying the moves diligently.

“Then when I skate back to you, lift me up in the air like we did last time. You think you can do it?,” you question. The move you’re about to attempt is quite difficult - a little dangerous, even, since Mark is still a beginner - but you trust him to never hurt you.

“I can do it,” he confirms confidently, holding his arms out to receive you.

“Okay, slow at first,” you nod, skating up to him at half-speed, grabbing onto his shoulders to help lift yourself above his head. Mark’s strong hands connect with your body, hoisting you up by your waist and balancing your body carefully above his. Muscles burning, you steady yourself as he twirls you slowly down.

“Alright, again,” you command.

The two of you repeat the move, steadily increasing the speed until the lift is smooth to your satisfaction.

“I think that was pretty good,” you compliment, slightly out of breath.

“Only because of you,” Mark endears, panting as he rests his chin atop your hair.

You sigh into his chest, the comforting feeling of his palpitating heartbeat washing over you.

If only it could always be like this.

“y/n?,” Mark mumbles. His tone was almost unsure, as if he was about to say something you don’t want to hear.

You hum an affirmation.

“Is everything okay these days?,” he asks the question you dread answering, “I know,” he continues before you can blurt out your default lie, “I know you keep saying that it is, but I feel like...you know you can tell me anything, right?”.

Mark changes his phrasing midway, always taking your feelings into consideration. The all too familiar wave of guilt fills you up to your ears and you step slightly away. The stadium is dim, only lit by the natural light of the night sky, but you can see the concern that creases his face out in your peripheral vision.

Your eyes focus instead on his jacket button. The second from the top has a few loose threads.

And that’s just how you feel too; the button was made for this coat - it wants to hang on and be there forever. But how could it persist when the world wants to rip it off?

“It’s nothing,” you insist bitterly, your peaceful mood tainted gray. You were so close to successfully ending another day without confronting your demons. Why must Mark sense it so well?

Please stop, Mark. Please stop.

“I don’t think it’s nothing”. There’s nothing but kindness and concern in his voice, but when he reaches his hand out to you, fear overcomes your rationality and you jerk yourself away.

“It is nothing!,” you exclaim, overly defensive. Half of your mind screams at you to halt, to filter your words before you say something you would regret, but the fuse was already lit and they come tumbling out anyway. “Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying,”.

A beat passes. Two. Five.

The sharp words tear through your mouth like knives, but even then you can’t stop to think. The energy in the rink changed so quickly, your head spins with shock. Turning away from the pained expression you don’t want to see, you skate quickly towards the exit.

The ice is solid as ever, but why does it feel like you’re sinking?

Slamming the dormitory door shut behind you, your skating bag hits the floor before you do. Back pressed against the concrete wall, shaking sobs rack through your body as you sink down to your feet.

“y/n, what happened?,” Yuna peers over her computer screen. Your roommate had finally returned home a few days ago after her leg had finally healed enough to be discharged.

You don’t answer, only burying your teary face into your arms as you cry harder.

The metallic creaking of crutches ensues as Yuna approaches your slumped form. A comforting embrace wraps around your shaking shoulders and the smell of her daisy perfume engulfs you. Her scarred hands stroke through your hair as she says nothing, waiting for your hiccups to calm down.

Guilt eats away at you like nitric acid. It mixes with your frustration, concocting a perfect poison that destroys your last thread of self-respect.

“Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying”

The hurtful words don’t stop echoing in your head. What’s worse is, even though you didn’t stay to look, you can imagine the pain that crossed his face as you left without another word. You feel absolutely disgusting.

This is it. He’s finally going to be done with me.

Moments pass, Yuna sitting patiently by your side as you manage to find your voice. The dam you built around all your secret cracks, disintegrating to pieces as you let everything out to your best friend.

You tell her about all of the hate messages you’ve been getting for months now - how you tried to ignore them, but some of them hit too way deep to forget. You tell her about the dilemma with Mark. He’s never done any wrong to you, ever, but you feel like you can’t keep forcing your problems on him. When you confided in your financial situation with him, he dropped everything to help you with the competition. You at least want to be able to handle one thing by yourself, to not be a burden, but it’s tearing you apart at the seams.

“I don’t deserve him and he’s going to realize it sooner or later,” you lament, gripping onto Yuna’s arms for dear life. Gasping sobs ensue, even as you hold your breath desperately to stop them. “He’s probably already realized it after what I said. Yuna, what do I do? I’m horrible”. Bitter tears choke at your throat.

“Oh honey,” Yuna coos into your hair, “you don’t even know, do you?”.

Hiccupping uncontrollably, you take gasping breaths, trying to calm down. Your roommate understands, patting you gently on the back.

“When you’re in a relationship with someone, the line between having enough communication and enough privacy is tough to figure out. Should you tell him about the lint between your toes? Maybe not. But talking to him about what’s bothering you is not only okay, it’s the right thing to do”.

Yuna lifts your chin up to face her. She looks empathetically down at your watery eyes as she takes her sleeve to dry the fallen tears. You press your eyelids shut, taking deep breaths punctuated by hiccups.

“And Mark,” she continues, “this guy, he looks at you like you’re all the stars in the sky and he’s the first astronomer. There’s not a thing you could tell him that would bother him, that’s what I think. And I think he’s dying to know how he can help you”.

“Yuna I- you don’t understand. I just left him there after saying that. And I can’t even go on a date with him without feeling like people are talking about us,” you gasp out, “So the person sending the messages is right; I’m not good enough for him and he deserves someone way better than me. Maybe this is for the better”.

“y/n, don’t you see?,” Yuna snaps sternly. You open your eyes. They’re pink-red, matching the tip of your nose. “You’re letting other people ruin a once-in-a-lifetime relationship for you. Do you know what happens when you leave to go to the bathroom when we’re all hanging out? Mark’s looking towards the women’s room every two seconds, waiting for you to come back. This guy will manage to find a way to bring up your name at least twice in the five minutes you’re away. He likes you so much, anyone with a brain knows, so it’s not fair to him for you to tell him what, or who he deserves. At least let him make his own decision”.

The advice resonates in the air. Your hiccups calm to a sniffle as it sinks in. Yuna’s right, you’re being so selfish right now. Actually, you’ve been selfish this whole time. By forcing everything to yourself, you were creating an even bigger problem than any of the ones you were trying to hide.

“Yuna, what do I do now?,” you whisper, dread setting in.

“Girl, go talk to him. Now.”

You must look a mess, but you don’t bother fixing yourself up before you’re out the door.

Yuna sends you off with a ‘good luck!’ as you run down the corridor. Rushing down the metal stairs, your frenzied steps echo through the empty stairwell. They sound as desperate as you feel.

Oh god, please let it not be too late.

Once you reach the first floor entrance, you notice through the glass door that it is now, in fact, pouring rain. You were too distracted before to notice the heavy sounds of precipitation pelting down over you.

Hands shaking to send Mark a message, you tell him you need to talk and you’re coming to him. You have no umbrella, but you push open the door anyways. The freezing rain soaks into your skin but you run on, unfazed.

You’re drenched and shivering by the time you stand panting in front of his building. Dying street lights illuminate against the dark, night sky. Waiting, the rain stings your eyes.

Through the blur, Mark’s figure finally appears at the door window. You can’t quite make out his face, but you know it’s him. The metal frame creaks as he pushes it open.

“y/n, what are you doing?”. His voice is raspy and as he comes closer into view. You notice that his eyes are pink-red, matching the tip of his nose.

“I have to talk to you,” you state, voice wavering as fresh tears mix with the ice-cold precipitation. Mustering up all the courage you have, you ready yourself to tell him everything you’ve been holding back.

“Let’s go inside”. His voice is soft as he tugs at your drenched jacket sleeve.

“No I-,” you choke, “I want to say it right now”.

The rain bears down hard as he lets go of your sleeve, allowing the frigid water to soak through his own self, waiting.

“You asked me if something was wrong,” your resolve comes crashing down, “and a lot has been wrong”. You squeeze your eyes shut to force out the unwanted raindrops. “The truth is, I’ve been getting hate messages every day since we started dating. Probably even before that. They say I’m a slut, or I’m fat and ugly. The details don’t matter”.

Mark takes a step towards you, the concerned expression creasing his brow in full view.

“But then they say I’m not good enough for you,” your voice breaks as you admit the most painful part of all, blinking up at him, “and I can’t help but believe them”.

Futily, you swipe your drenched sleeve across your eyes to dry them.

“But even if I don’t deserve anything that you are, I need to tell you right now that I didn’t mean what I said today and I need to know if you still want me-”

Before the next raindrop could hit your skin, you feel yourself lifted up into a crushing hug.

There’s no sound except the heavy pitter patter of rain around you, but you can swear that there’s a symphony playing as he spins you around. His breath huffs against your neck. He’s crying too, you realize.

“y/n,” he croaks, body quivering with tears and from the cold, “I always want you. I-, you-”. Mark pulls you in extra tight as he struggles to find the right words.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” the words strain against Mark’s throat, “when I first saw you, I dropped my shit and ran away”.

You pull slightly away, looking up at him quizzically.

He shakes his head and continues, “You were so beautiful and even when I thought you hated me, I couldn’t stop thinking about you all the time. I don’t want anyone else-”.

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he presses desperate kisses to your forehead. The rain bears down hard, lightning cracking in the sky, but you’re numb to everything else except the feeling of his lips pressing their love onto your skin.

“You’re it for me,” his voice wavers. The vulnerable confession sends you into a fresh wave of emotions and you grip onto the back of his neck, crying into his shoulder. “You’re my heart. I knew it from the first moment I saw you”.

Pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, he brushes back the wet strands of hair stuck to your face. You’re tempted to do the same, the once golden locks now almost black against his brow.

“I love you”.

The words leave his lips so suddenly, but they’ve been at the tip of his tongue for so long they roll off with ease. Your heart drums against your chest as time seems to stop.

“You love me?” you choke, not believing your ears. His forehead is pressed against yours.

“I love you,” he repeats, “I love you. More than anything. So much that I can’t breathe. I was so scared when you left today because I thought I did something wrong and I was thinking of what I said and I was sitting at my desk waiting for you to call because I wasn’t sure if I should call you first after what happened but then I almost did and then-,”

You shut him up with your lips.

He sinks into your touch, responding naturally as you kiss him with everything you have.

Your mind spins with a mixture of relief and excitement as you let all of your worries go. It was never about other people, you realize, it was about your own insecurities and you were tearing yourself down. Without realizing it, you forgot to take into account the other half of the relationship: Mark’s opinion.

But now you know for sure, the opinion that actually matters, not the anonymous person who doesn’t know better. He loves you. It’s you he’s chosen. Out of all of the people he could pick from, Mark holds you in his arms, whispering soft ‘I love you’s’ between each kiss. Kisses to your lips.

How could you ever want him to be with someone else when you’re the one he wants?

“I love you too,” you reply breathlessly into his open kiss.

We deserve to be happy.

He doesn’t say anything, instead responding by tugging your waist closer to him, moving his jaw feverishly to indulge you deeper. Water drips down from his hair, splashing onto the bridge of your nose.

“Let’s go inside,” you gasp. The heat of the moment made you temporarily forget, but the icy November weather slowly started to soak past your jacket. You shiver as a strong gust of wind blows past your drenched body.

Mark leads you inside and you hustle up to his suite. His hand is warm against your wrist and you can’t wait for it to be tangled in your hair again.

Slamming open the door, Mark’s arms are around your waist before it could drift shut. You jump up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he carries you to his room, lips never leaving yours.

Jeno, unsuspecting, is lying on his bed with a book in his hands. If your eyes were open, you would flush at the incredulous look the poor boy shoots towards you.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend works at your jacket zipper quickly, removing the wet outer layers as he sits you on his bed.

Pausing a second, he turns his head to speak to his roommate.

“Out”.

You don’t have time to feel embarrassed before Mark’s jacket is on the floor and he’s lying you back, hovering over your body. The bedroom door rams shut as Jeno scurries out, not keen on seeing the scene progress any further.

I’m sorry, man.

Your mental apology doesn’t last long as your wet hair soaks into the pillowcase beneath you. Mark kisses a line from your jaw down the side of your neck, raindrops wet on his tongue. The heat of his body contrasts the cold of yours and you want all of it against you.

Rain-stained articles of clothing gather on the floor in no time.

“God, I love you so much,” Mark hushes against your ear. His gruff tone sends shivers down your back and you scratch your nails through the base of his hair. Your legs find their way around his hips again, pulling him down impossibly closer.

“I love you too,” you gasp back.

He kisses between your collarbones, then looks back into your eyes, “do you want this?”.

You nod frantically, your voice nothing short of breathless. “I want this”.

Peace you haven’t been able to feel for a long time blankets you as you lie on your lover’s chest, the two of you fresh out of breath. Such a revelation- him telling you he loved you was. And you want to savor the feeling forever.

It feels as if there was a thorn lodged in your heart, festering for months from your terrible, insecure thoughts and you’ve finally yanked it out. It feels like you can finally breathe.

Well, metaphorically. Physically, you may need a few minutes.

Mark’s hair sticks up in every direction, frizzy from being half-dried and from your constant tugging. Nonetheless, he looks beautiful to you in the dim, lamp-lit room. His chest rises and falls in your embrace and your fingers work to delicately trace the toned muscles of his torso. Mimicking your movements, he grazes his thumbs over the blue-purple masterpiece he’s painted across your neck and chest.

“Good?,” he asks nonchalantly.

You let out a soft snort at the sudden question.

Men will always be men.

“Great,” you admit. Heat creeps into your face as you recall the last hour or so.

You guess there’s more benefits of hockey than just the uniform: the stamina and athleticism.

His inflated ego fills the room palpably as he shifts in the messy bed, tugging the covers more over your tangled bodies. Noises arise from the kitchen, probably from his other suitemates. Embarrassment fills you to the brim when you realize that everyone probably heard the two of you. You were far too busy caught up in your passionate feelings to consider this, and now it’s come back to bite.

Huffing shyly, you hide your growing blush into the nape of your boyfriend’s neck. Clanging of kitchenware resonates clearly through the room’s thin walls. You can’t help but distress over how clearly the others could hear you. And for such a long time too.

Oh my gosh. How will I ever face them?

Mark seems to sense your thoughts and lets out a light chuckle.

“Babe, we’re fine. They all hookup all the time. And Yuna-,”

“I don’t need to know, thank you,” you interrupt sharply. Squeezing your eyes shut, you fight off the disturbing imagery.

Ten’s voice drifts through the suite and the sound of the front door shutting rings through them with unnerving vigor. You jolt at the bang, stiffly turning your neck towards the locked bedroom door, as if it would reveal any answers. Mark looks at you, the confused expression on his face making it apparent that he doesn’t know what is happening either. Slowly, he shifts up into a sitting position.

“You’re fucking kidding me - it was that bitch?”. The senior boy’s voice cuts through the nighttime quiet abruptly. Struggling to stitch together the context of the overheard conversation, you force your sore body to sit up as well. From how it sounds, it seems like Ten is on a phone call.

You look at your boyfriend for confirmation. With a nod, the two of you mutually agree to silently withdraw from the comfort of the covers and get dressed.

“I don’t - listen to me, do they know for sure?,” Ten asks anxiously from the other side of the door.

With increasing concern, you hastily pick up your wet, discarded clothing. The cold, uncomfortable sensation makes you wince. Mark grabs your wrist, preventing you from putting on the still-soaked yoga pants. Shaking his head, he takes the garment and tosses it over his desk chair. From his dresser, he hands you a dry set of his own clothing.

The gesture makes you smile and you gratefully pull on the warm sweats and hoodie. They’re obscenely large for your frame, but it’s a sure upgrade from your sad, rain-ruined outfit. Mark ruffles your hair, cheeks like strawberries as he kneels down without a word to roll up your pants.

A small giggle escapes your lips. He’s just seen you naked, but of course it’s this that gets him blushing.

The happy expression is quickly wiped off your face as Ten continues abruptly, anger apparent in his voice.

“Fucking hell! Hillary Choi? The bitch even admitted to it?”. The senior captain’s voice is nothing less than a yell now. Mark’s mouth hangs open in shock as he stares towards the door. The concern and shock shining in his eyes allude to how uncharacteristic his friend’s behavior is.

“Hillary Choi…,” you mutter under your breath, the name ever so familiar to your ears.

“Wait she’s…,” Mark turns his gaze to you carefully, silently confirming his correct assumption.

“She’s the one who hates me…,” you confirm bitterly with a nod.

Mark stands up, grabbing both your hands as you sit back on his bed. His expression is sad, perhaps also peppered with anger - something you’ve never seen in your boyfriend. Gently, he tugs you to your feet.

As you push the bedroom door open slightly, the common room comes into view. Ten’s figure is hunched over the kitchen sink, listening intently to the person on the other side of the phone speak. His breathing is rushed - you’ve only ever seen him this mad the day Yuna entered the hospital.

Then it all makes sense.

Opening the door fully, you reveal Jeno and Haechan sitting on the common room couch. You make eye contact with them as you and Mark stand at the doorway, listening. Their expressions tell that they’re equally as concerned as you.

Mark’s hand in yours, you tiptoe your way to join the two friends on the sofa.

“The fucking psycho bitch,” Ten spits. His hands run furiously through his raven hair as he begins pacing around. The senior sees all of you gathered together, but makes no move to acknowledge any of you other than a hard stare.

The tension is suffocating. Everyone wants to say something, but the waters seem too rough to test. Anxious glances are exchanged, but not a word leaves any of your mouths as Ten continues pacing around, the other speaker on the phone relaying more information. You conclude to wait until the call is over before you try to ask.

“Okay so she’s at the police station right now? ”.

Mark’s hand squeezes yours in silent shock.

“Okay… fuck,” Ten rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose, “alright okay, thank you, officer. I- yeah I’m okay, thank you. Tell Yuna I’m on my way now”.

A moment of silence suspends heavily over the air as he hangs up the call. The breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes in relief as Haechan clears his throat awkwardly and takes one for the team.

“Uh…,” the sophomore calculates for a bit, eyeing the enraged senior carefully, “Ten, what’s going on?”.

For the first time ever, it seems, the mischievous boy’s voice rid itself of its usual snide tone, replaced by refreshing sincerity.

Ten sets down his hand, revealing tears building up in his previously covered eyes. Jeno doesn’t waste a second, getting off the couch without a word and wrapping his arms around his crying friend.

You hesitate before asking, “It’s Yuna’s case?”. Keeping your voice as steady as possible, you hope you’ve succeeded in masking your growing fear.

Ten sniffs, patting Jeno’s back, prompting the younger to let go. Wiping away the stray tears, he nods. Everyone waits patiently as the distraught senior calms himself down with deep breaths.

“They caught the person who tried to kill her- or is it people? I don’t even know. And yes - they tried to kill her,” Ten rubs a stressed finger between his brow, “It was Hillary Choi, some junior girl who’s obsessed with Mark - she’s in our fanclub or whatever. They said she confessed it was all part of a plan? I don’t- I don’t know,” his voice breaks off as he tugs at his hair before heading over to grab his keys.

“Wait, I don’t understand. If she’s obsessed with me why would she go try to hurt Yuna?,” Mark’s voice rings with alarm. A sinking feeling of dread sits in your stomach like a block of cement.

“It’s-,” Ten huffs into his hands, “let’s go to the station first and the bitch can tell you herself, she’s there apparently. Yuna is too. I don’t want to keep Yuna waiting there alone any longer so let’s go”.

The drive is silent, save the rumbling of the pavement below the car’s tires. Mark’s hand grips yours like a vice, but you don’t say anything. In fact, it kind of keeps you grounded as your anxiety goes through the roof. You’re no Sherlock, but hearing news that a girl who’s obsessed with your boyfriend (as has been sending you hate messages for months, no less) tried to kill your best friend, almost succeeding, bodes terribly for you.

It had stopped raining a while ago and the five of you hurry your way through the fresh puddles dotting the police station lot.

“Yuna?,” Ten calls out as the glass doors slide open.

“Here,” a weak reply voices from behind a partition.

Rushing over, you see that Yuna’s usual perfect composition is instead worn-down: her platinum blonde hair falls limply down her shoulders and her face is gaunt with distress.

You had just seen her a few hours ago and she was even the one comforting you then. But now it’s your turn as you carefully kneel down beside her chair and pull her instinctively into a hug.

“Officer, can you please tell us what’s going on?,” Mark stops a nearby woman in uniform.

“You’re all friends of Ms. Kim?,” she inquires, continuing as a chorus of confirmations fills the room, “Okay, just a second”.

The woman appears visibly tired, probably pulled out of bed at an ungodly hour to cover this shift. Taking a long sip of her coffee, the white curls of steam prance around the air as you itch for answers. Setting the hot beverage down on the desk beside her, she straightens her badge. ‘Detective Jeong’, it reads.

“We have a confession,” Jeong relays finally, “earlier today- or yesterday, I should say- we received a call from our traffic security team detailing that they spotted the same model of car as the one thought to be involved with the accident on September 15th the uh-,” she stops to check her clipboard, “black 2018 Audi A4. We issued a warrant to interrogate the driver as quickly as possible, although not much was needed since the perpetrator, Miss Hillary Choi, confessed to the hit and run almost immediately”.

You hug Yuna tighter, Ten embracing from her other side.

“You have the confession, did she say why?,” Jeno asks sternly.

“This is where it gets slightly more complicated and I want to ask, is a Miss y/n here?”.

The mention of your name makes you perk up, surprised.

“That’s me,” you stand up slowly, “why?”.

Mark places a hand at the small of your back in concern.

“y/n…,” Yuna sobs softly, gripping your arm. A thousand thoughts run through your head as your struggle to understand what is happening.

“Yes?,” you brush the fallen strands of hair behind her ear.

“I want her to say it,” Yuna directs, speaking to the detective now.

“Now we do have Miss Choi in our custody right now, but you’ll have to move back into the interrogation room if you wish to speak with her, for safety reasons”.

You nod, helping Yuna onto her crutches as everyone moves towards the back of the station. It feels as if you’re dreaming, that reality has separated itself into a different plane than the one you’re in and your existence has become but a construct. Your legs move on autopilot while your eyes are fixed ahead, but not really looking at anything in particular.

The room you enter is dark and stuffy. Even with Haechan and Jeno opting to wait outside, it is far too crowded for the four of you. The room is divided into two; the other side is fully visible but unreachable due to a large plexiglass window in between. It’s eerily isolating. Yuna is ushered onto the only fold-up chair on your side of the room.

As the late-night officers go to bring Hillary in, the apprehension in the air is thick enough to be spread on your breakfast toast. The only comfort that comes to you is Mark’s arms wrapped around your waist. It’s the only thing that you can make sense of right now.

The door on the opposite side slams open suddenly, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Mark’s fingers curl protectively into your hoodie as Hillary enters.

It’s surreal. This woman - handcuffs and all - carries a plain, calm expression as she sits down casually in her own fold-up chair. You hadn’t seen her in a while, but her beady-eyed gaze is as intense as ever. The red streaks in her hair are outgrown, falling awkwardly around the bright orange of her jumpsuit.

“What’s up?,” Hillary asks, tone cool as if she were not being held for attempted murder at the moment. Her dark eyes settle on you, the arms around your waist, then back to you. Hillary’s stoic face is unreadable, yet it sends chills down your spine like a thousand spiders.

“What’s up? You absolute psycho bitch-,” Ten rails, banging on the glass barrier with a clenched fist. He pulls back as the officer gives him a warning. Yuna pulls him back to calm him down.

Your eyes don’t leave hers. They’re a dark brown, almost black, and you find yourself sinking into them - pulled into them like they’re black holes of concentrated hatred.

Closing your eyes, you pull your mind back to yourself.

For months on end, you’ve been the recipient of her constant torment. It not only affected your mental health, but almost cost you the relationship of a lifetime. This whole time, you’ve been afraid of her words, letting them eat away at your dignity from inside out until you were nearly gone.

But if you had the weapon of confidence - if you had simply chosen to stand up and reply, to say ‘no, you’re wrong’, her arrows would have fallen limp to the ground and she couldn’t have hurt you. Hurt your friend.

You open your eyes, this time staring back hard. Hillary’s expression is unfazed, but you imagine she’s surprised at your change in mentality.

“Tell me everything,” you demand firmly.

Hillary scoffs, as if the situation is amusing.

“Fuck you, tell us everything,” Ten hisses.

Hillary rolls her eyes. “Fine. Only because she wouldn’t want me to be mean to you, Ten”.

“Who?,” you ask rigidly.

“I’ll get to that, bitch,” she sneers.

“Hey, don’t call her that,” Mark warns.

The psychopath in orange laughs maniacally, though you can’t place your finger on what she finds funny.

“Funny,” she gasps for breath, slapping her knees vigorously, “funny how now you talk to me!”.

“She’s nuts,” Yuna states.

“The whole damn Planters factory,” you agree.

“You people wouldn’t know a thing!,” Hillary fires, pointing an accusing finger around the room. Her face is red from her laughing fit, almost as red as her disgruntled bangs. Eyes now glistening with rage, you press back into Mark’s embrace when her personality flips 180 degrees in under a second. “You don’t know anything!,” she screams, “You don’t know! You don’t know!”.

The four of you watch in shock as Hillary melts down, the guard coming up and restraining her to the chair. She’s thrashing around, chanting the phrase over and over again.

“You’ll never know how much I love you, Mark,” Hillary shrieks, smiling hauntingly as she’s forced back into the chair and cuffed to it, “and you’ll never know how much she loves you, Ten”.

“What the fuck?,” Ten rightfully shouts.

“Tell us who!,” you raise your voice.

“I’m getting there, b-,” she stops in the middle of the slur, glancing at your boyfriend. In the blink of an eye, her expression jumps from pure disdain to sickly sweet, “baby”.

Anger flushes through your body. Wanting to provoke her a little, you turn your gaze to your boyfriend. Predictably, he immediately turns his full attention to you. A scrunch of his brow asks you if you’re okay.

“Did you enjoy them?,” Hillary’s voice is ‘normal’ again as she asks the out-of-context question.

“What?,” Ten pries, unamused.

“Did you,” she points her finger directly at you, “enjoy my messages?”.

Oh boy, oh boy. I was waiting for you to ask that.

The words rush to your mouth, every comeback you’ve ever made manifesting into the pinnacle of all comebacks, “As a matter of fact, I did,” you smile brightly, “I especially enjoyed the one’s where you said Mark doesn’t love me and doesn’t want me. I like to think of the irony of it all when we’re sleeping together and he gives me these”.

You tug down the collar of your hoodie (that’s actually his which makes it even better) to reveal the hickies blooming down your neck. “If only you could know how good it feels, but you’re undoubtedly alone”.

Yuna snickers beside you, but Mark’s signature laugh shamelessly fills the limited space around you. The mood of the room changes completely at your words, the seriousness dissipating like sugar in hot water. It’s so refreshing, the feeling of being in control of yourself. Hillary, the person you used to be so afraid of looks so small in her isolation. There’s nothing to her at all, now that you know to stand up for yourself. You’ve never felt so… powerful.

In any other situation, you would have died in embarrassment from sharing personal information like that, but you’re on a roll. And it’s bitch ass Hillary we’re talking about here. Even Ten looks mildly impressed by your new attitude, a tiny smile quirked on his lips.

“You-,” Hillary pouts, “how could you, Mark, how could you do this to me? You and I both know we loved each other first. We still love each other”.

“I have literally no idea what you mean,” Mark emphasizes, moving his hands to grip your shoulders, “you need some serious help, man”.

“I’ll fucking kill you!,” she screams at you again.

“No you won’t,” you chuckle, “you’re locked up! At this point it’s a little amusing.

“You wanna know what the plan was? Me and Seojung were gonna kill you both. I take the bitch that’s dating Ten and she takes the slut who took Mark from me. I got so close, following you, blondie, to the party, but you just had to live-”

“The fuck did you just say?”

“Sick psycho oh my god”

“Yeah good luck doing that from prison, asshole”

The room erupts in replies that cut her off.

“Alright, time’s up,” the guard announces. The door on your side of the room opens, a gust of cool air welcoming you as Detective Jeong appears to usher you out. Turning around to give Hillary one last word as the officer drags her back to her cell, you’re not surprised to meet her menacing eyes.

“He loves me,” you state confidently, “and he always will. Enjoy hell”.

With that, the door shuts behind her and the worst chapter of your life dots its last concluding period. It’s the last one that you’ll let someone else write for you. You’re more than ready to pick up the pen and turn the next page. Excitedly, you head out to your friends waiting on you outside.

“Don’t worry, we’ve monitored that whole conversation and everything will be used against her in court,” Jeong assures, “Miss y/n, you might remember Choi mentioned a ‘Seojung’ and we want to make sure you know that she has been detained and held at the Gangnam Police Station. We’re waiting on her statement, but if what Choi testified is true, we’re looking at life in prison for both parties”.

“Not death?,” Ten scoffs.

“Not death, no,” the detective shakes her head.

“So basically, they’re both insane. And they did all this because they thought Ten and Mark belonged to them,” Haechan follows slowly, having just been filled in.

“We gotta put an end to this fanclub shit. Why are our lives controlled by these freaks,” Jeno groans.

He’s right. He’s so right. The whole thing is disgusting, especially when none of the Lee’s ever asked for it to be formed. If it’s already gotten to the point where members are caught in homicidal attempts, there’s no way the Lovelees club can continue to exist.

The station is nearly empty now, almost all of the officers handling the case calling it a night and heading home. Not wanting to keep Detective Jeong any longer, the six of you head out to the car. It’s nearly four in the morning and the adrenaline is wearing off, exhaustion replacing it.

“Hey but y/n, you were so good in there,” Yuna smiles, bumping you with her shoulder as you walk through the parking lot. The night air is cold against your skin, filled with the scent of petrichor.

“Yeah, you,” Mark looks at you with doe eyes, arm slung around your shoulders.

Letting out a short laugh, you press your lips quickly to his cheek.

“And I’m assuming based on how this looks, the conversation went well?,” Yuna adds.

“Only thanks to you,” you appreciate, turning from your best friend to Mark, “I think we’re all good now”.

Mark beams at you as Ten unlocks his car, bringing you in for an elated kiss.

Groans erupt from all around.

“You’ve seriously been going at it all night, none of us have gotten any sleep,” Haechan whines loudly.

“Bruh,” says Jeno.

“Then get yourself a girlfriend, fatass, I don’t know what to say,” Mark retaliates.

You reluctantly pull away as everyone piles into the vehicle. Haechan, you don’t feel bad for. He could cry and pout all day and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Jeno, is a different story.

Memories of earlier cause your fingers to curl up in cringe; the way he was minding his own business in his own room only to be caught in the middle of your… make-up methods.

“Hey…,” you apologize as you cram into the seat next to him, “I’m uh- I’m sorry about earlier”.

“I don’t want to talk about it”. The blue-haired boy massages the crease between his brows, stressed.

“Right okay,” you nod.

“Not to ruin the mood, but are you okay y/n? I feel like we’re moving too fast past what you’ve been dealing with for the past few months. I mean… I just want to make sure I’m not in the dark about your feelings again,” Mark asks softly.

Silence falls upon the car as the group awaits your answer. You look to the passenger seat, to Yuna, as Ten cruises down the city street.

“I’ll never forgive her,” you finally admit, “either one of them. They can literally rot in hell for all I care. But for me, I’m okay. If anything, this whole thing has taught me a lot and I’ve grown a lot from it. Both of them are locked up, so I’m not scared anymore. Oddly, I feel really free”.

Packed into a tiny car, cruising down the streets of Seoul, you admire the friends around you. You’re surrounded by love. Your best friend and the love of her life. Your soulmate and his two best friends (who have become like family to you). Back on campus, Hope and Lisa sleep away, unaware of the chaos of today. You can imagine the looks on their faces as Yuna and you fill them in. Irreplaceable, every one of them.

Life is full of way too many amazing things for any number of crazy bitches to ruin. Just as your friends have become irreplaceable to you, you are irreplaceable to them too. It’s due time that you give some credit to yourself.

I am truly confident. I am worthy. I am loved.

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themusicplayedherlife · 3 years

Text

Missy’s Lesson Plan

Lesson #1 Listen to Her Worries

pairing: marcus moreno x f!teacher!reader characters: f!reader, marcus word count: 3.6k+ warnings: fluff, awkwardness, bonding, summary: dating is hard; dating after losing a significant other is even harder, but Missy is sure she has a foolproof plan that will help her dad and her teacher finally confess their feelings and get the happily ever after that they deserve! a/n: sorry for the wait! since so many people liked it i wanted to make sure everything about this chapter was decent to post, so ya’ll have @forevans to thank or else this would’ve been stuck in limbo for a long time lol--also, im about to dub reader and marcus the thank-you-couple lmfao--you’ll see why

There are three things you are absolutely sure about in your life.

1. Your name. 2. You love your family. And 3. Missy Moreno is your favorite student.

“Turns out she was just testing us!” She moves around your classroom, picking up scraps of paper and throwing them into the black, durable trash bag she’s hauling around with her, recounting her heroic tale of saving her dad and the other Heroics with her new super powered friends. “A transfer of power or something. Can you believe it?”

Yes and no.

Your heart had literally jumped out of your throat and blood turned cold when Missy was plucked from school during recess—“taken somewhere safer,” the principal had informed you after you stormed into her office wanting to know where your student was and why you weren’t informed.

School was released an hour after that, a way to prepare citizens for the inevitable destruction the Heroics tend to cause in the heavily, populated metropolitan areas, and after making sure every single one of your students had been picked up by a family member, you hurriedly headed home.

You had sat yourself down in front of the television with your mom, worried for Mr. Moreno and the rest of the Heroics (more so for Missy’s dad), feeling completely and utterly helpless.

It only got worse when agents suited in black and white showed up at your doorstep, demanding to know where Missy Moreno and the other super powered children were hiding.

“You lost them?” You had balked—your worry rising to new heights—first Mr. Moreno and now Missy? You didn’t know what to do other than demand how a bunch of agents could have lost a group of untrained children during an alien invasion!

None of them answered you, remaining stoic, and if it weren’t for your mom, you would’ve pounced and clawed the closest agent out of desperation.

The agents only left after turning your house upside down in their search for the children.

And then, after hours of waiting, the news showed the Heroics, Anita Moreno, and the children landing in front of the White House, safe and sound. You almost cried from relief in your mother’s arms.

So, no, you can’t believe it; but seeing her here, this special girl, that has somehow worked her way into your heart from the moment she walked into your life, safe and sound in your classroom, you do believe it.

But you can’t tell Missy all of that when she’s practically bouncing on the heels of her feet, beaming up at you every few seconds to watch your reactions to her story. Instead, you widen your eyes for good measure and your mouth hangs open. It’s a little exaggerated, but you really are impressed with Missy—very much worried, but impressed. “Woah! I’m so proud of you!”

Her grin is so bright and proud, it makes you chuckle under your breath, your shoulders finally relaxing at the rare, childlike mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Are you going to write about it for your report?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

Now that stops you from sorting through the craft supplies, eyebrow raising in surprise. “Maybe?”

“It’s stupid,” she murmurs, focusing a little too much on one area.

“Missy,” you start, patient, “why do you think it’s stupid?”

“It’s just—” she shuffles on her feet and then sighs heavily, looking up at you with dark eyes full of doubt—“what if no one believes me?”

It takes you no time to close the distance between you. You coax the bag out of her hands and set it down on the floor, motioning for her to sit at the desk she had just been pretending to clean. “Why do you think no one would believe you?”

“Because I don’t have super powers.” Her nose wrinkles, looking away from you and to the whiteboard.

“Missy…”

“I know, I know!” she exasperates, having heard this spiel from you many times before. “It doesn’t matter, it’s never mattered, I get it!” You stare at her incredulously, and she is quick to assure you, leaning forward on the edge of the chair. “I do, really! But I—it would be useful, you know?” She slumps back, finger rubbing at a spot on the table. “Proof, I guess.”

“Powers could always be useful,” you agree with a soft laugh. “But not always necessary.” She still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh softly, a small amused smile forming on your lips. “I know you know some of the most amazing, most brave people are the ones without powers.”

She looks up at you, head tilting and waiting for you to elaborate.

“You once told me that aside from your dad, your mom was your absolute favorite hero, remember that?”

She nods, a smile finally appearing on her cherubic face.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Missy.” You crouch down to her level. “You not having powers doesn’t mean the rest of the class won’t believe you. They know you’re a leader, they look to you not just because you’re Marcus Moreno’s kid but because they believe in you.”

“I knew it was stupid,” she murmurs bashfully, tanned skin brightening as she huffs and folds her arms over her chest.

“Hey, no, none of that. Having doubts or being scared or even jealous is never stupid. It’s perfectly human,” you assure her, her brown eyes searching yours. “In fact, I sometimes feel that way too!”

“Really?” She drops her arms and her pout softens. “You?”

“Of course! Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes doubt myself or feel a little insecure.”

“Like what?” she asks, dark eyes curious and wide.

“Oof, a lot!” Your eyes roll to the ceiling as you think. “I think… one of my biggest doubts and fears is not being a good enough teacher.”

“What?” She gasps, jumping in her seat and eyes narrowing with scary determination to get you to believe that: “You’re an amazing teacher!”

Warmth fills your chest at the sincerity in her voice and eyes. “See!” You cross your arms over your knees, but Missy takes your hand in hers, and you let her, squeezing her smaller hand in yours. “Sometimes, we don’t see ourselves in the same light as others do, and that’s okay. We just need a little reminder every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” she drawls, playing with one of your fingers, “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” You nudge her nose gently with a hooked finger and she wrinkles her nose in response. “And this is my reminder for you today: I truly believe you’re capable of doing extraordinary things, Missy. Powers or no powers.”

She grins, nudging your nose just as you had. “And I truly believe you’re the most amazing teacher ever.”

Yeah. Missy Moreno is definitely your favorite student.

“I know.” You ruffle her hair and she grabs your wrist to push you away, laughing.

A loud thud by the entrance of the class brings you to your feet, spinning in place and firmly placing yourself in front of Missy and the sudden intruder—only to find a sheepish Marcus Moreno mid trip and hand raised sheepishly.

“I—ah—sorry, I was going to knock, but the door was opened—” he says, quickly crouching down to pick up the empty rack you set up for the kids to place their backpacks and lunch on. “Sorry.”

Missy lets out an exasperated, “Dad!” while your form relaxes (replaced by a new tension squeezing your chest).

Clearing his throat, he straightens up, raising a hand in greeting and an apology. “Sorry,” he murmurs again.

“It’s fine, Mr. Moreno.” You offer him a warm smile, ignoring the little butterflies in your tummy. Turning to Missy, you catch a very much exasperated eye roll that only makes you stifle your laughter behind your hand. “Come on, Missy, get your things.”

She eyes her dad for a moment longer before nodding and hurrying to her table shared with Karina at the front of the classroom, a table away from your desk.

“Thanks for letting Missy stay.” He scratches the back of his head, his other hand resting on his hip as he shifts his weight. “Paperwork took me longer than I would have liked.”

“A hero’s work is never done, huh?” you joke, keeping your voice light.

He cracks a charming smile, the one that always seems to melt your insides into a pile of goo. “Unfortunately.”

Your eyes move to Missy, who is slowly putting her things away, organizing them and reorganizing. Her head tilts slightly when the conversation between you and Marcus pauses, dark eyes trying to inconspicuously look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of you and her father. Her eyes catch yours and widen in surprise before she snaps her head forward, pretending to be busy but not hurrying her movements, either—much to your amusement. What is she doing?

Shaking your head and returning your gaze to Marcus, you’re met by brown eyes full of exasperated fondness, an apologetic smile on his handsome features.

“I heard about what happened,” he suddenly says. “About some of our agents raiding your home.”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly, embarrassment crawling under your skin—what else did he know? “You heard about that?”

“Read about it in the report, actually.” He tilts his head, scratching the stubble on his cheek, and you press your lips together to keep from questioning what else he read in case they didn’t add the part about you losing your cool. “I have agents on their way to help clean up any mess they might’ve made and to replace anything they might’ve broken.”

This man is truly a god sent, isn’t he? “Mr. Moreno, I appreciate it, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he assures you, firm and kind. “It’s our fault you got caught in the cross hairs.” His eyes fall away from yours, and again, he shifts his weight on his feet as he pushes his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose.

You wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t look back up at you, you let out a little defeated sigh, disappointed that the conversation is over. Not that you want to keep talking about agents ruining your home, but you like listening to Mr. Moreno speak. He has the softest, most reassuring voice that makes you feel safe in his presence; like he trusts you.

“Well, again, thank you,” you start as you make your way over to the plastic bin full of craft supplies on your desk and are about to take them to the closet you store them in when warm fingers brush against yours, taking the box from your hands. “Oh!”

“Let me help you with that,” he says, soft and rich, warm eyes full of kindness staring into yours.

“Thank you,” you murmur—and he’s close, not like when he was sitting across from you as you introduced yourself to him and showed him the first progress report of the year, but close enough that you can see the glints of black and umber in his eyes, tips of his shoes barely touching yours, and a small box keeping your chests from brushing against each other.

“It’s no trouble. Least I could do.” He flashes another smile, and again, your heart melts and you have to physically keep yourself from biting your lips by swiping your twitching fingers over your mouth, eyes darting away from him.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Let me show you where I need them.”

He nods and follows after you, keeping a fair distance even after you point at the empty space the bin was in earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you say—again! all you do is thank the man!—as he puts away the bin and closes the closet doors for you.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’m finally ready!” Missy announces, a little too loud for it to not to be intentional.

“We should start heading out, then.” His hand settles on Missy’s head, steering her towards the door. “Again, thank you for letting Missy stay—really saved me.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You wave him away, following after them to walk them out.

“That was painful to watch,” you swear you hear her whisper to her dad, and he shushes her.

Did you imagine it?

“Ah, actually, Mr. Moreno, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course!” He pats Missy’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, I’ll meet you down the hall.”

She narrows her eyes at him, as if trying to communicate something to him before nodding and walking off. “See you Monday, teach!”

“Bye, Missy! Have a good weekend!” You wait until she’s completely out of ear shot, or at least on the other side of the hall to address your worries to Mr. Moreno. “Missy told me about what happened on that spaceship and I—I’m worried. I know what Missy is capable of, trust me, I know. She’s—extraordinary. A good kid.” You bite your lip, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your frame, the cold wind brushing against your exposed skin. “But I—I can’t help but worry either way. I know it’s not my place—”

“No, no!” He steps forward and a little to the side, blocking the wind from hitting you. “Thank you for caring so much about Missy. I—I always feel grateful knowing you care about her and that she’s in capable hands at school.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, a huge weight off your shoulder now that you know you’re not stepping on his toes.

“I’m worried too, if I’m being honest.” His eyes slide to Missy waiting for him at the end of the hall where she’s rocking on her feet, and you follow his gaze, both of you smiling when she glances up and waves. “She’s headstrong. Once her mind is made up, you can’t stop her.” He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating.

“I would never ask you to change her mind,” you affirm gently. “All I ask, is that you look after her—not that you don’t already do, because I know you do, but it’s… different out there.”

He nods resolutely. “I promise.”

“You need to stay safe out there, too, Mr. Moreno. I can’t keep having two heart attacks in one day,” you tease, leaning against the metal doorframe.

“I promise you, we’ll stay safe,” he says it so seriously, eyes locked on yours that it practically steals your breath away. “Missy and I—we’ll protect each other.”

“Like you always do,” you hum into the space between you.

“Like we always do,” he reaffirms, just as soft.

“Good.” You stare at one another for a beat longer than necessary, but you look away first, straightening up. “Have a good evening, Mr. Moreno. Drive safe.”

“You too.”

You watch him walk away, waving each time he looks back until he reaches Missy. They wrap an arm around each other and with one final wave, they disappear into the stairwell.

Smiling, you head back inside to get your things.

“So,” Missy starts as they climb down the stairs, “did you ask?”

“No.” He sighs, bracing himself for the ten year old judgement (he can’t wait to see what her pre-teen and teenage judgement looks like, probably even more brutal).

“What?” She pulls away from him as they reach the final step. “No? What do you mean ‘no’? That was the perfect timing!”

He knows it was perfect timing! There were many perfect moments that he could’ve asked if you were doing anything this Saturday, but no! He just had to get distracted by the curves of your lashes and the way your eyes glinted under the setting sun and how your nose wrinkled when the cold air kissed your nose and—“Next time.”

“A deal is a deal, dad!” She reminds him, staring up at him with those eyes that used to remind him so much of her mother, but now they’re becoming less and less like hers and more her own. “You said you would!”

“I know, I know,” he whines in mock defeat. “I just… what if she doesn’t like me?” It’s a legitimate worry, one that has only grown since Missy started encouraging him to ask you out.

“Seriously, dad?” Her hand connects with her forehead. “It’s so obvious! And besides, how will you ever know if you don’t ask?”

“I guess you’re right. Any ideas?”

She cups her chin, thinking. Her eyes brighten. “I do have a plan!”

“And what exactly is this plan?” he asks, a little wary of what his precocious ten year old could possibly come up with.

“Just trust me!” She grins up at him and wraps her arm around his waist, tugging him along with her towards the car. “With my plan we’ll win her over completely!”

#Marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character #reader #reader insert

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wille-zarr · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Seven ~ “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; near-death experience; angst

word count: 11.9k

chapter summary: not one to wait around on the mandalorian for rescue, you begrudgingly join forces with an unlikely ally, knowing it will take all of your wit and tenacity to outsmart the threats looming against you and the children

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: this is a repost as the first time i posted it, it didn’t show in the tags. opening italics are a flashback to the previous night. this chapter makes quite the narrative sandwich. begins and ends with fluff, but the middle filling? pure a.n.g.s.t.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Seven: “Kids, Cover Your Ears”

“Tell me, Mandalorian,” you laugh, letting your eyes lazily dance along the outline of his gleaming Beskar, admiring the flickering flames reflecting back against it. “I have a question.” You didn’t need a mirror to know that mischievous glint in your eyes had returned. You could simply feel it: the up-to-no-good attitude radiating from within like a blazing warning beacon.

Happy.

You are happy. You haven’t felt this in so long, you’re simply drunk on it.

After several hours singing and dancing at Kuill’s homestead, your spirit- your heart- are bursting with bliss, like they might just erupt wings and soar up of your body, leaving the bounds of the physical realm for the mysterious realm of the Force.

The euphoria has pretty much eradicated any anxiousness you still felt regarding the day’s prior embarrassing events. Though, to be honest, as much fun as the dancing has been, the Spotchka is perhaps the most to blame for your loosened lips.

Which leads you back to your question for the Mandalorian.

He leans forward, resting both hands atop his knees, quiet, patient, and long-suffering as always when dealing with your jestering mood.

“Mandalorian-” you drop down to your knees, directly in front of him- “dance with me.”

He stares, neither speaking nor moving at your request. You might have wondered if he had heard you, except that he is staring directly into your eyes… At least, you assume it’s your eyes. A bit hard to tell with the, you know, helmet and all.

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “You know-” you motion circles in the air with your hands- “dancing: when two people grab hands and let the music dictate their movements?”

He jolts his head away, staring down at the dirt.

“I don’t dance.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter at the frown in his voice. But you lose the fight, the grin stretching across your face despite your best efforts. “The Mandalorian doesn’t dance.” You say it as a statement.

He begins rapidly tapping his fingers against his thigh armor, probably hoping you’d just go away.

No chance of that, Mando.

With a smirk, you reach out and grab onto his upper arm, just below where his armored veneer ends, and you teasingly squeeze.

You open your mouth to smart off again, but the words fall flat when his gloved hand slaps down on yours, pinning it in place against his bicep. Your lips part. At first you thought he might throw your hand off- maybe you broke some Mandalorian code by, you don’t know, touching him or something. But you watch, blinking, as his shoulders relax, falling back into repose.

Yet his hand remains, holding your own hostage.

Neither of you speak.

Maker. This… is awkward. A running theme with your interactions, it seems.

“Well,” you clear your throat, flashing him a cheeky grin, “that’s okay, Din. I guess you got two left feet, huh?” You release his arm, but his own hand keeps yours pinned in place. You’re not sure what to do, so you tug, relieved when he releases his hold.

You leap to your feet, dusting your skirt off in hopes of appearing casual about the interaction. “Fine, so you don’t wanna dance-” you scrunch your nose down at him- “so I’ll just dance with Cara then.”

“Cara?” he grunts.

With one last snicker, you hop away from the Mandalorian, straight to where Cara is conversing with Omera, interrupting their conversation with your request.

“Cara, Din turned me down.” You throw both hands on your hips. “So, will you dance with me?”

“I think I need another Spotchka first.”

“Oh!” Omera laughs, grabbing both yours and Cara’s hands. “Come on!”

The three of you join hands, laughing and snickering as you join the others around the fire in a lively dance.

-------

Few things bring Cara more joy than tormenting her favorite people. But what brings her the most joy? Tormenting Din. And after observing his behavior last night at the bonfire, she has plenty of ammunition to hurl his way.

“Mando,” Cara calls out, increasing her pace to catch back up to her companion. “What’s the big rush?”

This, of course, is a baited question. Cara knows exactly why her Beskar-clad friend is moving faster than a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard that’s being chased by a Hutt.

And it involves one lively, plucky little friend of the Mandalorian.

And what kind of friend would Cara be if she didn’t take the preverbal knife and twist it just a little deeper, tricking him into taking the bait.

“She can wait, you know.”

The hitch in Din’s step brings Cara immense satisfaction. The Mandalorian, even hidden behind all that hard exterior, is damn easier to read than he thinks.

A dangerous, mysterious Mandalorian warrior- brought down by simple childish infatuation.

How amusing. But really not surprising.

He can don as much Beskar as he can physically strap on, harden the soft layer of human skin with an impenetrable shield. And yet, for all the advances in technology, they’ve yet to discover how to armor the heart against the blaster blot of a crush.

“We can’t waste our entire day here, Cara,” Din grumbles, shooting Cara a glance. “We need to get back to the homestead.”

“Don’t give me that look, Mando.”

Din shoots Cara another glare in response.

“Yeah, that look.” Cara grins. The Mandalorian is no fool. And yet, even with all his experience, he really is about as dense as his armor. “Are you really in a rush to return to the homestead-” Cara casually adjusts the rifle slung across her back- “or are you just fretting over your pretty little friend?”

The Mandalorian freezes mid-step.

“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, Mando-” Cara brushes past him and continues walking- “you haven’t exactly done a great job of it.”

Cara downgrades her grin to a smirk as Din’s footfall resumes behind her.

“I don’t know what that liquid is the Sorganians keep offering you-” a harsh huff of air follows- “but you should probably lay off of it.”

Her chuckle turns into a mocking belly-laugh. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this one, Mando,” she snorts. “While she was singing, Kuill tried asking you a question. You didn’t even look at him, much less give an answer.”

The Mandalorian spins around. “He did not-”

“Uh huh. He shuffled off, mumbling something about a ‘love-struck blurg’.”

The Mandalorian continues stalking forward, but he’d have to move much faster than that to escape Cara’s prodding. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cara.” His tone is a warning, but she’s hardly afraid of him.

“Fine! Fine,” Cara sighs. The Mandalorian is making this way too easy. She really had hoped he’d put up more of a defense.

Cara lets the air hang silent a good thirty or forty long seconds- just enough to let Din think he’s off the hook. “You know,” she blurts, “you could have danced with her last night when she asked you, you damn Bantha-brain.”

“I don’t dance,” he mutters, a twinge of ire in his tone.

Cara huffs. “No, you just stare, apparently.”

The Mandalorian releases a long, heavy sigh, but does not respond.

“She’s pretty…” Cara voice takes on a nonchalant tone, “great personality…”

“And a lot of damn trouble,” he grumbles, hooking a finger in his belt and twisting around to face Cara.

“Well,” she puffs, intrigued by his reaction, “don’t get your Beskar britches in a stitch. If that’s how you feel, guess it’s a good thing she’s coming with me then.”

He faulters a split second before huffing through the vocoder.

“It is.”

Cara rolls her eyes. There is no talking him through this. Fine, be stubborn. Mando, you are a-

“On Taek,” his voice barges through her thoughts. “Since Taek…” His voice turns slow, languid. “She’s… just inexperienced, in over her head.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” His words are careful. He crosses his arms, slowly, methodically.

Cara pauses long enough to gather her thoughts. With a shake of her head, she sighs, “when she was fighting me- sure, she wasn’t very strong or even good at it, but the way she instinctively moved and reacted, she’s been trained before, I’d say. She isn’t clueless.”

“What are you thinking then?” The Mandalorian shifts his weight, angling his helmet to the side.

“I don’t know for sure. But I certainly don’t think she’s exactly what she portrays.” Cara raises an eyebrow. “We should probably run her name through the databases. I’d be curious to see what shows up.”

“I already did.”

“Not surprised,” Cara chuckles. “And?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s impossible.” Cara stops in her tracks. “No one is recordless.”

Din sighs, brushing past her. “I know.”

“False or wiped identity.” Cara can’t help but smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“Just watch her, Cara,” Din mumbles through the vocoder, matching his pace to Cara’s. “And… watch out for her.”

“I’ll leave the ‘watching her’ part to you for now, since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

Even through a dark visor, the long-suffering, please-just-stop gaze was more than apparent to Cara. But, of course, she plans to pretend she hasn’t noticed.

“Mando, you truly ar-”

“Cara.”

The alarm in Din’s voice rips the words from her mouth.

“What is-” Cara freezes. “Hey!” She throws a hand on her hip, the other hand reflectively slapping against her blaster holster.

“This… is where we left the bikes-” Cara blinks, glancing around at the empty alley- “right?”

Din does not answer. He steps forward, swiftly circling around the perimeter, observing the surrounding environment, the neighboring alleys… but finding nothing.

“Were they stolen?” Cara growls, temper beginning to take control. “Damn! I ju-”

“Look.” Din lifts something up off the ground, and Cara’s heart plummets.

“Is that…?”

“It’s her bag.” Din’s voice is measured, dangerously cool. “And her purchases are still inside it.”

Cara sighs, knowing this… didn’t bode well. “She wouldn’t have left it willingly.”

Din angles his helmet to glare out into the far horizon. “No.” He shifts his weight, swinging around to face Cara. “No, she wouldn’t.”

Cara frowns at Din’s fluttering cape as he sweeps past her, stalking straight back towards the shops.

She sighs.

“What have you gotten yourself into…”

-------

“Don’t worry, kids!” you weakly chuckle, knocking your hat back out of your eyes. “Look, this is just a little… fun adventure.” You rest both hands on your hips. “I’ve been kidnapped before, and I’m still here. We’re… going to be just, uh, fine.”

“No!” Large, rolling tears race down Winta’s cheeks. “And- and we’re trapped here! With them! And-”

“Winta,” your voice turns firm. You toss her a warm smile, grabbing ahold of her shoulders. “If I’m not worried-” you pause to brush your hand across her cheek before pulling her close- “then you shouldn’t be either, sweetheart.”

Of course, you are worried. Terribly worried. Nearly freaking-out-wanting-to-shriek-and-jump-out-the-ship worried.

Okay, so panicking. You’re panicking!

You swallow, the dry walls of your throat sticking together, making it difficult to even breathe.

“Yeah, this will be fun!”

You flash Birdie a curious gaze, raising an eyebrow when you discover him grinning with glee. “Birdie, what about the current situation has you so excited?” you can’t help but prod. Damn, you want a slice of whatever has this kid beaming with elation because, kriff it, you might just start crying yourself any minute.

“The Mandalorian will find us,” Birdie chirps, spinning around the hull of the Razor Crest. “And kill them! Just like one of his adventure stories!”

“Birdie!” Winta hisses. “You don’t know that!”

“He will!”

“He might not!”

“But he’s Mandalorian!”

“He might die, Birdie!”

“No, he can’t!”

“YES, he CAN!”

“Kids!” you bark, separating the two of them before hands start flying. Stars, where’s an adult when you need one because you sure as hell don’t feel like being one right now. You kneel down on the ground between them. “Stop this immediately, both of you. Winta, go over there. Don’t talk, even look at each other.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

Both kids obey your orders, but that doesn’t stop them from tossing each other angry glares from across the room, each tempting the other to break your order first.

You sigh, roughly rubbing your face with both hands. Stars, what next?

You feel a little tug on your pants. You flash your eyes downwards, smiling wryly at the baby. His expressive eyes are visibly distraught from the heightened emotional tension in the room, and the blanket you had wrapped him in remains tossed over the back of his head like a protective canopy.

“Come on, kiddo,” you sigh. You reach down and toss him up against your shoulder, releasing a tight breath when he tucks his face into your neck for comfort. Such a trusting action would normally warm your heart, but instead, your wry smile turns bitter. These children need you for comfort, for reassurance, to tell them it’s going to be okay. After all, that’s what parents do- they promise everything’s going to be okay.

But that’s just it. You can chant the words over and over and over again until the air runs out of your lungs, your empty chest filling with a baseless hope. But words on their own are meaningless. They cannot change fate.

You- you can’t do it again. You cannot lie to another child.

Your hands begin to shake, the hollow ache of grief bubbling and swirling in your stomach, the excruciating anguish of grief and despair eating away at what is left of your confidence. How can you sit here, swallow back against your fear, and vow to these children it will be okay?

A tiny squeeze on your arm rips you back to reality, back to the children here now. You press your eyes tightly together one last time, throwing away your pressing desire to just break down. Peeling your eyes back open, you sigh at discovering Winta and Birdie pressed against you, wide eyes glued to your face, searching it for answers and guidance.

“Listen, I said it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to be okay.” You flash them a shaky smile followed by a sharp nod. “And that’s that.”

Your smile warms, relief flooding your heart as their faces relax at your promise, however baseless it was.

Maybe that’s all a parent really is. Someone who lies about the truth until you are old enough to face the bullshit for yourself.

“Chins up,” you sigh, jumping to your feet and placing the baby back down on his blanket. With a sharp whine, he takes it up in his hands, crawling back underneath it.

Kid’s got the right idea.

You take this moment to flail your eyes around the room, desperate for a shred of an idea, any idea on how the kriff to get out of this. Unfortunately, the Mandalorian’s weapons are locked away, as the Nar Shaddaa lady assured before leaving you alone with the kids in the hull. Everything- the escape pod, the ramp, all locked down.

Maker. This- your plans- are spiraling out of control. When this whole mess began, you had a few escape scenarios in mind, but they were wild and risky, per your usual style. They had to be scratched the split second the children were involved. You’ve never cared much if you take risks with your own safety. After all, what is life but a game of chance? But it would be a cold day in each of the seven Corellian hells before you ever, ever put a child in harm’s way.

You groan as you are punched with reality: you are completely and utterly dependent on the Mandalorian and Cara for rescue.

And, well, that’s just not good enough. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your miserable existence in this galaxy, it’s that you can never, ever rely on others as a first line of defense.

Gotta take matters into your own hands. You might not be much of a fighter, but, blast it all, these Nar Shaddaa gangsters have made one critical, critical error:

They’ve triggered a mother bear…. And there’s no coming back from that. You will fight for them. If things get out of hand- If things change… You exhale slowly, resigning yourself to your decision.

If there are no other options, you will give them that name- the one once so unfortunately, intrinsically linked to your own.

But you can face that name again for them. The children are worth it- worth throwing everything away for.

You are emboldened by this decision, the protective instincts flooding your system, renewing your resolve to get out of this mess for them.

“Well, kids-” you lower your eyes, meeting three innocent expressions- “ready for a little fun?”

“YEAH!” Birdie shouts, bouncing up and down.

“Shh!” you hiss, swiftly pressing a palm to Birdie’s mouth. “Ready for quiet fun, Birdie. Quiet fun.”

Birdie mumbles something through your fingers as you lead him over to the bunk compartment. With a grunt, you lift him up to sit atop the mattress.

“Winta, bring the baby over. I want you three to stay right here. Do. Not. Move.” You swoop your finger in the air. “And no fighting.”

“I never fight,” Winta snorts.

Birdie jumps up on his knees. “You do too!”

You open your mouth to interrupt another round of squabbling. “Kids, you have go-”

“Girl,” barks a voice from the cockpit. “Get up here. Now.”

You grit your teeth as the snarled demand of the woman from Nar Shaddaa reverberates throughout the hull. The baby whimpers, tucking his head back behind Winta, who doesn’t exactly look that much better herself. The sparkle- the zeal for adventure- has even been ripped from Birdie’s eyes.

“Do not move.” You point a finger again. “Winta, you’re in charge.” Birdie’s mouth drops open, preparing to object, but you slam a hand down on the control switch, entombing the children inside with a snap.

With a heavy sigh, you yank on the brim of your hat to lower it back down on your brows. Biting your lip, you begin to make your way up the ladder, dread building in your stomach at not knowing what exactly to expect.

“Get up here,” barks the woman again.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you respond lazily, your outer rim accent thickening as you slip into your Nar Shaddaa persona. You stroll into the cockpit, hands raised in the air in surrender. “What is- AHG!”

Her hand lashes out, fingers sinking into your upper arm, digging ruthlessly into your flesh. With a harsh shove, she heaves you to the floor. Your knees crash into the metal flooring of the cockpit, and you cry out as your hands catch the brunt of your fall. The pain reverberates through your joints, the ache lingering longer than you think you can bare. Your cry is cut off by your own hand pressing to your lips, not wishing to alarm the children hidden down below.

“Stay down,” the man seated in the pilot’s seat grumbles, flipping switches.

Oh. Oh, you are seething now.

Clenching your teeth tightly together, you begin to raise up off the floor. “This- AUF!” The woman’s boot smashes into your back, sending your head hurling towards the floor. You grit your teeth, raging as hot, sticky blood trails down your cheek from the impact.

“Really? Making us repeat ourselves?” The boot presses harder, pinning your cheek flat against the biting cold of the metal floor. “Stay. Down.”

You squeeze your fists together, so tightly that your fingernails are digging into the flesh of your palm, to keep from snarling back at her. You can’t be stupid- you can’t be prideful. Hold back. Hold on.

“Well-” the woman sighs, lifting her boot- “you are an annoying one.”

“Thank you,” you grumble under your breath, “cultivated talent.”

So much for silence. Hell, your stupid mouth is going to get you killed. This- oh stars. Oh stars, what can you do? How do you get out of this? The children, they-

“Where is she.”

Your heart clenches.

That…that voice- that voice! The holo-communicator!

Din!

“I said,” he growls, low and dangerously measured. “Where is she?”

You’re about to open your mouth when the boot presses down on your back in a silent warning. You bite your lip as hard as you can stand to keep from snarling an expletive.

Think of the children. Think of the children…

“First, Mandalorian,” says the woman, “we need to come to terms on an agreement.”

“Show me her,” the Mandalorian’s voice lowers. “Now.”

Your stomach flutters at the rage lurking in his voice, but you don’t have a chance to think beyond that. A hard hand yanks the back of your collar, dragging you up to your feet as you cough and choke against the grip.

“Fine,” the woman sighs, sounding almost bored with all of this- their terrorizing. She shoves you forward. “Here’s your girl. She’s fine.”

Coughing into your hand, you rapidly blink, your eyes finally coming into focus. There he is- shrouded in the blue light canopy of the holo-display.

Cough- “Man-” cough-cough- “Man-do!” cough.

The Mandalorian steps closer, reaching out as if he could just somehow touch you. You clamber forward, slapping your hands down on the base of the holo-display.

“Mando! They ha-”

“Are you hurt? Is that blood?” His voice is hard, dangerous, even through the crackling audio of the holo-display. “Tell me. Have they hurt you?”

“Din!” you cry, losing every ounce of your cool. “Din, they have the children!”

Dead silence.

Breathing heavily, you continue, “Winta, Birdie, and, oh stars! The baby! The baby, Din!”

The Mandalorian freezes, visor trained on you, his stare melting you down to a little puddle on the floor.

“Oh yes, forgot to mention that,” the man mumbles, leaning back in the pilot’s chair beside where you stand.

The hum of the holo-display reverberates throughout the room, the only noise outside of your harsh, panicked breathing.

“You-” the Mandalorian’s voice burns. “If you put one mark on them-” he takes a step forward- “there is no place you will be able to hide from me.”

“Don’t worry,” the man snorts, “we’re taking good care of them, right?” He shoots out a hand, twisting it around your arm.

“Kriff off!” you snarl, all your pent-up rage exploding like a bomb. You fire an elbow at his face. He catches it, twists you around, and pins it against your back. “Go to hell!” you scream, kicking and stomping your feet. He twists your arm further, and you yelp from the burst of pain.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“Or what?” the man snorts. “You’re not exactly here, are you?”

“Rea, stop antagonizing everyone,” the woman barks, clearly irritated with her partner. “Let her go.”

“Hmf.”

He heaves you forward, and your ribs crash into the edge of the display, sucking all of the air from your lungs like a vacuum.

Your name- you can faintly hear it- over and over and over again- slipping through the stars and fog and mist swirling around in your head.

“I-” you groan- “I’m o-okay.” You press a hand to your ribs, taking deep breaths against the aftershocks of pain. You clench your teeth.

Oh. Oh, you’re going to kill them. By your hand. You will kill them.

“Listen,” the woman takes over, pushing aside her partner, “we are sending the coordinates for a rendezvous point. You have my word-” she smiles, that sickly, fabricated Nar Shaddaa smile- “they will not be harmed further, if you come alone and bring the original datachip you took from Marek. That’s all we want.”

You hold your breath, awaiting Din’s response.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” His voice faulters, lowering even further.

He’s afraid.

“Good. Just remember-” -the woman smiles, that same phony smile- “one mistake-” she rests a hand on your shoulder- “and the deal is off.”

The Mandalorian shifts, twisting his head to find you- to stare you directly in the eyes. You hold the gaze, unblinking, sending him a silent promise through the connection, just wishing, somehow, he could receive the message.

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

Four seconds…

“I understand.”

And the holo cuts off.

-------

“No, no,” you mumble. “I promise. This isn’t blood.” You continue wiping the very-much-actual-blood on your forehead from where it collided with the floor.

“Sure,” Winta grumbles from the Mandalorian’s bed, his blankets thrown over her head.

“No, really.” You wince as you dab at a tender area. “Okay, it is blood. I, uh, was thinking too hard.” Tossing Winta a lopsided smirk, you tuck your legs under as you sit on the floor of the Mandalorian’s Razor Crest bedroom. “I was thinking too hard, and my brain started bleeding, that’s all.”

“Whoa, really?” Birdie grabs onto your shoulder, staring directly at your wound. “That’s weird!”

Winta huffs, but you smile over at her, sneaking her a sly wink. No use scaring the kids. Might as well be a little silly. After all, anything that calms them, it in turn calms you, right?

Rising up from the floor, you toss aside Din’s shirt that you had been using to clean the blood away. “I owe you one shirt, Mr. Metal Man.” You grin as the kids giggle at your words.

Twisting around on your heel, you throw open his drawers, pawing through the mess the Nar Shaddaa operatives left behind in their search for the datachip (and checking for weapons, no doubt). Not that they really made the mess much worse. Din did a fine job of that on his own.

The man lives like a kriffing Rakghoul.

You glare up at the wall, sighing at the bare space left behind from the now-missing vibroblades. “Mando,” you grumble under your breath, just barely loud enough for the kids to hear, “couldn’t you have hidden a blaster in your, oh, I don’t know, underwear drawer?” Your smile blossoms as their giggles turn into full-on roaring laughter.

“Hey, if the Mandalorian asks-” you fling his clothes right and left over your shoulders, adding to the mess already consuming the floor- “the Nar Shaddaa bad guys made this mess.” You lift up a flannel shirt, similar to the one you had “borrowed” previously. “Deal?”

With a sly little giggle, Winta nods her head, lifting the blankets up for Birdie to join her underneath.

You shift to stand, and you pull on Din’s shirt to cover your blood-stained one. A gentle tug on your pants freezes you mid-buttoning. “Oh!” you gasp. Your eyes twist downwards, meeting the expressive orbs of the baby. His little hands are outstretched, pleading to be picked up.

“Of course, baby.” You pull him up against your chest, expecting he wished for more comfort. But instead, he stares, almost mournfully, at you, observing your wounds.

“I’m okay, little guy,” you sigh as you exit the bedroom and pace the hull a few times. He reaches his little three-fingered hands upwards, grasping for your wounds, but you push his hands back down with each attempt.

He squeals in protest. “Shh, I need to think, baby. I’m just a clumsy oaf. I tripped, is all,” you half-heartedly mumble, deep in thought. You need to focus. You need a damn plan.

Your thoughts are barely coherent, sloshing back and forth in your brain like a thousand loose marbles. If you could just… You freeze mid-step, mouth dropping open.

The back of the hull.

You see it.

A gleam.

A shine.

An… idea.

With a burst of a grin, you flip around, racing back into the bedroom. “Kids,” you hiss, dropping the baby back down on the bed. “Come! I need you to make a lot of noise. Scream; holler; just- noise.” Giggling to yourself, you rush back into the hull, freezing mid-way when you don’t hear them following after you. You twist around, discovering them still staring at you, wide-eyed, from the bed.

“Come on!” You wildly motion at them. “Don’t you want to be a part of an adventure?” You throw them a wink.

Birdie is the first to leap to your side, energy fueled by a promise of excitement. “Scream? Scream?” He grabs onto the fabric of your pants, yanking on them as he bounces up and down. “Why! Why!”

“A distraction.” You smirk, dropping down to meet his eye-level. He bursts into giggles as you ruffle his hair. “Think you can handle it?”

“But- but how?” You look over at Winta, finding her standing in the doorway as she bites her finger uncertainly.

You shrug, tossing both hands on your hips. “I dunno; doesn’t matter.” You sweep your hand in the air around the room. “Just scream about the, oh, refresher or something.”

“The refresher?” Winta snorts.

“I DON’T WANNA USE THE REFRESHER!”

“Stars, Birdie!” you hiss, slapping both hands over your ears. Maker, the sound certainly reverberates in this blasted metal ship!

Winta stares at you with large eyes, but you just raise your eyebrows at her. “Go on,” you mouth.

“Um-” Winta walks over and slides the partition covering the refresher open- “you’ve got to, Birdie! It’s the only one!”

“No! It’s stinky and gross, and I hate it!”

Heh. Kid would make a good actor.

“What the hell is going on down there?”

Just as you expected, the Nar Shaddaa operatives immediately check in on all the commotion.

“Um,” you mumble, rushing over and leaning up against the ladder. “The, uh, girl is just trying to help her friend with the refresher. He’s never seen one like this, and he’s…um, scared.”

You bite your lip to keep from snickering when muttered curses swirl down the ladder followed by the snap of the cockpit door clicking shut.

An impish grin stretches across your face, and you knock your hat back, amazed at how easily this is working out. “Well-” you turn to face the children, giving them a pointed look- “did I say stop?”

The children erupt.

And the baby, not one to be left out of the fun, takes it upon himself to begin wailing.

“Good, uh, good.” You cringe at the racket, fumbling over your feet in your hast to race to the back of the hull. “Keep on! Keep going!” You come to a halt, beaming up at your one-way ticket to rescue.

A blaster.

Of course, said blaster might still be clasped in someone’s hand.

And that hand might be frozen in carbonite.

But, hey, that’s a minor issue you’re about to take care of.

Grumbling under your breath, you begin punching away at the controls on the side of the carbonite block, unsure of what exactly any of them do. “Blast!” you hiss under your breath. “Come on, Carbonite Man! Unfreeze!”

You gasp. The block warms under your hand, shifting in color. Stars! He’s either cooking alive or unfreezing! Or is he- OH! HE’S MOVING!

You slap both hands over your mouth, gawking wide-eyed as Carbonite Man leans forward from the block like some sort of horrifying rebirth. So caught up in the terrifying visual, you barely register the kids abandoning their distraction technique to rush over and stand beside you. You stumble forward, reaching out a hand in the man’s direction. “Uh, sir, I- Oh!”

He drops down, coughing and sputtering and shaking against the floor.

“HE’S DYING!” Birdie shrieks against your leg.

“Shh! He’s, uh, fine!”

You hope, anyway. A dead body would be hard to hide.

You come back to your senses, swooping up the blaster the man dropped during the unfreezing process. You twist it around, pointing it directly at him as he coughs and shutters against the floor.

You blink, wide-eyed, as his body abruptly stops convulsing, resting stiff against the floor.

“Is he…?” Winta mumbles, voice quivering.

“Oh, blast!” His dark eyes shoot open.

Winta screams, clasping her hands over her mouth.

He groans, placing a hand on his forehead. The man, maybe in his early thirties, rapidly blinks, his eyes flittering around the room until they freeze, resting on your face.

Oh no.

He’s cute.

Had it been any other scenario, you would have jumped in feet-first flirting. The unruly stubble and the sweaty curled hair plastered to his forehead? Yes, please.

“Well, he-llo there, beautiful.” His lips slowly twist up into a smirk. “What’s a doll like you doing in my bedroom? I think I’d remember you.”

Maker. Why are they always cute until they talk?

“Where the hell do you think you are right now, bud?” you grumble.

He squints his eyes. “Uh… my eyes are actually pretty blurry, and I-” His expression plummets to the ground.

“Oh no.”

“Exactly.” You shove the blaster in his face. “Get up.”

“Wait, was- was I… carbonite?!” He leaps to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.

“Get back,” you growl, jabbing the barrel towards his ribs.

“Shit! Calm down with that blaster, lady!” The brief flash of anger in his face is swiftly replaced with horror. “Wait- where’s… Mandalorian?!”

“Calm down,” you bark, pushing as much authority into your voice as you can muster. “You’re on the Mandalorian’s ship, and you had better listen to me.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing the children a pointed look.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

They reluctantly obey, even the baby as he grasps at the ends of his ears, attempting to fold them down against his head.

“Now, let’s talk business.” You step forward, blaster corralling Carbonite Man up against the wall.

“Blast, blast, blast, wait, lady!” the man laughs nervously, throwing his hands out to the side. “I mean, come on! We can make a deal here, sweetheart.” He takes a step forward.

“Bold move considering I wield the blaster.”

“Drunk on power, are we?” His tone shifts into a smooth blend of irritatingly cocky confidence. “You like being in charge, sweetheart?”

“Maker,” you mutter under your breath. You bite your cheek to keep from losing your cool. After all, the kids will have enough lasting trauma from this situation without you adding to it by shooting this nerfherder in front of them.

“I mean, if you and those kids are his bounty-” he throws them a little wave; Birdie returns it eagerly before Winta slaps his hand down and recovers her ears- “shouldn’t you be pointing that thing-” he motions at the blaster- “at him?”

“Look-” you purse your lips, taking on a defensive stance. You didn’t trust this man to not do something stupid like rip the blaster from your grip, getting all of you killed. You step forward again, and he steps back, pressed up against the wall like a cornered womp-rat.

“Listen,” you hiss, using your authoritative voice again, “long story short, we’re being held hostage here-”

“By the Mandalorian? He took children? That dirty-”

“Just stop!” you groan, rolling your eyes. “And just listen. No, he’s a… a good man-”

“I beg to differ, ma’am.” He lifts an eyebrow, motioning wildly at the melted carbonite block from which he emerged.

“Really? You’re one to talk.” You snort and knock your hat back, shooting him an incredulous glare. “And why exactly is there a bounty on your head? I’m sure you’re just so innocent, such a good man.”

You inwardly cringe. You really are the last person in the galaxy that should be mocking a man fleeing a bounty hunter, all things considered…

“I’ll have you know I am innocent.” He crosses his arms.

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

He shoots a glance at the children, all three of whom are watching him with intense fascination. Birdie looks like he’s found a new hero- a bit concerning, to be honest.

“Kids, cover your ears.”

“Aw,” Birdie whines, but they obey the demand once again.

“Tighter, kid…. No sneaking a listen…” He shifts back around to face you. “Ah-” the man slips you a wink- “let’s just say I had no idea the heiress was still married.”

“Oh stars.”

“But her partner sure informed me!”

“Dank farrick,” you groan, “you really are a banthabrain.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enough of this.” You meet the children’s eyes. There’s no use forcing them to cover their ears at this point. They’ve overheard enough drama in just the past few hours to write an entire holodrama. You have to instead focus- focus on getting them out. If this man can be useful towards that goal, then he had better start talking- and talking fast.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” You smile, crossing your arms but keeping the blaster pointed at his head.

“I’d focus better without that blaster- hey! That’s mine!”

“Two Nar Shaddaa syndicate members are up in the cockpit.” Your lopsided smile drops. “They are holding us to get something they want from the Mandalorian. And if they find you, they will kill you. Catch my drift?”

“Kark. I didn’t ask to be unfrozen and dragged into this!”

“Then get in the freezing bay!”

“Now wait-”

“Are you afraid?” Birdie chirps, rushing over to grab the man’s hand.

“Birdie!” you hiss, jerking forward to snatch him back.

“Kid, to put it simply and in as few words as possible-” he drops down to Birdie’s eye level- “yes.”

Winta races over and grabs his other arm. “We can help!”

“Kids, you’re killing me here,” you groan as you snatch up the baby with your free hand before he can waddle over to join Winta and Birdie. “Look here, uh-”

“Pablo.” He smiles at you, sticking both hands out towards Winta and Birdie to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

They giggle as they take his hands. You lean all your weight to one foot, jutting your hip out. “Carbonite man, Pablo, whatever-” you purse your lips- “whether you want to or not, you’re stuck in the middle of this. You have three options.”

“One-” with the hand grasping the blaster, you lift a finger up- “help us, and I will have the Mandalorian release you.” Second finger. “I can refreeze you. Or three-” you smirk- “you get shot.”

“Dank farrick.”

“Well?”

Pablo turns his head, raising an eyebrow at Winta and Birdie. “Guess I’ll hedge my bets on the Mandalorian’s kindness.”

You release a long breath. Maker, you hadn’t realized how tense you’d been…

“Good. Well then-” you let a smile tickle the corner of your mouth- “got any ideas?”

-------

“No, that’s too dangerous. It’s a stupid plan.”

“Got anything better, little miss genius?” Pablo grumbles.

“Oh, and you’re a genius?” It takes all of your inner strength to keep your voice below a whisper. You feel your face warm with seething anger. “You’re the one who got caught by a bounty hunter!”

“And you’re the one who got kidnapped.”

“Stars!” you growl, shifting further away from Pablo, sliding across the Mandalorian’s bed. “Honestly? I hope they do kill you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

You hand is raised in the air, prepared to shove him off the bed when Winta bursts through the doorway of the sleeping quarters.

“Someone’s coming!”

“Kriff!” you hiss, flying to your feet.

“Hey, hey, wait, where the hell-”

“Under the bed!” You slap a hand on the top of his head, shoving it down with force. “Go!”

“I can barely fit,” he growls. “I think I’m stuck- HEY NOW.”

“Move!” you hiss through your teeth, pushing on his ass with both hands.

A few more panicked wiggles, and he slips underneath.

“Here.” You slip him his blaster back. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He peaks up at you with a lopsided smile. “Never, sweetheart.”

You barely make it back into the hull before the female Nar Shaddaa operative steps down from the last rung of the ladder.

“We’ve finalized the last details of the rendezvous with the Mandalorian.” She throws both hands on her hips, rolling her shoulders forward, taking on a much more intimidating presence. “We should be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

Stars! Fifteen minutes… Within fifteen minutes…

Oh Maker…

Swallowing back your anxiety, you stroll over to where the children sit in the bunk compartment, climbing up and joining them. You take the baby up, setting him down in your lap. He stares up at the woman and coos as the other children tuck behind your back.

“And?” You are trying your hardest to use your professional, almost bored tone of voice, the one you used when discussing “business” on Nar Shaddaa.

“I’m just reiterating my earlier point-” she smiles- “that one wrong move, play heroics, and you know how this will end.”

You blink, keeping the mask on your face. “Good, well, thanks for the update.” If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm… If you stay calm… the kids will stay calm…

The woman huffs and does a quick visual sweep of the hull before spinning around, climbing right straight up the ladder again.

Hell.

The unfrozen carbonite block. Tucked away in the back.

The kriff. She didn’t see it. Bloody hells!

You’ll just have to blame Pablo for that one.

You groan, letting your head flop forward against the baby’s head. He coos against the touch, reaching up and clasping both of his hands against your cheeks.

“Baby, I know you miss your daddy,” you sigh heavily, rubbing his ear with affection. “I think you all need naps.”

“You need a nap.”

You twist to frown at Winta. She just shrugs.

Well, she might have a point. After a long day of plot twist after plot twist, well…

You can’t take many more of them.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Your eyes shoot up, your mouth plummeting to the floor.

“What the kriff are you doing?”

Pablo keeps his blaster trained on you, shrugging at your question. “Sorry, but I intend to do this my way, whether you like it or not.”

You grit your teeth, rage boiling in your stomach- only the fear of alerting the cockpit keeping it from spilling over and consuming Pablo alive.

“I- you- how dare-”

“Save it.” His face falls into the most serious expression you’ve seen from him thus far. He swoops along the wall, angling his head cautiously, peering up the ladder.

“The door’s closed. Stay quiet. Climb.”

“Are you crazy?!” You leap to your feet, marching over with little regard for the blaster trained on your head.

“Get back,” he spits, holding a hand up in warning.

“No,” you growl, ripping your hat off your head and slamming it against the floor. “Shoot me. You won’t! Shoot me, you kriffing coward!”

His hand launches forward, twisting around your upper arm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh beneath the sleeve as he yanks you forward to hiss in your ear. “Don’t do this, not in front of the children.”

The children.

Stars.

You- you lost your temper in front of the children. You peak a reluctant glance over at the bunk, horrified to discover sheer terror etched in their expressions.

You want to throw up.

But your pride, your temper, still speak for you when your lips open. “In front of the children? Says the man pointing a blaster at me,” you say through clenched teeth.

His eyes grow hard, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You’ll thank me later.”

You have no idea what’s about to happen, but your priority is the children. Their safety. Their comfort. Their lives.

You will get them out of this, somehow. Somehow.

“I won’t forget this, Pablo.”

-------

It took Pablo less than thirty seconds to override the locks on the escape pod. Who knew that there was an emergency feature that allowed for it to be manually unlocked? Certainly would have been handy information to have that one time a Gungan was chasing you on his freighter…

“Come on, doll,” Pablo whispers, shoving Winta as tightly against your body as possible. She groans, wrapping both arms around your leg. “I’m tired.”

“I know, babydoll.”

“Ouch!”

“Shh!”

“Maker,” you mumble, barely audible. “Who designs a coffin escape pod that fits one person?” You squeeze the baby against your chest, praying there would be room enough to shut the door with all four of you stuffed inside. He releases a little whine, leaning into you as tightly as possible.

“Listen-” Pablo dips his head down within inches of your ear- “they won’t know you’ve launched. I froze the pod’s system computers from this panel, so you should be safe.”

“How do I know you didn’t screw the pod up?” you sneer.

He cocks his head, dipping in even closer to your ear. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear.

“Trust me.”

“Kriff. Off,” you mouth at him. He has the audacity to smirk.

“What in the Corellian hells are we supposed to do when we land?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Kriff, you want to smack that smirk right off his face…. You gasp when something cold presses into your one free hand.

“Take it.”

You look down, astonished to find his blaster in your grip. Your eyes shoot back up, honestly baffled by the gesture. This… this leaves him defenseless. “I could blast you right now.” A smirk tickles at the corner of your lips.

“Shoot me.” He grins, a bright, wide grin. “You won’t, you kriffing coward.”

And with one final chuckle, he seals the door shut, plastering the four of you tightly, but safely, within the confines of the escape pod.

“Here we go, kiddos,” you mumble, feeling light for the first time since this whole mess started. Yes. Finally… The kids will be out of danger… A thousand-pound weight lifts from your shoulders, and you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Let’s fly.”

With a jolt- a jerk, the pod releases, and you take over the controls, begging the force for a safe landing, if for any reason, for the children’s sake.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“Maybe not, Winta.”

Probably not.

-------

“I hate adventure.”

You reach down into the escape pod, pulling Birdie up to his feet. “Come on now, Birdie. You love adventure!”

“Not anymore!” Birdie screams at the top of his lungs. “It’s stinky!”

“I want to go home!” Winta cries, flopping down on the sand. The baby takes this as his emotional cue, dramatically flopping over into Winta’s lap and launching into high-pitched whining.

“Stars almighty!” You drop down to your knees and throw your hat off your head. “We’re safe! Look, don’t give up now!”

You know this isn’t a fair request. They’re children, for goodness sake. Tired, hungry, stressed children. But you have no clue, no clue, where you are on Arvala. No clue where Kuill’s is. No clue what direction to go or how long it will take. It’s hot, everyone’s hungry… And outside of one blaster pistol, defenseless.

You stare up into the sky, squinting against the blazing, unforgiving sun.

Sigh.

“Come on now.” You lumber back up to your feet, thrusting an arm out towards the horizon. “We’ll get home that way.”

Yes, the direction the Razor Crest was headed when you launched from it. Better than wandering around in circles.

You rest the baby against your hip, the other hand clenching the blaster with a steely grip. The children stumble into a line behind you, eyes drooping and shoulders low. You sigh.

“Let’s sing while we walk, how ‘bout?” you chirp.

They grumble an affirmative. You think so, anyway. Stars, you’re actually jealous of their freedom to show outwardly how they really feel, not have to worry about keeping up a tough face.

Being an adult, to quote Birdie, is stinky.

-------

Eh, everyone’s a critic. The children fall into a heavy silence after you finish the second song, so you give up on the singing. Well, maybe at this point, letting them process the day in silence would be better for them than anything else.

They need the- wait.

You freeze, dropping your body down to the dirt at the top of the hill. You jerk your arm in circles, and the children flop down beside you.

“The Razor Crest!” Winta gasps, eyes widening.

Resting a hand above your eyes, you squint against the sun’s rays, sweeping your eyes around the valley in which the ship is positioned. But what you find is… well.

Not good.

You see no one. Hear no one.

But the ramp is open, and there’s blaster bolt residue all along the sides of the rocks, the far cliff face, and even new marks on the Razor Crest itself. You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. At- at least you don’t see their bodies. That’s… good, right? Means they’re somewhere… fighting?

Oh, stars…

You shift back on your heel to stand, anxiously brushing your pants off. “Stay here. Do not move for any-” you point at them and raise your eyebrows- “and I mean any reason.” You are met by sharp nods of agreement.

You sigh, twisting around to slide down the hill towards the ship. Crouching down, you scramble from rock to rock, moving closer in towards the ship. You still hear nothing, not even from within the ship. You pause, frozen in place, for a good three, four minutes, just enough to make sure it was safe enough to approach closer.

If no one is in the ship, you can fly it off. Fly it to Kuill’s, get help, call the Mandalorian, anything.

You cautiously rest one foot at the bottom of the ramp, as if it was triggered with bombs just waiting to go off with one wrong step. You release a puff of air, standing completely motionless as the Arvala wind whips your clothes around. You shake your head, taking several more steps.

All seems good, so now you can-

“WATCH OUT!”

You leap back several feet, clumsily falling off the edge of the ramp with an oof. You don’t allow yourself time to feel pain. You clutch at the arm you landed on, gritting your teeth. Stumbling up, you slip on loose rocks as you race towards cover. Panting heavily, you jerk your head around in circles. You reach down to your waistband, grasping for Pablo’s blaster.

Wait- no, no! The blaster- Pablo’s blaster! You- you must have lost it by the ramp in your panic! Damn!

“LOOK!”

Your eyes tear up to where Winta stands at the top of the hill. She and Birdie are leaping up and down, motioning wildly towards the opposite side of the Crest where you sit. You spin around, expecting the worst.

And finding it.

Seven Corellian hells.

The Nar Shaddaa woman, dusted up and bloodied, is racing towards the Crest.

And she’ll have to pass you to get to it.

“Watch out!”

BLAST.

The kids shriek as the blaster bolts sail over their heads. “DROP!” you howl, leaping up from your position. “DROP DOWN- ARH!” You grasp your left arm, grinding your teeth as the blood begins to pool on the fabric, warm and sticky against your hand.

You spin around, tears dripping from the pain. She’s lifting it again. Aiming.

You dive, screaming as your bad arm crashes into the dirt. No, no. The world falls dark for only a second. But now you’re stuck- stuck behind a rock. She’s coming- coming closer. You can hear her boots, crunching against the rocks and pebbles. Crunching crunching.

Kriff.

You- you can’t breathe. The smell of burned flesh- your flesh- turns your stomach inside out.

No.

This can’t- this won’t be your end.

Tears of terror and pain and resolve flood your cheeks.

You have one option. One chance.

You will get to the Razor Crest first.

One deep breath. Stumbling over pebbles, you push for the ramp. Your eyes are fixed forward. Tuning out any other thought besides-

run.

A bolt whizzes past your right ear. You instinctively jerk left, falling over from the burst of pain blasting from your arm straight to your head.

No, no. You can’t- You have to get up. The children…

Rage seethes in your chest. Damn her. Damn this galaxy.

You belly crawl to the nearest rock, pressing up against it. What can you do? Oh, Maker, what can you do?

You peak your head up. She’s so close. Closer. Lifts the gleaming silver. Aim-

Wait, what?

You gasp, slapping your good hand across your mouth.

You- your eyes… is this real? It can’t… You blink. No, it’s real.

The woman is floating in the air.

“What the hell,” you hiss under your breath. “What th- OH!”

The woman goes blasting off, crashing against the Crest with an audible crunch. Winta screams. You rip your eyes away, staring up at the hill, just in time to watch the baby fall into Winta’s lap.

Oh.

Oh no. No. No.

The baby- the baby used the force.

Complicated. How do things keep getting more and more complicated?

Movement pulls your attention away. The woman is getting up- clutching her side in pain. She releases a guttural scream, eyes flashing flames at you.

Right between you. In the middle. The blaster.

Like a match being lit, you burst forward. The pounding in your ears is like the hum of machinery, pushing you on like you had no say in the matter.

But then she falls, tumbles over her own feet, and you grasp the blaster from the dirt. But she’s on you. A snap against your fingers, and you cry out as the weapon launches from your hand. She kicked it.

She wraps an arm around your neck, but you pull her down with every bit of your body weight- both of you screaming against your injuries and wounds, but neither giving in.

Side leap- roll. You launch at her legs, taking her down. She throws you off- climbing astride. You grab her wrists, tears bubbling in your eyes as the pain in your arm blackens the edges of your eyesight.

You freeze.

You don’t- you don’t feel pain.

It’s cold. Just feels… cold.

With shaking, trembling hands, your clutch the handle of the vibroblade- your vibroblade- jutting from your side.

She jumps up off you, twisting around on her heel. You kn-know… she’s… the children. The children. You think you can… faintly hear them.

It wasn’t smart. But you have to… Gritting your teeth, you yank the knife from your side. Flopping over as you wail, the pain held back like a dam releases all at once.

Face kissed with tears, you wobble up to your feet, swaying against the darkness encroaching your vision.

May the force guide your hand.

You swing back. The knife flies, slips right out of your fingers. Slices through the air.

The Nar Shaddaa operative collapses, the handle of your knife glowing golden in the sun’s rays.

This will be your legacy.

Not your arrests, rebellion, schemes, failures, betrayals.

No.

When you die, your legacy will be the golden knife shining from their back. Your legacy will be the three children that will live on another day.

You’re selfish. You’ve lived a selfish life. But somehow, you think, with the last three minutes of your breath, maybe, just maybe, you have wiped that slate clean.

“Valera,” you mumble. Stars, you see her face. That’s all you want. Yes, to hell with this life. Valera… Bright eyes giggle above your face.

Maker…. You’re hallucinating… You’re… you’re actually dying. Years of close calls, and now you’re dying.

“V-Va-Valera.”

You reach up. But it is not softness nor warmth you feel.

Cold.

Hard.

“She’s going into shock.”

Din.

His voice is a thousand miles away. You are buried a hundred miles below the surface of an ocean. You are only vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath you, lifting you.

You feel no pain. Only a dark light, hovering at the edge, consuming more and more of the bright light. A battle, life and death. And you are stuck between them.

You comprehend a few things. The soft hug of blankets beneath your body. The gentle give of a mattress. A deep voice, muffled above the water’s surface. Soft, affectionate fingers tracing your jaw, cupping your cheek.

You hear your name, clear through the fog, a desperate, pleading voice.

It calls out. You want to answer.

But the darkness wins.

-------

You don’t remember the first time you awaken. Or the second. Nor the third. But the fourth time-

You pry open heavy eyelids, as if the lashes were tied to lead strands. You groan- you feel so heavy, like there’s a pressure boring down on you from some invisible source. You wiggle against the weight; the soreness shoots up your side; your arm-

Oh!

Your eyes shatter the lead weights into a thousand crystal shards, blasting wide open when everything hits your mind at once.

Hell! What- are the kids…? Where are- wait!

You lean forward, lifting up from the bed like some rakghoul emerging from its grave. A mistake. You moan against the ache that quivers up your spine.

“Easy.”

Catching the movement of silver, your eyes tear over to the opposite side of the room... Din’s room. You’re on the Razor Crest.

“Din,” you breathe, groaning as you place your good hand on your forehead. “What- what happened?”

He tilts his head. “You were stabbed.”

“I- I think I figured that part out,” you grumble as you stare down at your body, laying back against the pillows.

He remains silent, moving across the room to stand at your side. He doesn’t go to sit or even speak; he just… stares down at you.

“What?” you grumble, perhaps a bit heavy on the aggression. But hey, you’ve just been stabbed and shot. You imagine you have the right to be grumpy for at least a week or two. Maybe three, if you push it.

“I’m trying to determine-” he reaches down, dusting your forehead with the hint of leather- “if it’s you or the drugs speaking right now.”

“Drugs?” A teasing smile blooms at the corner of your mouth. “Hey, what kind of drugs are we talking about here?”

He lowers down into the chair positioned beside your bed with a grunt.

“It’s you.”

You chuckle even through your aching exhaustion.

“I…” you drop the humor, voice lowering to a mere whisper. “What happened? I don’t remember…”

Din twists his head away from you. You fear he might not answer; you begin panicking, wondering if something horrible happened and-

“When we arrived,” he sighs, heavy, tired, “they refused to show us you and the children. Next thing I know-” he tilts his head- “a man emerged from the ramp saying you were safe and to shoot them.”

Pablo. Some plan! You roll your eyes, perhaps with a smidge of affection in your heart, if you searched very, very hard. Very hard.

“Then we found you,” he whispers, barely audible through the vocoder. He leans forward, resting both elbows against his knees and shaking his head.

“Ka’r’ika, you… ” He reaches out again, dusting of leather against your cheek. “I- you died.”

“I… I did?” Your eyes widen. “I- it’s… really?” You blink, humor taking over for your lack of words. You force a grin. “Damn, that’s… hardcore.”

Din does not attempt to mask the aggression in his tone.

“They died too quickly.” He leans against the mattress, voice dropping in volume. “They deserved to have it dragged out.”

Shivers spike up your spine at his words. Sometimes you forget he’s a hunter, running with his own, perhaps sometimes cruel, set of rules and codes. But quickly… was it quickly? You let your eyes slide shut, trying your hardest to forget to stench of raw, burnt flesh, the children wailing…

You launch forward with a gasp. “The kids! Are they-”

He pushes you back with a firm grip on your shoulder.

“Time has helped.” He leans forward. “Every time they tell the story, the details grow a bit more elaborate. A good sign.”

“Heh, no surprise there- wait a minute, how much time are we talking about here?”

“Three days.” He angles his head at you. “Been taking turns watching you.”

“Stars! Three days!” You blink, biting you lip. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I can go to my, um, own bunk now. I feel better…” You begin shifting, but a firm, yet gentle, hand presses you back down, fingers lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.

You sigh, letting your good arm flop down on your chest.

“Ka’r’ika…”

You turn your head to watch him; he taps his fingers rapidly against his thigh.

“You did well.”

A small smile peaks through your lips, and you slide your hand along the edge of the bed, seeking his. You grasp the cool leather, pleased when he returns the grip.

“We can’t seem to stay out of trouble-” you toss him a lopsided smile- “can we?”

“No,” he rasps. You are happy to hear amusement has returned to his voice. “You can’t.”

“Mando-” you scrunch your nose- “you can kriff right off.”

He laughs… stars, even more beautiful than the first time you heard it. Best watch out, Mando, now you will do everything in your power to pry open that tin can heart of his and pull that laugh out.

Your mood turns, your face dropping.

The baby.

Hell, he… he used the force. Surely the Mandalorian knew, right? How- how could he not? Do you bring it up? Ask? You twist your head, avoiding meeting the dark depths of his visor.

You will wait. You will wait and see if he brings it up.

After all, the children saw it too. They must have told him what they saw…

“What’s wrong?”

You blink rapidly, breath catching in your throat. “Oh, ah, nothing.” Biting your lip, you take a deep breathe of air. “I guess, I just wonder, you know, this is my fault. I should have- could have… I don’t know.” You will not cry you will not cry. “I’m a karking coward.” You bury your face in your hand.

“You’re a lot of things-” you rip your hand away, staring at him as he speaks- “but a coward is not one of them.”

You blink as he continues.

“You protected our children. Killed to do so.” He angles his helmet. “Didn’t run, stayed with me to take a Bateran down.” He blows a huff of air through the vocoder. “And a coward wouldn’t have risked their life for those women on Taek.”

“That was just a gut reaction,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks burn at the Mandalorian’s praise.

“Bravery as an instinct is stronger than a deliberate choice. It means it’s in your nature.” He shifts to stand, hovering over your body before stepping back. “This is the way.”

“Um, oh. Ok-ay.”

Pride, there was pride in his voice.

“Well-” you stop him before he can move further away from you- “what now for you, Mandalorian?”

“Delivering the chip to the client.” He steps over a pile of clothing to stare up at some piping running through the walls. “That should take care of any future issues, for both of us.” He hooks his fingers in his belt, stepping back away from the bed. “I redirected their beacon. Made it look like they were in a completely different sector. Kuill should be safe, protected.”

Your eye twitches, afraid to ask your next question.

“So, where is this chip to be delivered?”

“Nar Shaddaa.”

Oh.

Oh, hell no no nonono.

You didn’t spend months of blood, sweat, and tears running to get away from there only to go back now. No, no. You’re going with Cara. You’re going to Keolith.

Movement from the corner of your eye breaks apart your panicked thoughts.

Din, stepping over another pile of junk, stoops down to pick some of it up.

“It- I…” he pauses, several quiet, long seconds. “I could keep you safe- if you were to stay with me.”

You blink, thinking you hear a light strangle of air slipping under his helm.

“…Until things with Taek are cleared,” he swiftly adds, stuffing some shirts into a drawer.

“Din,” your voice is soft, barely audible. He drops everything to turn and stare at you.

“I’ve been lying to you.”

Silence.

“I- I can’t stay here- not with you, your son, these people.” Your voice grows louder with every word. “It’s too dangerous. And- and I can’t go back to Nar Shaddaa. I had to flee the planet with only the clothes on my back. I’m in a big, hot mess.”

You vigorously shake your head, avoiding looking in his direction. “If there isn’t already, soon there will be a price on my head. It doesn’t matter why. And- shit- I… it’s bad, really bad.” The words spill faster and faster.

“And I don’t mean cheap hunters!” You throw your good hand in the air. “We’re talking private, high-level hunters!” You slap your face into your hand, yanking on your hair as you groan.

“Hell, on Taek- I stalked you. I heard stories of the Mandalorian hunters. Expensive, efficient. I thought you were there for me.” Gulping back against your dry throat, you force yourself to turn and face him.

He stands motionless, watching you. His visor, that damn visor, bores into you like it could dig secrets from your soul.

Oh no.

A hunter. He is, first and foremost, a hunter.

You-you messed up. He wouldn’t- maybe you overestimated… He’s going to turn you in, collect-

“I know.” His voice is soft, gentle.

Your lips part, confusion etched in your furrowed brows.

“I knew you were watching me, trailing me to the cantina.”

Your eyes widen.

“I followed you to the courtyard that night,” he rasps, crossing his arms. “To observe. Maybe question you.”

“Poodoo,” you breathe, eyes wide open in disbelief. “And there I was the whole time thinking I was being sneaky.”

A small gasp escapes your lips when he suddenly steps to the side. He sweeps around the bed, stomping right over the clothes you had tossed on the floor only a few days prior. You startle, digging back against the pillows, holding your breath until he pauses right beside you.

“You’re staying with me.”

“W-what? Didn’t you just hear what I said?” You start to sit up, but his firm grip on your shoulder pushes you back, holding you there as he resumes speaking.

“I’m not letting you leave until it’s safe and this situation is cleared up.”

You know you can’t argue when he uses that tone of voice, but you can try. “But the hunters!”

“Will not hurt or find us. I will- I swear-” he rips his hand away from your shoulder, dropping down into the chair. “You will be kept safe. And- after that… I will return you to Keolith, or whatever you wish.” His voice drifts, softening towards the end.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

But no, you will not cry.

You grab his hand with yours, ignoring the sharp exhale of breath that slips beneath his helm. You desperately wish you could feel, squeeze, the soft flesh hidden away in leather. You want to touch the man inside.

But that thought scares you. It scares you because, you have a feeling, if you were to ask, he would do it for you.

You- you don’t want that kind of power. You can’t handle that kind of power.

“Interrupting anything?”

You rip your hand away, tucking it beneath the blankets.

“Cara!” you laugh, brushing off your discomfort.

“So, you live!”

“It appears so.”

“Feeling okay?” Her voice softens, dropping the jestering tone.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Good.” That mischievous glint returns to her eye. “Well, aren’t we going to be just one cozy little group, all together in the Razor Crest.”

“E-excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow.

A new person entering the room rips your attention towards the door.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but-” Pablo takes another bite of his apple- “hey! That bed could fit three, easily. Who wants to spoon me?”

“You!” you growl, wincing as you lift up off the bed. “You’re not spooning anyone tonight! How about we just freeze you back!”

Pablo throws his hands in the air, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Hold the spunk, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of the apple, casually walking closer to you. “I’m a free man. Kids vouched for me. They love me.”

Din releases the heaviest, most long-suffering sigh you have ever heard from him.

Apparently, three days with Pablo hasn’t exactly made the Mandalorian a fan either.

“In exchange for his assistance, I messaged and had Greef wipe his Guild bounty, listed as dead,” Cara chuckles.

“Yeah, saving Mando’s girl got me on the buddy list. And Mando, you wouldn’t have caught me the first time if I wasn’t taken off guard.” He points a finger at Din. “Lemme know when you want a rematch.”

“I-I’m not his girl,” you mumble, heart beating faster at the insinuation. Oh stars… You dare not steal a glance at the Mandalorian.

“Oh good, I was worried,” Pablo sighs. “Didn’t want Mando to find out that you grabbed this tight ass when we were alone in here.”

“Pablo!” you yelp, growling through clenched teeth. Stars, you’ve had enough. “Remember our previous conversation? I’m going to bloody kill you!” You launch a pillow at him with your one good arm that he easily dodges. “Get over here, you coward!”

He flops on the other side of the bed, yelling and covering his face as you smack him repeatedly with a pillow.

“Damn- HEY- wa- ouch!”

“Blast-” smack- “you-” smack- “banthabrain!”

“Stop.” A strong grip pulls your arm back. “You’ll agitate your injuries.”

“I will not travel with him in the same ship!”

“I’m not too excited about it either, sister!”

“Go with Cara then!”

“About that-” Cara taps her chin- “my little craft might have been destroyed in the scuffle with the Nar Shaddaa creeps.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t my ship,” she chuckles.

“We’re dropping them off,” Din sighs, rolling his head back as if to say, “how did I get into this mess?”

“If you can’t handle each other’s presence,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I can freeze you both.”

“Grumpy old man,” you snort.

You turn towards Pablo, sticking a tongue out at him. He returns the gesture.

Cara grabs the back of Pablo’s collar. “Come on, let’s let her get some rest.” Cara swoops her hand towards the door. “Din, go get some sleep. I’ll stay and listen for her.” She leans in close to you, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “He wouldn’t leave your side.”

You feel your cheeks burst into flames, and you wish you could bury your head under the covers like the children.

“Fine.” Pablo spins around in the doorframe, tossing you a quick wink. “Later, sweetheart.”

Cara chuckles. “You too, Din.”

Letting his shoulders fall, he shuffles over towards the door, pausing just before the frame.

“Ka’r’ika, wait.”

You lift your eyes. “What is that?”

Your mouth falls open, the familiar golden gleam finally registering in your head.

Your knife.

“You should wield this with honor, Ka’r’ika,” Din rumbles.

You hesitantly reach out, taking it with a trembling hand.

“You earned the honor.”

You raise your head, a small smile on your lips.

“Teach me sometime?”

His hand lifts your chin. Skin, not leather, strokes just below your lip.

“As you please.”

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

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a/n: I know this chapter is incredibly long, so I really appreciate it if you made it this far! :D No, seriously, I really do! I write mostly for my own pleasure. I mean, that’s the “correct” answer to give, right? But I will be the first to admit I also write because I want my readers to feel what I feel- a shared experience. So, if my writing has in any way affected you- made you feel something- feel free to let me know in a comment! :D Think of your comments as the gasoline that fuels the writing lol! Comments here or Ao3 are always loved. 💜

See you next chapter! Where do we go from here, hmm? ;)

And I went ahead and bumped the story up to an “M” rating on Ao3, mostly for the language and violence. Just to be safe. Each chapter will include detailed warnings so you can make the decision on whether to read it or not.

Feel free to check out my bio for links to my masterlist, Ao3 account, and taglist!

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quicksilversquared · 3 years

Text

The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 8

When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.

So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock… doesn’t exactly know that.

links in the reblog

Lila groaned as she woke up. Everything was sore, sore, sore and shifting- however barely- in her bed made it worse. Something- a bedspring?- was stabbing her in the back, and she must have forgotten to take some bracelets off or something because there was definitely something on her wrists. She opened her eyes, about to sit up, and then froze.

Because this was all wrong.

She wasn't in her room, not at all. Maybe the room was mostly dark, but the light filtering in from the window and from the hallway was enough for Lila to see bare white walls, a large lack of furniture, and a couple of machines at her bedside. Lila bolted upright, her eyes flashing around the room, but nothing changed.

She was definitely in a hospital.

Frowning, Lila tried to remember how she had gotten here. Had she fallen at school? Maybe she would be able to pin it on Marinette. Or- no, she remembered what had happened. She had been at their class picnic and had been feeling a bit ill. She had been following Rose to get a container to put her food in, since she hadn't felt like eating, and then- then-

And then there had been nothing. She must have fainted. Presumably someone had called for an ambulance then, and from there she ended up at the hospital.

Lila scowled. So much for her photos being the star of the day. Clearly she should have faked a text from her mom about a last-minute trip and left before everyone started eating. Then she could have gone home and laid down and slept off whatever bug she had, she would have had an opportunity to have another story, and she wouldn't have completely shot herself in the foot by making her collapse the story of the day.

Maybe she could spin it? Lila didn't know how- her head still hurt a bit, probably from hitting the ground- but a hospitalization surely meant that her mom would let her take a couple days off from school. That should be enough time for her to come up with something halfway believable.

And speaking of her mom... Lila scowled around the room. She could see a chair for visitors to sit in next to her bed, but it was empty. What, was a visit to the hospital not enough to get her mom to come in and make sure that her precious daughter to visit her? Lila would have thought that her mom would have dropped everything and rushed to her side at once.

Maybe she was just visiting with the doctors or something. That must be it. Yes, she would be talking to the doctors and making sure that they were running every test that might be needed to done to figure out what was wrong with Lila. Maybe they were going over results now- except no, results already would mean that Lila had been out for a while. And since there was no reason for her to have been out for a while- she knew enough to know that fainting and being out for more than a couple of minutes wasn't good, and being out for hours was even worse- that meant that results already was doubtful.

Lila shifted, frowning. Okay, so maybe her mom was probably with the doctor. Fine. Great. But why was she all alone in her room? Surely they didn't normally bring in unconscious people, plop them in a bed- a really uncomfortable bed, by the way, did they never replace these mattresses or something?- and then leave them on their own? Really, there should be some nurses hovering around, waiting for Lila to wake up so that they could explain what was going on. Instead, they had let Lila wake up in the dark and by herself.

It was poor customer service, really. Lila was definitely going to leave a terrible review for them. Seriously, wasn't it Hospital 101 to not leave patients alone? Lila was going to get up and go find someone now, so that they could tell her what was going on and find her mom for her-

Lila froze, her legs swung over the side of the bed. The movement had made her head swim, but that wasn't what had given Lila pause. No, the thing- things- that had stopped her in her tracks were the handcuffs snapped around her wrists.

What?

Why- why would she be handcuffed to her bed? That made no sense! Lila frantically wracked her brains, trying to make sense of what was going on. Why would anyone arrest her? She hadn't done anything wrong- well, nothing that would warrant her getting arrested.

Well. Except for being Pavona, but how would anyone have found that out? She hadn't transformed outside of her house for over a week, and she had always been careful when she transformed and detransformed. Maybe one of the doctors had found the pin on her- but no, nobody would actually recognize it. It would just look like a pretty pin. She would be worried about Duusu exposing himself to someone to get her in trouble, but she had ordered him not to do that. As far as she could tell, Duusu couldn't expose himself to others without her permission.

So what was going on?

Scowling, Lila yanked at the chains, part of her expecting that the cuffs were just a figment of her imagination, maybe, or maybe just a dream. The metal bit into her wrists, though, assuring Lila that they were, in fact, real.

Lila kicked her bedframe, then let out a curse at the pain that shot up her leg. Someone had better come to explain what was going on now. She- she couldn't- there was no way that she was in trouble, there had to be some other explanation for this-

The unmistakable sound of a key in the door lock caught Lila's attention, and her head whipped up. At once, she shifted back to recline against her pillows, working a pleasant look onto her face.

She didn't know how much people knew. She didn't know why she was in handcuffs- not for sure. It would be better to play innocent and see if she could still twist things in her favor.

No, not if. How she could best twist things in her favor. Lila would not admit defeat.

The lock gave, and three figures entered. One flicked the light on- Lila squinted against the unpleasant glare, doing her best to not screw up her face and look mad or something. She had to play the part of a misunderstood girl who got framed for- well, for something.

Hopefully the nurse and officers approaching her bed now would give something away.

"Ah, I see you're awake," the nurse told Lila. She didn't smile, which- uh, weren't nurses supposed to smile, to set their patients at ease? This hospital was really earning a terrible review. "I had wondered if the heroes maybe pulled the healing too early, but it looks like they timed it just right."

"Well, they are the experts," the first officer said before turning his attention to Lila. His gaze wasn't the least bit friendly. "So. Pavona. You're awake. Now- we have questions."

Nothing that Lila said could persuade the officers who visited her at the hospital that she hadn't been Pavona, much to her displeasure. The Peacock had been found on her when she collapsed- all of the questioning in the world couldn't make the police officers tell her who had found the Peacock and actually been able to identify it- and the superheroes had been contacted. Duusu- the absolute traitor- had somehow managed to confirm Lila's identity plus Hawkmoth and Mayura's identities, so now all three of the city's former superheroes were in prison, or- in Lila's case- on her way there.

(Lila hoped that they would be at different facilities. She had been the one to set off the chain of events that had resulted in his arrest- even if it had been accidental and not her fault, since he hadn't told her that the Miraculous was broken!- and he knew who she was. That alone was a little scary, but she wasn't going to admit that. Much.)

(Okay, maybe she would play up her fear in front of the judge. Maybe she would get off easier if she told him that she was so frightened of what Hawkmoth- who, by the way, no one had told her his actual identity yet, even though she had asked- would do to her or her mom that she had had no option. If she could play things up for pity...yes, that could work.)

For the time being, though, Lila had to suffer through the indignity of actually going to jail after she got released from the hospital. Her holding cell thankfully wasn't terrible- but it also was a cell in the jail's medical center, and she wasn't going to be there forever, just until the doctors thought that she was more stable.

More stable, or at least until they were convinced that she wasn't going to pass out at random and get injured. Since the only way Lila was going to heal from the damage that the broken Miraculous had done to her body was by wearing the fixed Miraculous and the superheroes wouldn't let her wear it now that she was out of her coma, she wasn't really going to get better.

(Lila had a whole bunch of opinions about that and how it wasn't really superhero-y to make their former enemies suffer just out of spite, but it was probably in her best interest to not actually vocalize that yet.)

The trial started pretty quickly after she was discharged from the hospital. Apparently she had been in a coma for several months (which, uh, talk about yikes), which had allowed enough time for evidence to get collected and organized and for a trial- a jury trial- to be pulled together.

Lila had had a hard time not reacting to that particular bit of news when the lawyer that her mom hired had told her. She knew that jury trials only happened in France for the most serious of crimes, ones that tended to have really long sentences.

(That- that was terrifying. Lila didn't want to spend the rest of her days rotting behind bars. But she had a good lawyer- her mom had made sure of it- so that wasn't very likely, right? Right?)

Once the trial started, it didn't take long for the court to establish that there was no doubt about whether or not Lila had been Pavona. The fact that the Peacock Miraculous had been found on her (Lila still didn't know who had found it- the name, for some reason, was annoyingly staying redacted) and the cursed coma that she had fallen into that had only been undone by her wearing the fixed Peacock pin were conclusive enough evidence. Lila's lawyer had advised her before the trial to not try to fight that part of the accusation, because the evidence was just too strong. There was no way that the Peacock would have helped her if she had fallen ill for some reason.

That meant that Lila's only hope would be for a reduced sentence, and that would be based entirely on if she could argue that her participation was forced and not entirely willing. If she could convince the jury, then Lila should be golden.

It was a good thing that Lila's biggest talent was lying and convincing others of things that were entirely untrue.

The prosecutor watched her critically as she stepped up to the stand for the first time in the trial, everything about him screaming strict and severe. This wasn't someone who was about to believe her, no matter what she said. Lila felt herself waver for a moment, but she forced herself to stand up straight. This was no time to show weakness. Not real weakness, at any rate. Manufactured weakness... that was another thing altogether. She had an audience, and she had to play to it.

"Ms. Rossi. Your lawyer claimed that you were intimidated into accepting this position, but we have audio evidence of you willingly agreeing to help Hawkmoth. Care to explain?"

Lila very nearly gulped at that- audio? Hawkmoth had gotten audio of her agreeing to be Pavona? What a slimy, stinking asshole- but years of practice with lying helped her keep a straight face. Her mind raced, working to come up with an excuse, but she was coming up blank. Time to buy herself some time. "Audio? What- what audio? If there was real audio, it would show that I was terrified!"

The prosecutor looked unimpressed. "The audio has already been analyzed by a voice expert and has declared your voice and the one in the recording to be a match. We can call Dr. Hillary Blanc to the witness stand after this, your Honor."

The judge nodded. "That would be preferable. But for now- I would like to hear this recording before we continue with our questioning."

"Of course, your Honor."

Lila's attorney gestured for her to return to her seat as the prosecution set up their audio. He looked rather irritated as she sat down next to him, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. Audio of Lila agreeing willingly- eagerly, she knew how she had sounded when she took the Miraculous- was going to make his job a million times harder.

It was also going to make Lila's job a million times harder. She was the one with the rest of her life on the line, really, and she needed to be able to argue her way out of the corner.

"The audio is ready," the prosecutor announced. The judge nodded.

"Proceed."

The prosecutor nodded, pressing a button to start the audio. There was the sound of a window opening, and then the unmistakable sound of Lila's voice eagerly greeting Hawkmoth, offering up the information that her mother was asleep and they were alone. And then-

"So, uh, how can I help you? Do you need an akuma with specific powers or something? I can do that!"

-the eager, oh-so-willing offer to help Hawkmoth. She didn't just sound willing to do it, she sounded positively bursting with enthusiasm to help out a supervillain.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. But Lila could still get out of this, she was sure. Lila's mind whirred, and almost immediately landed on an idea.

No one would be able to prove that she was lying, of that Lila was positive. Her idea was foolproof.

Well. Hopefully.

Lila plastered what she hoped was an appropriately shocked and confused look on her face as the recording went on. She forced herself to ignore the jurors on their bench, considering her with increasing disdain as the recording went on and Lila sounded nothing short of enthusiastic and eagerly consenting to Hawkmoth's suggestion.

She couldn't let their current opinions put her off. She had an idea to discredit the recording- or at the very least, throw a healthy amount of doubt on it- and after that, hopefully they would change their minds about her.

"Where was this recording found?" the judge asked once the audio came to an end. "And by whom?"

"In Mr. Agreste's office, by the police," the prosecutor told him. "They have the original recording, this is a copy."

"Okay." The judge's eyes swung to Lila. "Ms. Rossi, back to the stand. Please explain this recording."

"That's not even close to what happened!" Lila exclaimed once she had dashed back up to the stand, pressing a hand to her chest earnestly as she turned her eyes to the judge and the jurors. "He must have faked it- and I bet I even know how! The Peacock makes sentimonsters, everyone knows that. He's impersonated people before- he impersonated Ladybug, everyone knows that! He must have done that to make the recording."

There was a pause.

"How was Hawkmoth meant to do that when you had the Peacock?" the prosecutor asked tartly. She narrowed her eyes at Lila. "This sounds like another weak excuse."

"He probably made the recording before he gave me the Peacock." Lila bit back the obviously. There was no point in irritating anyone in the courtroom. If she could get this excuse to work, then she could maybe get off with a lighter sentence. Her reputation in Paris would still be toast, but if she just got a rap on the wrist for being a supervillain under duress, maybe she and her mom could move and she could start rebuilding her life once her sentence was over. If this didn't work, then it was game over. "He had to know that I wouldn't be fully willing, but he wanted to be ready to stab me in the back as soon as possible. He-" Lila faked a half-sob, pressing a hand to her lips. "I was in too deep before I could figure out how to fix it, and then he kept threatening to hurt me or my mom if I tried to get out of it. He said that he would tell everybody who I was!"

There was a pause. The judge, Lila was glad to see, finally looked a bit unsure, as did most of the jury. Fantastic.

"Why should we believe that?" the prosecutor asked after a moment. "Lila Rossi has a history of lying, her record shows that. She lies to get out of consequences and to get others in trouble and for her own gain."

"But you do have to consider that there is a possibility of the tape being faked," Lila's attorney argued, finally- finally!- making himself useful and speaking up. "There is magic at play here, and you have to admit that Mr. Agreste is a cunning businessman. He is a planner. It would not have been out of character to do exactly as Ms. Rossi described. After all, he handed a broken Miraculous to a minor for her to use without warning her of the consequences of using it."

"The defense has a good point," the judge agreed, though the reluctance was clear on his face. "I suppose we should ask the superheroes if there is a way to prove the authenticity of the recording and if not..."

He trailed off, clearly unsure. Lila forced herself not to visibly preen. Her lie had landed perfectly. She couldn't relax yet, though. Any slip-ups now could ruin her lie and put her right back on square one.

"We clearly need time to review the evidence and pull in more experts," the judge decided after a moment. "We will adjourn for the day."

Lila smiled.

Lila had been feeling pretty proud of herself for the rest of the day and overnight, doing her best not to smirk when she thought about the fast one that she had just pulled on the judge. Maybe they didn't fully believe her, not yet, but she had gotten the audio recording all but thrown out in court. Without it, she should have a much easier time in getting her sentence argued down to a small slap.

A small slap would be irritating, but not the end of the world. Lila could work with that.

And then she had walked into the court room the next day to see Ladybug and Chat Noir waiting, Duusu floating serenely above Ladybug's shoulder. Next to them sat Alya, who gave Lila a disgusted look when she spotted her.

Lila hadn't been expecting them. What were they supposed to add to the trial?

Oh, right. The judge had suggested that they pull in the experts on the Miraculous, as if they weren't just a bunch of kids themselves. They weren't experts, they just happened to have superpowers. That, and they got lucky in battles a lot, and really, the whole supervillain downfall was just one big stroke of luck for them. It wasn't as though Ladybug and Chat Noir had somehow outwitted the supervillains or something.

Just like every other day, all of the jurors filed in, followed by the judge. Lila suffered through all of the opening formalities- seriously, there was so much needless pomp that could just be done away with, it was such a major snoozefest- and then they actually got to the whole arguments bit again.

...in retrospect, the whole trial was just a heap of suffering through endless formalities and arguments and blah blah blahs. Lila would say that she would rather be anywhere else, but...

Well, for her, the only other place that she would be was at the jail, in her cell. That was boring, too, but at least Lila could get up and walk around and not have to pretend to be all apologetic and sweet all the time.

"Before we start, I want to say that Duusu cannot be recorded by either cameras or microphones," Ladybug told the courtroom once she was called on. "It's just the nature of kwamis. Machines can't record them."

The judge nodded, flashing a smile- a smile!- at Ladybug. "Thank you for that heads-up, Ladybug. We will ensure that we give enough time between questions for our court recorder to get everything that, ah, Duusu says."

"We also brought video evidence from the battles that Pavona joined in person," Ladybug spoke up again. She gestured to Alya. "Most of these clips came from the Ladyblog, though we got permission to also grab footage from several news stations. Alya Cesare here has compiled all of the clips for easy viewing."

"And what are these clips supposed to prove that we didn't already know?" Lila's attorney demanded. "We already know that she had the Miraculous, that's nothing new."

Alya stood up, very deliberately not looking at Lila. "All of these clips show that Pavona seemed to have her whole heart in the battle. She was fighting to the best of her ability-" her lips twitched, but she didn't add any commentary to that- "which you wouldn't expect from someone who was only fighting because she was being forced to."

"We will review the evidence," the judge told her. "Thank you."

"Objection to both!" Lila's attorney called. "How are we supposed to know that this kwami will tell the truth? And the videos- that's very subjective."

"We have also pulled in several behavioral experts to watch the videos and then give us their independent analysis of the body language in them," the prosecutor told the courtroom. "They can step outside while the others are giving their analysis to prevent them from influencing each other. All of the experts have been previously used by the court to review video before, and all have been deemed to give impartial analysis."

The judge nodded, looking pleased. "Fantastic."

"Objection," Lila's attorney called out again. "The clips could already have a bias to them. They've been picked out deliberately to push a narrative."

The prosecutor smirked. "We also have compiled all known footage of Pavona in battles. If the defense would prefer, we can present that rather than the cut version."

The judge turned to Lila's attorney. "Is that acceptable?"

Lila's attorney nodded, though he didn't look happy about it. "It is. Though- again, there is the matter of if this kwami can be trusted to tell the truth. We don't know enough about them to be sure."

The judge turned back to Ladybug. "Is there a way to address that?"

"There is." Ladybug smiled up at the judge, clearly fully at ease. She held up the Peacock Miraculous. "I thought that the best way to approach this would be to have a neutral party wear the pin- referring to you, of course, your Honor. Kwamis have to answer questions that their wielders ask honestly, to the best of their ability. If they don't know or cannot say, they will say as much." She held up another pin. "I also brought the Butterfly Miraculous, in case you wish to talk to both kwamis."

The judge looked surprised, then nodded and addressed Lila's attorney. "Mr. Nelson, does that address your concerns?"

Lila's attorney looked as though he had swallowed a lemon. "It does, your Honor."

Lila bit back her scowl. Stupid overly-prepared superheroes. How did they somehow think of everything? Couldn't they just let go of the issue for once and let Lila off? They could consider the social ostracization and complete destruction of her social status as her punishment.

"Approach, then," the judge told Ladybug. "We might as well start with talking to Duusu. Then we can let you and Chat Noir go on your way while we review the footage from the battles. You two have already spent plenty of time in courtrooms this summer."

Ladybug smiled and nodded, hopping to her feet and approaching the desk. She handed over the brooch, and the judge pinned it to his robes. Once Ladybug had sat down again, he addressed Duusu. "Please move to the witness stand."

"Of course!" Duusu zipped over, hovering in front of the microphone. "I'm ready when you are!"

Lila's eyes narrowed at the kwami. The airheadedness and naivety were nowhere to be seen as the little kwami replied to the judge's questions. Duusu seemed fully with it and sharp as a needle as he gave his answers. Lila had never seen the kwami act like that before, which begged the question of why.

Did the kwami switch personalities depending on the holder? No, that didn't make sense. There was no reason for any kwami under Lila's control to be an airhead. Which meant that he must have been acting when he was with Lila. All of the questions, all of the playing dumb, all of the forcing her to actually explain what she was doing, all of the ticking her off...

The little asshole must have been doing it deliberately.

In her seat, Lila silently fumed. She had put up with Duusu's ditzy personality for weeks, assuming that it was the kwami's nature and that couldn't be changed. The questions had nearly driven her up the wall- had driven her up the wall- and it had been entirely on purpose.

Lila bit back her scowl, slumping back in her seat and tuning Duusu out. It didn't really matter what exactly Duusu said, after all. Lila knew that he had to tell the truth, and the truth was that she had joined Hawkmoth willingly and eagerly, no blackmail needed on his part. She had wanted to see the superheroes defeated, and that was all the motivation that she had needed.

There was still all of the battle footage to go through, but by now Lila knew that all of her escapes were closing off. The evidence was piling up against her too fast, and the dark looks that Lila had been getting from the jury spoke volumes. The judge was asking Duusu about Lila's lies now, and it wouldn't be long before everyone in the room knew how to pick out Lila's manipulations and lies, and all of her attempts to control the narrative would be shot down immediately.

Now all she could hope was that the judge went easy on her sentencing.

It was no surprise when the jury came back and announced her guilty on all counts. The sentencing, though...

Lila had come up with a whole slew of scenarios, all sorts of outcomes from the best (no charges) to the more realistic yet still optimistic (charges for being Pavona but reduced because of being pressured into it), then slightly less optimistic, all the way up to what she had thought was a worst case scenario.

This was way worse that her worst case scenario. Way, way worse.

Lila sank back into her chair, staring blankly at nothing as everyone around her started packing up, the prosecuting team chatting cheerfully with each other while Lila's side of the room- Lila's mom and her lawyer- silently gathered up their things. Fifty years? That was forever! Wasn't there supposed to be some leniency for crimes done by underage kids? Like, her brain wasn't fully developed yet or whatever and she was supposed to be more prone to stupid decisions and everything. Surely she should be getting, like, juvenile detention. A permanent mark on her record. Maybe a couple of years of jail once she aged out of juvie.

She had been right about getting sent to juvie. The courts weren't about to send her to an adult prison when she was so much younger than most of the prisoners there, and besides, she had school to finish. Lila would be going to juvenile detention until she was 18, and after that...

Prison. Years and years and years of prison. Way more than Lila had ever expected.

She was going to be old and grey by the time she got out. Old and grey and with a completely destroyed reputation. Lila was basically going to be condemned to be in the poorhouse once she got out, which-

That wasn't what she had envisioned for her future. Not even close.

As the officers came up to collect her so that they could head back to the jail, Lila clenched her fist. Her entire future was gone, just like that. All of her dreams of schmoozing with famous people and marrying rich were destroyed. Just because- because-

Because Hawkmoth hadn't warned her about the side effects of the Miraculous. Because he had asked her to use the Peacock instead of just using her as a frequent akuma, willing to take on whatever shape and powers he wanted. Because Ladybug had been an infuriating interfering busybody who couldn't leave people alone and had to stick her nose where it didn't belong, when Lila's lies hadn't been hurting anyone.

Lila bit back her snarl. She wished that she had never come to Paris. She wished that she had never heard of superheroes. If things had gone one tiny bit differently...

This was all Ladybug's fault. If she hadn't interfered, Lila wouldn't have had to retaliate. And now..

Now her life was ruined.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Wavering Peahen #finished!#(we're just going to ignore that I should have finished posting this story in December whoops)

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radramblog · 3 years

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Some thoughts on Deltarune Chapter 2

I’m going to try to avoid being effusively praising of this game…demo…chapter. I’m sure there’s plenty of people doing that already, and I am more than cognizant of the platform I am presenting this post on. That’s going to be tough, yeah, but I’ll make it work.

I’m also going to try to avoid spoiling the thing too hard, even though there are spoilers everywhere and certain supposed-to-be obscure things are widespread at this point. But, someone could still end up reading this before they play it, so I’m going to hold my tongue a fair bit as a result.

With that in mind: new chapter is obviously out, so how does it stack up?

…I think it might be better than the first one. In my opinion.

Undertale 22 over here is a continuation of the first chapter, released about 3 years ago, taking place literally the next day in-universe. Chapter 1 coming out was a Huge Deal, not in the least a result of how it was announced. Despite the distance since the release, the Undertale fandom was still simmering along, and with an announcement that appears tied to one of that game’s biggest mysteries, it was no wonder that it was going to make some waves.

Chapter 2’s release was a surprise for different reasons. I believe at the time of the first demo, Toby stated that the remaining chapters would release as one, but that it would take a long time on account of the game being so much more complex than Undertale and not playing as much to his strengths. Of course, a lot happens in 3 years, especially with the last couple being as they have been, so Chapter 2 got its own release about a week ago.

I suppose I should stop beating around the bush and explain why I think Ch.2 is better than Ch.1, huh? I think there’s three main factors that swayed me.

Prologues and introductions always have to do one thing, and that is to familiarise the audience with the setting and characters. Despite sharing many side characters with its pseudo-prequel, Deltarune Chapter 1’s main cast are all completely fresh, and those side characters are in an unfamiliar form, and so much of the game is spent establishing cast dynamics. We have to learn who Susie, Kris, and Lancer are, and how the dynamics between them will be working for the stories to come.

However, there is the slight difference that Deltarune Chapter 1 is kind of a complete story. It’s like the pilot to a tv series- you have to establish characters, yeah, but you still have to get the plot spinning, and those characters still need to have small arcs over the course of the story. Susie and Lancer are kind of the only ones to go through actual arcs across the first chapter, given Ralsei’s currently kind of static character and Kris being a blank slate entirely.

By contrast, Chapter 2 has these dynamics in play from the get-go, and we get to more deeply explore them as a result, making the character work overall stronger. And while there are new characters at play, two of the three (arguably four) new players are already established in Chapter 1, and so we don’t need to spend as much time getting to know them. Character interactions are at the core of many styles of storytelling, and with the quirky characters we have to work with, getting more time seeing them do that is great!

The second of why I like Chapter Two better is just the gameplay. A fair few little tweaks have been made to make the whole thing cleaner- enemies now have a parallel meter to their HP bar to show how close to sparable they are, so pacifistic players have a better idea of their progress in longer fights. For those players, actually having Susie and Ralsei get ACT options is great, seeing as it makes them substantially more useful (especially Susie). When I replayed Chapter 1 in preparation for playing Chapter 2, I found myself just Guarding with them over and over while Kris did most of the work.

And the creativity with the fights is ramped up a whole bunch. This is another Not Being The First Part thing, but now that the player is used to how fights in this game are going to go, the complexity gets to increase to match, and the characterisation of the bosses and even generic enemies can better be expressed in the gameplay. I remember being genuinely shocked at how much was going on with the Ambyu-Lance enemy’s highway bullet pattern, especially when combined with other enemies in the fray.

I very much enjoyed the secret boss. Oh come on, that’s not a spoiler, everyone knows about Jevil at this point, and you get hinted at it super early on! And it’s way easier to find than Jevil was!

Anyway. My final point is just that I do like the characters in Chapter 2 better- particularly the antagonists. As fun as Lancer is, the sort of annoying whacky child characters are never something I’m particularly fond is. Even though he’s written really well, it took a lot to sell me on him. As well, as sicknasty as the King’s boss fight was, as well as the scenes surrounding it being an excellent summation of the point of the game as a whole, he’s not an especially interesting character.

And while I suppose Queen isn’t particularly deep either, everything about her is so unbelievably fun. I was pretty much sold on her immediately, with that regal “ohohoho” laugh followed by just absolutely shitposting for the entire length of the game. Her presence makes so much of this game an utter blast. Her presence reminds me a lot of the characters in Undertale who were mostly just there for one area, Alphys in Hotland and the skeletons in Snowdin, constantly popping in to keep things moving, giving each area its own little arc, and generally be fun and amusing along the way. And since each chapter of Deltarune is a lot longer than one arc of Undertale, it’s for the best that Queen manages to make this much of a good impression about the whole thing.

As I’ve stated, I think most of the reasons why Deltarune Chapter 2 are a simple result of being a Chapter 2 rather than a Chapter 1, rather than being any fault of Chapter 1’s (and the last point is basically personal preference). Both are obviously still excellent, and I’m happy to wait patiently for the series to continue if it keeps up this level of quality. At the end of the day, like, this game is currently free. And it provides a better and longer experience than a lot of actually paid games I’ve played. Toby Fox has managed to be a big shot after literally releasing one and two sevenths of a game, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to be slowing down anytime soon. Here’s hoping that the assistance he’s apparently getting for future chapters works out such that it doesn’t end up sacrificing quality, but I don’t see this happening quite yet. I suppose only time will tell, but I’m optimistic. Filled with determination, as some would say.

no that’s cringy cut that one sheesh okay let me out of here im done

#ramble #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2

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therenlover · 3 years

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Gimme Swayze (Part 4.5 of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Gratuitous Dirty Dancing References, Love Confessions, Insecure!Reader, Minor Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language

Word Count: 2600~

This has been cross posted as the first chapter of the fic Cry To Me on my Ao3!

--------

“Dance with me, Peter?”

Y/N stood in the middle of the floor holding her hand out to him, hair mussed and wild with cheeks still streaked from tears shed earlier in the night. There, in the lamplight, she looked ethereal. Peter could imagine her as she was then in some grand Viennese ballroom. Every man, woman, and child would want to be seen on her arm, fully disregarding her casual clothes and the unhinged fire in her eyes, but she was choosing him. Something in his heart told him she always would.

With a smile and a groan, he pushed up off the creaky old plush couch and stretched his arms. “Are you gonna put on some music or are we gonna have to make our own?”

Peter didn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitched as she rushed over to the record player near the window. Her fingers skimmed over the knee-high stack of records at the base of the machine, searching through for something specific. After a moment she let out a small victorious noise. She pulled out the item she was looking for, a plastic-wrapped vinyl sheath, before holding it out towards Peter with a grin. Outside, the rain had slowed to a gentle pitter-patter on the concrete.

The paper cover was plain white, but it had a large title scrawled across the front in black magic marker: Y/N’s Ultimate Romance Mixtape.

“You put a mixtape… on a record? How much did this thing cost you?” Peter asked, walking to Y/N’s side to give the vinyl a closer look.

“Not just any mixtape,” she groaned, motioning for him to flip it over, “Our mixtape!” There on the back of the record, just as she promised, was a tracklist. Upon first viewing, by any average person, it would look pretty normal. To Peter, though, it was like looking down at a list of the top hits of his life. Time In A Bottle, Strange Magic, Born to Run, Sweet Dreams ...

“How did you-”

“I just started finding the songs I saw you listening to more than once, one day,” Y/N replied. She was staring at the floor again, wringing her hands. Was she… embarrassed? “I know it’s kinda weird and creepy… okay, it’s really weird and creepy, but I didn’t have anything else to do. It was just me in the Paris apartment back then and I still technically wasn’t a real person in the eyes of the government so I couldn’t work. What I’m trying to say is it was a nice way to pass the time, waiting for the newest song on the list to release, sitting patiently in the record shops hoping to hear a snippet of a melody I heard you humming along to in a vision...”

As she spoke, Y/N’s eyes seemed to glaze over. By the time her stream of consciousness had turned into less of a pour and more of a drip she looked halfway caught between the world and a dream. Peter could only imagine that when you’d lived as long as she had sometimes the past could seem like a dream. He’d been around for about 31 years, 67 if you included the years he lost between dimensions, and even he found himself looking back on parts of his childhood as if they were someone else’s. What would it be like in 10 more years? 20? 30? 100 didn’t even seem plausible.

Peter was only snapped from his internal monologue when Y/N snatched the record out of his hands and held it to her chest protectively. Her dreamy look was gone, replaced with one much more defensive.

“What?”

“If you’re just gonna gawk at it, I’m not gonna show you,” she said, carefully setting the record down on top of the closed player before turning her attention back to Peter, “I know it’s a little odd-”

“It’s cute!” Peter was quick to respond. He held up his hands, giving a small gesture of goodwill, before moving in to wrap her in his arms. She accepted, however stiffly. “Really, babe, it’s cute! I promise,”

With what seemed like a great amount of effort, Y/N relaxed into his touch. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just a little nervous… I’ve never done this before,”

“Oh, come on,” Peter’s mouth was almost against her skin now. His hot breath tickled the sensitive curve of her ear as he rocked their bodies back and forth on the balls of his feet, half calming and half comedic. “You don’t have to be nervous, Y/N. It’s just me,”

“That’s the problem!” Y/N was floundering in earnest now, her little heart pounding hard enough that Peter could feel it against his own chest. “With other guys it was easy! I knew they weren’t the end goal, and I knew… well, I thought they’d die long before you ever came into the picture, but now you’re here, and you’re you, and I’m so fucking terrified of messing everything up,”

Peter moved his hands to loosely grip her arms, rubbing calming circles into her flesh. “Babe, newsflash, I really like you. Like, stupidly like you. Head-over-heels type shit,” he paused to laugh, “and hey, I’m not the one who sees the future or anything, but I don’t see this going bad anytime soon. So take a deep breath, put on our mixtape, and just… let go,”

Y/N let her eyes find Peter’s, peering up through heavy lashes. “What if I fall?”

He kissed her softly on the forehead before he answered, “Baby, I have super speed. You can’t fall faster than I can catch you,”

The softest of smiles graced Y/N’s face before she pulled away, turning back to the record player and grabbing the record off the top as she opened it. She paused for a second, pensive, and Peter thought he might have to bolster her again before she turned back to him.

“Side A or Side B?”

Peter shrugged. “Whatever side you like the most,”

“Side B it is…” she smirked as she set the record on the table and got it spinning, dropping the needle gently onto the edge of the vinyl with a practiced hand, “That’s my side,” Under the sounds of the gentle rain and the city, the opening notes to a song halfway familiar began to ring out through the old bones of the apartment. The ancient wood seemed to creak its own melody under Y/N’s feet while she started to sway. Peter tried to follow along as best he could.

“I hope you know I can’t dance,” He mumbled, swinging his hips to and fro as Y/N giggled at him.

“Oh, I know,”

“Then why did you ask me to?”

“Just because you’re bad at dancing doesn’t mean I don’t wanna dance with you,”

“That’s so cheeeeesy, Y/N!”

She threw her head back as she shimmed into Peter’s arms across the floor. “And you love it,”

When she was finally in his arms again, they swayed loosely to the tune. There was no real rhythm to it, all clumsy feet and breathless laughter as they bumped their way through Y/N’s greatest hits, but it came from the heart. There were no doomsday clocks ticking in the background, no expectations of what to was to come. It was just the music around them and the rain in the street and the jerky unnatural movements of Peter Maximoff doing his best to internalize the beat as The Mamas and the Papas slowly drifted into Solomon Burke. Y/N hummed thoughtfully, pulling away from Peter’s arms as it began, bringing her arms up above her head as she shook her hips. Peter just groaned.

“You actually put the song from Dirty Dancing on the mixtape?”

Y/N didn’t respond, instead bopping her head along with the beat.

“I can’t believe it. You’re not even gonna answer me,”

She gave a wink and continued on.

“Really? The silent treatment?”

“I’m not saying another word until you embrace the Swayze, Peter,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep inhale, and then stared daggers into Y/N’s eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. “You want Swayze, baby? You really want Swayze?”

“Oh, I wanna see some Swayze, Peter,”

“How’s this for Swayze?”

With a burst of superhuman speed, Peter raced across the floor, snatched Y/N up by her midriff, and lifted her above his head, delighting in her giggles and shrieks while he spun her. He may not have been the best dancer or the best mover, but Peter was good at a few things; things like utilizing his surprising strength and speed.

He kept Y/N aloft for a moment before gently returning her to the floor. There she stood, slightly dazed, as she got her bearings back, gripping the sleeve of Peter’s t-shirt for balance. To put it simply she was a giggling mess.

Peter loved watching her like this, carefree and loose, unbound from the tethers of trauma and time for a few brief moments. It made his heart soar higher to know that he made her like this. He was the one who threatened to toss her in with the seals at Central Park, which made her laugh so hard she almost yakked up her hotdog. It was him who sat with her on the couch throwing popcorn at the fuzzy TV screen whenever she suddenly froze up at the sound of a scream, distracting her enough that she could enjoy the movie till the end. His hands were the ones she grabbed whenever she saw a cute dog on the street and wanted to get close fast enough to pet it. He was a part of her joy, a minuscule blip on her radar making waves in her life for the better. Peter didn’t know if there was anything else he wanted to be in life that could mean more than that.

When Y/N finally got her giggles under control, she looked up at him with wet eyes and whispered. “That was pretty Swayze, babe,”

The second it left her lips she was in stitches again, her knees buckling as she collapsed to the floor, whole body wracked with her laughter. Peter joined her this time, settling himself down by her side and allowing the hysteria to wash over him like a pleasant wave. Once all was said and done, he and Y/N laid shoulder to shoulder on the antique sitting-room rug, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and soft smiles. The record, all spun out, sat forgotten on the turntable.

“I know I’ve told you this already,” Y/N said, eyes glued to the rotating fan above her, “but I love you, Peter. I love you and I love who I am when I’m with you. You don’t have to say it back, I mean, I know this has all been ridiculously fast, but… I dunno. Even without the whole fated to cross paths thing, I think I’d love you now anyways, you know?” She bit her bottom lip, groaning, “Sorry, sorry, I know things are moving way too quick-”

Peter shushed her gently, rolling onto his side to look her in the eye. “Babe, you’re talking to the fastest man alive. Quick is literally in my name. Don’t worry about it,”

“Yeah. I guess it is, huh?”

“And for the record,” he took a deep breath, steeling himself, “I love you too, Y/N. I have for a while now. It has to have been since… well all the way back when Dr. Strange had me tied up at your work. I was so sure that I had screwed everything up with you, that you were gonna let him drag me to superhero prison and wash your hands of me, but you didn’t. You came in there guns blazing, even when you knew I had fucked up big time and accidentally tried to steal some real spooky shit, and from that second on I never once felt like you would ever be willing to get rid of me just because I’m annoying,”

She nudged him with her shoulder. Not hard, just enough to jostle him. “You’re not annoying,”

“Have you met me? Annoying is literally my middle name,”

“No,” Y/N’s voice got soft, “No, your middle name is Django. Your favorite color is blue, but specifically bright teal-ish blue like the blue moon ice cream your mom used to buy you on vacation back when you were a little kid. You can’t dance but you have surprisingly good rhythm, and even if you’re not proud of your voice you should be because if you weren’t the world’s fastest man you could be touring as a singer with your guitar. You always sleep on the right side of the bed, your favorite season is the weird limbo between summer and fall, you can’t stand the James Bond movies, and if anybody asked you’d say your favorite food is Twinkies but it’s not. Your favorite food is pierogies, specifically the cheese and potato kind from Nana Dudek’s in Polish town because they remind you of your Nana the few times you remember going to see her. All of that is true, and so is the fact that you love me,”

She went quiet, eyes watching the blades of the ceiling fan in their lazy rotations. Slowly, she reached out her hand, interlocking her pinkie with Peter’s own without even having to look down and find it.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” Peter whispered.

Y/N let a huff of air out of her nose, a silent laugh at a joke only she knew.

“You’re not supposed to say anything. I just wanted you to know,”

“Know what?”

“Know that even if you can never build up the courage to tell me you love me again, I’ll be just fine, because I know, and you know, and that’s all that matters,”

Something in Peter’s heart, however small, shattered at just how vulnerable Y/N sounded.

Both of them were jaded in their own ways. They had seen bloodshed and torment and the roots of human suffering. It wasn’t always as simple as saying ‘I love you’. Sometimes the world left you a broken pulp with little faith and saying three little magic words just wasn’t possible. There’s no place for love in the heart of a person at war, nor is there any guarantee that they’ll ever be able to express that forbidden weakness again. It’s a commodity, like hope, that came in rare supply to people like Peter and Y/N. That being said, in the safety and warmth of the sitting room with the cozy couch and the antique rug and the ceiling fan and the record player, neither of them were at war, and Peter would be a damn fool if he didn’t take advantage of that.

He rolled onto his side once again, waiting there in silence until Y/N rolled onto her side to greet him, and then, with all of the feelings he had hidden in his heart since the moment he ran at top speed for the first time he kissed her.

Without hesitation, she kissed him back.

-------

a/n: Sorry this took so long to get out! It’s short, but I wanted it to be long enough to be it’s own mini chapter, so our minor friends can enjoy the sweetness without having to lose any of the story in the spicy bit. That being said, the spicy bit comes next lol. My shift bar is being fussy, and I need to sleep, so I’m signing off for the night, but thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, let me know!

Please do not post my work to any other sites, thank you ! <3

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #fanfiction #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #marvel fanfiction

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 7: Trust

Chapter 6

Read on AO3

Jamie was sitting in front of her apartment building, fingers incessantly tapping the steering wheel. He’d been sitting there for a solid minute now, though he couldn’t exactly put a name to the feeling that was paralyzing him.

He finally got himself to move by remembering that Faith had likely not stopped screaming since their phone call, and keeping them waiting any longer because he was something akin to nervous would be rather selfish of him. He swiped the wee horse off the passenger seat and departed his car, his pulse quickening with every step up to her second-story apartment. He could hear the screaming before he even reached the top step, and he clenched his jaw, his heart going out to Claire.

He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Before he could even take his hand away from the door, it swung open, revealing a red-faced, swollen-eyed Claire. Watching the relief wash over her was like watching a devastating fire be put out, and Jamie finally released the breath he’d been holding.

“Come in, come in,” Claire said, waving him inside and shutting the door. “Faith, darling, look who it is. It’s Mister Jamie, lovie. And look who he’s brought.”

Jamie crouched down beside the wailing little girl and held up the stuffed horse. “Hallo, Faith. It’s alright now, Horsie is home. See?”

Faith’s wailing abruptly ceased, quieting to little sobs and snuffles as she reached for the horse. She hiccuped and sniffled as she rubbed the toy on each of her cheeks over and over, and then squeezed it to her chest.

“See? It’s alright, now. D’ye remember our big breaths, Faith?” Jamie said gently, taking a big heaving breath. “In and out. Remember? Can ye do that fer me? In,” he breathed in again, and Faith breathed in as well. “And out. Good lass. That’s it. One more time. In…and out. Good girl, Faith. There we go.”

With a few more deep breaths, Faith was no longer shuddering or gasping for air, and aside from the tear tracks on her face, one would never know she’d been crying.

“Faith…?” Claire’s voice sounded behind him, and Jamie felt his heart leap into his throat all over again. In calming Faith, he’d nearly forgotten that her mother was standing right behind him.

“Are you alright now, baby?” Claire stepped around Jamie and knelt beside her. “All better now that Horsie is home?” Faith gave a tiny nod. “Good girl. Can you give Mummy a hug?”

Faith melted into her mother’s arms, and Claire exhaled shakily, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She stroked the back of her head and kissed her temple, whispering to her as she rocked her back and forth.

Jamie felt like he was intruding on a very private moment, but at the same time, he knew if he stood up and moved away, he’d be interrupting. So, he remained crouched on the floor of Claire Beauchamp’s apartment, watching her cling to her daughter for dear life. She was hanging on by a thread, he could tell, fighting the urge to burst into tears.

He was overwhelmed by that feeling, that need. To stop her pain, to ease her mind, protect her from the hardships that life kept throwing her. Christ, had today really only been the third week since he’d first met her? How was that possible? It felt like those sad, longing eyes had been haunting him for years, keeping him awake at night with ways to make her sadness go away.

After a few minutes, Claire pulled away and smiled warmly at Faith, stroking her wee cheeks. “Go put Horsie to bed and then we’ll have our dinner. Okay?”

Faith obediently slipped away to her room and Claire looked startled, apparently having forgotten Jamie was there, just as he’d forgotten she was there earlier.

“I really can’t thank you enough,” she said, standing up.

“No trouble at all.” Jamie stood up as well.

“Really, you didn’t have to do this…I feel ridiculous for having called you in the first place.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, making herself smaller. “Eventually she’d have to fall asleep and she’d wake up completely fine, albeit a little hungry…but I just couldn’t see that before…I was…”

“It’s hard to think straight when they’re carrying on. Ye dinna have to explain yerself to me, Sassenach.” Jamie’s heart skipped a beat to see the corners of her mouth twitch up at the sound of the nickname she’d been unwillingly bestowed with.

“Are ye…are ye alright, then?” Jamie began hesitantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He did not want to overstep, but he could not shake that immediate uneasiness in his gut when he first saw her earlier today. “Other than all this, I mean?”

She blinked at him for a few seconds, in what he could only perceive as shock. Was it really that surprising to her for someone to ask if she was alright?

“Um…yes, I’m…I’m fine,” she said softly, not meeting his eye. “Just a long day.”

Jamie didn't say anything; he could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she was stopping herself. He gave her the time she needed to work up the nerve to say it.

“I lost a patient today.” It spilled out of her like a leak in a dam, and he got the sense that she wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop the break from growing any wider. “For the first time. He was too young. A father, a husband. It was…hard. That’s all.”

Jamie’s jaw hardened, and his chest tightened. He was slammed with a wave of pity for her. To have a heart so big that one could be so greatly affected by hardships and losses that were not their own must be a great burden to carry.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said gently. “I’m sure ye did everything ye could.”

She folded her arms tighter over herself, nodding silently.

“Claire,” he said pointedly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Ye canna beat yerself up over it. The patient…or yer daughter either.”

For the smallest moment, she held his gaze, and he could see all the way through her in those eyes. He could see her fear. Fear of what? Of him? Of herself, her shortcomings?

Christ, Sassenach. If ye only knew how worthy ye are.

Faith burst from her room just then, more than ready for the dinner that had been delayed almost an hour. She swiped the happy meal off the coffee table and skipped off to the kitchen. The moment was gone, and that ghost of a smile returned to Claire’s face, as did the ache in Jamie’s chest.

“Do you want anything?” she said briskly. “Tea? Coffee?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thank ye.”

“Well, uh, thank you again. Really, you saved my life tonight.”

“ ’Twas nothing.”

“No, it really wasn’t nothing,” she insisted. “You saw how she was before you got here.”

“Aye, I did.” He nodded, allowing a tight-lipped smile.

“Listen.” She wet her lips and inhaled deeply. “I swear I won’t use your number ever again,” she said, fidgeting with a hangnail on her thumb. “It really was inappropriate of me to use your personal phone number like that.”

“Sassenach, I told ye, I was happy to help.”

“Still. It won’t happen again.”

He allowed his grin to grow wider, unable to suppress a chuckle at how serious she was being. “Alright, lass. Whatever ye say.” He made his way to the front door, shaking his head.

“Well, goodnight then,” she said, smiling sheepishly as she opened the front door.

“Goodnight. Tell Faith I said goodbye.”

Her smile widened. “I will.”

Jamie gave a curt nod before turning around and departing down the stairs to his car. As he settled into the seat and started the car, he caught sight of a warm light coming through the windshield, and he looked up to discover its source. He nearly jumped clean out of his skin upon realizing that Claire still hadn’t closed her front door. She was standing in the doorway, and he caught her eye, only for her to jump and quickly close the door.

Jamie gawked for a moment through the windshield before shaking his head and driving away, his head spinning.

——

He arrived at the stables at nine-thirty that following Monday, a half-hour before they opened. Toni was already at her desk, starting up the computer and sorting through some papers.

“Morning, Jamie,” she sighed.

“Morning, Toni.” He brandished one of the two coffee cups in his hand, and Toni practically moaned.

“Oh my God, I love you.” She took the cup in her hands and took a careful sip. “How did you know I needed this today?”

Jamie shrugged. “Ye’re always hungover on Monday mornings.”

“Ha-ha,” Toni said wryly, but she had no argument to make. He wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” she said, setting the coffee down. “Do you know what happened to the little horse in the lost and found bin?”

Jamie blanched.

“I think it’s Faith’s, right? It was there when I left on Friday but now it’s gone, and I’m worried it went home with the wrong kid.”

“Ah, well, that’s a funny story actually.”

Toni’s face screwed up as she picked up the coffee again. “Um…okay?”

“Well, uh, she called me. Claire, that is.”

“You mean Miss Beauchamp?” Toni said pointedly, but he could already see the smug grin spreading across her face.

“Och, aye, the verra same.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “She called me and told me Faith was beside herself wi’out the wee horse. Wouldna stop crying or eat her dinner.”

Toni stared at him incredulously. “So you drove back to let her in to get it?”

“Ah, no.” Jamie felt his face get hot, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, drove it to her.”

“You went to her apartment?” she was practically shouting now.

“Will ye hold yer wheesht?” Jamie hissed.

Toni suddenly burst out laughing.

“Fer Christ’s sake…” Jamie grumbled, running a hand through his curls.

“I’m sorry! You’re just killing me this morning! I can’t handle it when you go all Scottish on me…” She wiped away tears of laughter before continuing. “Jesus Christ, Jamie! You actually went to her home? You sly dog!”

“Fer the love of God, Toni, I didna do it fer any reason other than to help her.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” She took another sip of her coffee. “You’re too damn soft for your own good. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a sly move, James.”

He sighed in frustration. “I’m never bringing ye coffee again.”

“No, no, no, no, I take it back,” she said quickly, giggling through her panic. “Come on, I was teasing! Jamie!”

Jamie muttered something rather crude in Gaelic as he strode out the back door and toward the stables.

That was the last time he told her anything.

——

Claire couldn’t help but notice something was off the next time she brought Faith to the stables.

Not in a bad or foreboding sense by any means, just…strange. Toni was grinning smugly at Jamie when she arrived, and he looked like he was torn between reaming her out and fainting. Jamie was hovering over them as they checked in, something that even Erica seemed to find a bit odd.

“Alright,” Claire said the moment they were outside. “Now what was all that about?”

“What’s that?” Jamie said.

“All that side-eye with Toni,” Claire chuckled.

“Ah.” He flushed red a bit. “She found out about…Horsie,” he said carefully, purposely not being direct in front of Erica.

Claire blanched. “Oh! Christ, did you get in trouble? Jamie, I’m so — ”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled heartily. “I’m no’ in any trouble. Toni is just…”

“Nosy,” Erica finished for him.

“Aye, that she is. She likes teasing me, is all. No’ to worry.”

“Oh…alright.” Claire relaxed. As they reached the stables, all conversation was dropped as Faith’s excited humming reached maximum volume.

She likes teasing him…what was there to tease about…?

There was no time to contemplate, however, as Claire became lost in watching Faith enjoy herself, as she always did. Jamie let Erica take the reins on getting Faith set up and leading her to the riding hall, and Jamie hung back with Claire.

She knew he was amiable, and kind, and had a big heart, but it struck her just how easy it was to talk to him. Perhaps some wall she didn’t know existed had been knocked down when he’d entered her home, or perhaps she was just getting used to him. He’d proven over and over that he would make leaps and bounds to help Faith, and even to help Claire. She was really beginning to see him as somewhat of a friend, despite how inappropriate it may seem to refer to her daughter’s hippotherapist as such.

She watched all of Faith’s little victories from behind the fence, her cheeks sore from smiling, clapping along with Erica and Jamie when they did so. This one hour a week of peace, joy, and accomplishment was something that Claire cherished above anything else in her life right now. And she could just tell that Faith felt exactly the same.

Claire’s mind wandered back to something Erica had said the first day she met her:

“I really wouldn’t be anything I am today without this place.”

Claire could see now what she meant, and she could see in a few years, or even months, that she and Faith would be in a completely different place than they were right now.

As usual, the hour was over much too soon, and Claire was reluctant to drag Faith away from her beloved Pippi. They arrived back at the welcome center, and as Claire was making payments and checking next week’s schedule, her phone started buzzing. She looked down and saw that it was the hospital.

“Shoot, I’m sorry, I have to take this, it’s work.”

Faith chose that exact moment to start bouncing in that all too familiar way. She had to use the bathroom. She began groaning and pulling on Claire’s arm.

“I can’t take you right now, baby, please hold it…”

Panicking slightly, Claire accepted the call. “Hello, Doctor Beauchamp, one moment, please.” She muted herself on the phone and desperately looked at Toni. “Could you please take her to the bathroom? Just hold the stall closed and make sure she washes her hands…”

“Oh, of course. No problem at all.” Toni quickly maneuvered around her desk and took Faith’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go potty.”

Claire fumbled to unmute herself and brought the phone back to her ear. “Hello, Doctor Beauchamp.” It was Doctor Moore, unfortunately, briefly confirming a switch in hours for the following week, and the call was over in under a minute.

“Insufferable woman,” Claire groaned to herself, returning her phone to her purse.

“Everything alright, Doctor Beauchamp?”

Claire looked up to see Jamie leaning against the counter, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Yes, just fine.” She smiled back, leaning against the counter as well.

“Doctor, aye? Stony Brook, I assume.”

“Right. Just a residency, though. I only just finished medical school.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “Came all the way from England fer a residency?”

“I suppose. But also for this program. And to get away.”

Claire hoped he wouldn’t press any further on that last bit, and he didn’t.

“What about you? What’s a Highlander doing all the way out here in the Long Island suburbs?” Claire continued.

“Same as you, really. Not doctoring, I mean, but the program. They have them in Europe, but no’ as many, and they’re overcrowded. Besides, none as good as this one. I did my research after I graduated, ye ken.” He smirked.

Claire chuckled. “What made you want to pursue this? Something so specific, child psychology and horses?”

“Well, I always had a way wi’ the horses, ye ken,” he said fondly. “I wanted to be a jockey as a lad. I, ah, grew to be much too tall as ye can see.”

He chuckled, and Claire giggled.

“But, I also always wanted to work wi’ special needs children, early on as I can remember. This line of work seemed to just fall into my lap, I suppose.”

Claire smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful. How did you know that’s what you wanted to do from such a young age?”

He briefly averted her eyes and bit his bottom lip. “My brother had special needs, so I grew up seeing him in his programs, helping at birthday parties, meeting kids wi’ all sorts of disabilities. My mam always said I was very natural wi’ ’em.”

“You are,” Claire confirmed, smiling. “You say he had special needs? Was he…well, I don’t know how to phrase this any better…did he have something…curable?”

“Ah, no.” His gaze dropped again. “He died when I was eight.”

Claire immediately blanched, her tongue feeling like sandpaper. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “That was so incredibly insensitive and ignorant of me — ”

“It’s alright, Claire,” Jamie said gently, though he still avoided looking at her.

“No, it really isn’t. I’ve no right to…”

“It’s alright.” He said again, finally looking her in the eye again. She did not miss how his eyes had misted over. “He had cerebral palsy. Had those wee crutches to help him walk, was developmentally behind fer his age. But he was a good lad. He was my best friend.”

Claire felt her own throat constricting, her heart positively breaking for him. She gently touched his forearm in sympathy. She said nothing; he did not have to go on if he didn’t want to.

“His uh…immune system was weak from the CP. Even the common cold was dangerous fer him. But he always came out of it just fine as long as we got him to the hospital.” He blinked rapidly, no doubt trying not to cry. “When he was eleven, he got strep throat. His body couldna fight it off no matter what the doctors did and the fever carried him away in three days.”

“Jamie…” Claire squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“ ’S’alright.” He shrugged, sniffling. “It’s been a long time.”

“A loss that great never leaves you.”

He looked up at her then, a silent question in his eyes. No, she would not unburden her own losses onto him, not after she’d practically forced this story out of him.

“What’s his name?” Claire asked softly instead.

A little smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “William. Willie.”

Claire smiled back. “Good name.”

“Aye. ’Tis.” He nodded slightly, and she could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

“I’m sure he’s very proud of the man you’ve become,” Claire said carefully. She did not want to overstep, but he had to know: “It’s…it’s beautiful that you’ve chosen to honor him this way. By helping children like him.”

He exhaled with a shaky laugh. “Aye…I like to think he’s proud.”

Claire blinked back her own tears. “He is.”

Jamie suddenly moved the arm that she’d been absently touching so that he could slip his hand under hers.

“Thank ye, Claire.” He gently squeezed her hand.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.” She squeezed back.

For a moment, they stood there silently, each reveling in the gentle assurance of the other’s touch. Jamie’s thumb moved slowly, back and forth, over her knuckles, such a simple, innocent gesture, and yet neither of those things at all. Claire looked up from their hands to see that he was giving her that look again, that stare. She wanted to look away, to make some stupid joke to break whatever this was…but she found herself unable to stop staring back at him.

And then a door opened, and his hand immediately darted away and stuffed into his pocket.

“Alright! All good to go! Hands washed and everything!” Toni emerged from the back room holding Faith’s hands.

Claire forced a smile that might have looked rather frantic. Her face felt hot, and she could only imagine how red it was. Why did she feel this way? Like she’d been…caught.

Caught doing what…?

“Alright, Faith,” Claire said, taking her hand. “Say goodbye, now.”

“Bye-bye, wean,” Jamie said warmly, but subdued. He looked sadder than Claire had ever thought possible.

“Bye, Beauchamp gals! See ya!”

Faith waved jovially, and Claire triple-checked that she was holding Horsie in the hand that wasn’t holding onto Faith. When Faith was fastened in her carseat, Horsie in her lap, and Claire settled into the driver’s seat, she was surprised at the tears that lingered on her cheeks. She hurriedly wiped them away and sniffled.

Christ, why did that conversation just break her heart?

She was as pained as she’d been when Paul Castano had died before her eyes, as she’d been when the elderly Henrietta Nolan hadn’t survived her stroke this week. She’d never met little Willie, didn’t even know what he looked like. All she knew was that he was someone that Jamie loved. And someone that Jamie lost.

Why does that thought hurt so badly?

She chalked it up to her bleeding-heart and her doctor-brain, and started the car. She drove away from the stables, shaking Jamie Fraser, his pained face, his tight voice, and his tears, out of her mind.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander au #jamie fraser #faith fraser #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #frank randall

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Two Weeks Notice - Day Nine

~With the world practicing self-isolation, Y/N and Dean break all the rules of social distancing and common decency as they explore an empty bunker and use the time alone to their playful advantage…~

Dean x Reader

1,307 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Role Play! Terrible Acting! Soap Opera Play! Smut!

A/N: This might be my fave chapter.... I can’t even...

Two Weeks Notice Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ My Original Works on Amazon

The halls of Seattle Mercy Hospital were alive, buzzing with commotion. Fluorescent lights beamed down on lab coats and scrubs; speakers above crackled as they called out codes and paged doctors to move around the building.

He walked with purpose, heels of his ornate cowboy boots clicking on the overly-waxed floor. He turned the corner with a confident aire, the tails of his pristine lab coat flapping like a superhero’s cape behind him.

With a dramatic push, he popped open the swinging door to the medical bay and stood in its path, chin high as his emerald eyes swept the room.

“Doctor Winchester!”

He turned, chiseled jaw clenched as the nurse ran to him. She wore tight blue scrubs and her hair in a bun that was about to fall apart, tendrils escaping to frame her beautiful face perfectly. She stopped by his side, her face a mask of worry. He cocked a sexy eyebrow.

“What is it, Nurse Y/N?” His voice was deep and clipped, there was little time to chit chat when lives were at stake.

Y/N lifted the back of her hand to her forehead and turned her eyes from his, hiding her tears. “We’ve lost the patient, Doctor. His heart- he just couldn’t hold on.”

Dr.Winchester looked towards the empty bed as his eyes filled with emotion. “Damn it!” He grit his teeth and looked away. “I should have been here. I could have done something.”

Nurse Y/N stepped forward and placed a hand over his heart. “No! Don’t do that to yourself. You did all that you could.”

He pulled away, brushing passed her into the room. “I should have done more!” He raised a fist to his mouth and bit his knuckle as he stared off at the far wall. “Damn my evil twin brother for stealing my identity and causing that five-car pile up on the highway that sent me to jail for the weekend. I could have been here!”

Y/N rushed to his side, grabbing his elbow and forcing him to turn to face her. “Stop it!” She slapped his lightly stubbled cheek and looked up with tears glistening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. There was nothing anyone could do. His heart just...couldn’t take it anymore.” She paused, bottom lip quivering as he looked down into her eyes. “And...neither can mine.” Her fingers curled under, her knuckles brushing against his jaw.

She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her wrist, holding her hand against his perfectly tanned face.

“What did you say?” he asked, anger at himself fading as he looked down into her very soul.

Y/N tried to hide her face, turning her cheek towards her shoulder, but the doctor pulled her back, two long, thick fingers guiding her chin upwards.

“Tell me.”

“I…” She stumbled, lost in his beauty, drenched in the warmth and scent of him. “I love you, Doctor Winchester,” she admitted finally. “I always have. Ever since you rescued that puppy from underneath the fire engine and so you could give him to the boy dying of brain cancer as a companion. You’re my hero.”

He pouted, eyes looking off above her head as far as they could see. “I’m no hero.”

She slapped him again, her free palm cracking against his marble-carved cheek. “How dare you! You can’t see what I see! If you could-”

He cut her off, releasing her wrist and spinning away, turning his broad, sexy back on her. “Stop it, nurse.”

Tears ran down her cheeks as she reached for him, arm extended, but feet refusing to move. “I won’t! If you could only see what I see, Doctor…”

He looked back over his shoulder, green eyes sparkling with pain. “What do you see?”

She took a breath and placed her hand over her breast, feeling her heart race beneath. “I see a man. A god of a man.” Her voice was flowing like cello music through the room, dramatic and melodic, lulling him into a calm. “A hero. Not one that we deserve, but one that we need. You’re a brilliant doctor, Doctor Winchester. Brilliant…”

He turned finally, facing her head on.

“...and brave…”

He took a step, boots clicking once more.

“...and sexy.”

He stopped just inches from her, their toes meeting, auras mixing.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Doctor Winchester.”

He reached for her, wrapping his strong arm around the small of her back to pull her close. “Call me Dean.”

Y/N swooned in his arms, her eyes glazing over with a dreamlike fog as he curled himself around her and bent his lips to hers. They kissed with a passion previously unknown to mankind, a fire stirring between them so hot that no flesh could withstand, a thirst so great no water could quench.

She slid her hands up his god-like chest and pushed the lab coat from his warrior shoulders as he lapped at her lips, capturing her breath.

“Oh, Dean!” She cried his name as his big hands roamed her body, tearing away the cotton scrubs, revealing a perfectly matched set of red lace lingerie.

He growled deeply as she lay back on the empty bed, crisp white sheets curling around her sexy body. She kicked one knee up and posed for him, showing him all that she had to offer.

“My word,” he gasped, eyes locked to the ample mounds of flesh displayed before him. In a flash, he was nude, tossing away his navy scrubs to lay with hers, the cowboy boots still in place on his muscular calves. He stood above her, magnificently contoured chest and abs glistening in the overhead lights, his cock resting hard and proud against his thick left thigh.

Y/N gasped as a wave of unabashed pleasure washed over her. She arched her back and spread her legs, waiting for him. “My word, indeed!”

He rushed to her, knocking her down onto her back with a firm kiss, his giant palms cupping her cheeks. “Nurse,” he said, pulling back enough to set his arms beside her head and his hips between hers. “Prepare yourself.”

She clawed at his beefy arms. “Yes, Doctor!”

He ripped at the lace between her thighs, tearing it away before sliding his meaty cock deep inside. She cried out at the pleasure as he filled her up, and they kissed, lips locked together, now, forever.

They came together in a wave of pure bliss, their bodies shivering with pleasure as they called each other's names, uncaring of who could hear their ecstasy.

They dressed in silence, slipping their scrubs back on, unable to really look at each other for fear of embarrassment.

Had it all been a mistake, Y/N wondered. Had their grief over losing a patient gotten the best of them?

“Doctor…”

He looked to her with desire and longing in his emerald gaze. “Yes, Nurse Y/N?” She looked away, biting her lip to hold in her fears, but he came to her, gently guiding her eyes back to his. “What is it?”

Her lip quivered. “I’m afraid...that you’ll forget all about me now. That this was just-” A gasping breath held her voice, but soon let it go. “...a mistake.”

He grabbed her by both shoulders, turning her to him fully. “I could never forget you. Not in a million, billion years. Not if the hospital, my life, fell down around me. I could never forget you, Y/N.”

She smiled, wide and true. “Oh, Dean!”

“Oh, Y/N!” His arms enfolded her and they kissed deeply, sealing their love.

When they pulled away, Dean looked down into her eyes and smiled. “Nurse, I’m going to need to take you to dinner,” he laughed, cocking a sexy brow. “...stat.”

I do hope you’re enjoying the romp! <3 Thanks for reading!

2020 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @amanda-teaches @because-imma-lady-assface @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @cheritzie @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansotherotherblog @deansgirl215 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetylerbackup @dontshootmespence @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @hannahindie @herbologystudent252 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @ladyjenny19 @laxe-from-outer-space @mariekoukie6661 @missjenniferb @msjava1972 @mylovelydame21 @mysticmaxie @pilaxia @sandlee44 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @squirrelnotsam @tatted-trina6 @typicalweirdbookworm

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@rebelemilu @pastathighs @deans-baby-momma @bobbie3939 @peachyafshawn @spencer-reids-babygirl @akrasiaev @shadowkat-83 @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @bxbyizzy @chenshemesh1 @pandaxo79

#dean x reader #smutt #series #dean winchester #dr sexy

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 45

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I cut down the Grimm in front of me. It was green where it should have been white. The discoloration a sign of the modifications Merlot had subjected it to. I spun the broadsword with one hand easily.

Neo was by my side and she tore through the Grimm with grace enough for two.

I wasn't quite sure what the point of the modifications were. Were the Grimm stronger or faster? Maybe. But not enough for it to matter. At least to me.

We'd left the horse back in town. Godo had given his word it would be safe in Wutai while we worked our magic. I sliced and cut into the creeper's flesh. I put out a boot and crushed a green one like it was a child's toy and not a ravaging killing machine.

Neo had her stiletto in one hand and the umbrella in the other. She worked methodically covering my flank as we marched further into the Grimm infested territory.

We'd yet to see the humanoid Grimm I'd been wary of. Just these modified Creepers and Beowulfs. I spun my sword around my body and brought it down, crushing a Beowulf as much as slicing it.

Lately I've been fine in my ruminating state but it felt good to blow off some steam against some enemies which definitely deserved it. Grimm weren't like people and for a moment I was able to remember the light.

I cut down monsters left and right, conserving my energy as we pushed deeper into the woods. I spent my Limit Break on blade-beams when I got it and held onto the strength and speed as long as I thought I could manage before I threw it away and started on the next one.

I once Finishing Touched an Ursa Major we'd come across. The whirlwind of attacks stormed the beast until there was nothing left of it and it dissolved away into grime and smoke.

I wouldn't even need to clean my blade after this. It had been so long since I'd fought these. The true enemy of humanity. I had forgotten. I was a slayer of monsters, truly.

I heard Mother's voice even through the fighting. It was beckoning me to the kingdomless lands. To take the relic and fly to her. I could pull it off too. If I just gave in to that alien goddess it would all be fine. The voices and the bugs would stop.

Instead I marshalled myself and pressed on. Neo flickered out to one side and stabbed through two Beowulfs with a refined ease. She was acrobatic as she accompanied me. Flickering out from the wedge I was driving and destroying and Grimm which dared to get close.

I reached out and crushed a Beowulf's neck with my left hand. I easily strangled it until it was naught but dust and ash.

I would have taken a smoke break a while ago but the Grimm had been unrelenting. It was like disturbing an ant hill as we pushed deeper into enemy grounds. The more we killed the more we seemed to aggravate the whole until I at last caught a glance of a lopsided creature.

I thought it was a Beowulf but it moved more raggedly. It was entirely bipedal with one arm disproportionately larger than the other and ripped with barbed white claws. It was fast but slower than I had been expecting, than I had been afraid of. It's face was the least human thing about it. It had a looming maw in place of a head and seemed to detect me without any eyes.

I blocked it's strike and riposted hard. It went down, bisected by my enormously wide blade. The six feet of range never allowed it to get close to me.

I stepped nearer and looked at it as it dissolved. Neo and I shared a look and I could only hope that she felt the same disgust I did over the monstrosity.

How had Merlot made these monstrosities? How had he made me? Was I like them? Godo had called these ones failures… was I a successful model? Who and what was I really? Time could be my only guide as I pursued the truth.

Neo and I held the line together as we moved apart and chopped away at the Grimm that was swarming us. It was possible I was in a bad mood thinking about my origins.

Oh well. Godo-Dono would be appreciative of us killing more Grimm and so far these weren't threatening. It was the sheer number of them that made them dangerous. They were trying to swamp us. I Cross Slashed two Beowulfs at once. The strikes, the same ones that had killed Ren, demolished the Grimm bodies. Tearing away chunks of red and black Grimm flesh the same way they'd torn into my friend's aura.

It had a sort of sickening familiarity to it.

It wasn't good, I'd spent the last week nearly constantly wasted on greens to hold back my psychosis and it was biting back at me now, as if to punish me.

I blinked rapidly trying to get the bugs out of my eyes and ignore the sweet whispering call of Mother's voice.

“Child, my child…”

“Obey me… come to me…”

I fought through it. Whatever it was I was born with it. I could beat this. I rubbed my eyes and stuck a finger in my ear. I changed the motion and rubbed my earlobe. As though I'd be giving her power if I acknowledged the hallucinations.

I heard Mother... Salem- laugh softly.

I couldn't go back. I'd gone too far for that. Besides, I wasn't the sort to listen. To Salem or Ozpin, Ozma she'd called him. I climb-hazard a Beowulf and slammed it back into the ground in a brutal action, releasing some pent up rage. I Limit Broke and became an absolute wall against them, spinning my blade around me and slicing any Grimm foolish enough to come into my long-long range.

Another two 'human' Grimm approached me and I blocked their long claws and stepped back. I swiped low and took off one's leg at the knees. I thrust forward into the other's chest and it died. I brought the blade down on the still crawling one's head.

The person-like Grimm came at us enforce then and we had to give ground to take ground. I jabbed, thrust, and bit my way through them. I was a terror with my weapon and though I backed up, the enemy kept dying around me.

Neo stood with me. Lashing out from behind me when she saw the opportunity and alerting me when we were going to be overwhelmed at our position.

I front flipped and brought the blade down in a massive Limit Breaker attack and it shattered the ground along with a half dozen of them.

I normal Cross Slashed when I saw the opportunity and danced with my blade all through the enemy.

I removed limbs with a casual ease and beheaded the fast Grimm with a casual calm. They were driving us back but they couldn't keep this up forever.

The only advantage they had was numbers and they started to thin out as I bust the cuts out on them. I opened deep gashes in the enemy, ones which would never heal and I smashed them under my foot.

I lacerated them with the massive blade, crushing Grimm white bone at the same time I opened up that red inside. I clipped heads off and rolled my wrists making my weapon a blur as I worked my way through them.

I panted as the last of them died and leaned against Crocea Mors for a moment to catch my breath.

We'd arrived at a steep cliff and there at the bottom sat a white metal roof. It was stained and bullied by the Grimm who constantly attempted to undo the work of humanity. Godo-Dono was right. This place had been built to withstand assault.

Assault by the Grimm perhaps, but not by trained huntsmen like yours truly.

The whole place was giving me a sick sense of Deja Vu. I'd been here before. I knew it like I knew the feel of my own heartbeat, like I knew the long red padded handle of Crocea Mors.

I charged Limit to absolutely full. Then I just jumped and before I hit the ground I climb-hazard the wall, rising back up after falling without even hitting the ground. I stood on top of Crocea Mors, embedded in the rock. I pulled it free of the cliff face and then I landed and simply took my weight on my legs.

I looked up to witness Neapolitan drifting down with her parasol. She looked peaceful, relaxed.

The structure looked mostly clear and I stood still, charging Limit Breaker while I waited for her to land. I left it a hair away from being charged and resumed my patient waiting.

I searched my way around the sides of the building, looking for a way in until I found a set of blast doors on the Eastern side away from the cliff. They weren't made of Titania, forged of some kind of cold steel instead. That meant I'd be able to cut my way through.

I activated Limit Breaker and Cross Slashed the doors. The steel fell away to reveal another set of blast doors into which I'd partially cut. I just charged my semblance again and came down with a massive overhead strike and two horizontal swings to pry it open.

Neapolitan landed on the roof above me as I finished breaking my way inside. There was a fury in my heart I couldn't quite place. I was pissed off at being born somewhere wretched like this.

I hovered my way inside. The light I cast from Limit Breaker shed a fine shifting glow over the walls.

I closed my eyes and focused on holding onto the Limit as long as I possibly could. I didn't want to be in the dark in here. I needed the light.

Wisps of my semblance washed over the ceiling as I paced my way inwards. Neo teleported beside me and gave me something like a reassuring smile. I just frowned. The genius loci of this place hated me and I hated it. The feeling was totally mutual. We came across rows and rows of… pods I guess you'd call them. Inside each came a soft greenish glowing light which was familiar to me. Like some distant fever dream.

I could hear Salem's voice whispering louder now.

“Bring it to me… come to me child… my beloved son…”

I didn't buy it. It was getting annoyingly distracting, though. Shadows loomed from every corner of the place along the thick tanks. I walked up to one and peeked inside. There was one of the humanoid Grimm in there. For all the world lifeless and floating, naked and shameless.

"Is this what I am? Just one of these… these clones too?" I asked.

Neo didn't answer. She looked distinctly concerned though. I breathed and tried to relax. I cast light with a wave of my arm upwards. At the top of the rows and rows of tanks there was a larger one. With an inward blue light emanating from the glass window. I walked up to it and traced my fingers across the glass. Nothing floated inside.

"This… this is where I was born. Where I was made. This tank right here. I remember being on the opposite side. The blue light… all of it. It seems surreal to see it from this side now."

True enough I felt almost a sense of vertigo to be looking in from the outside.

I walked down the steps and Neo followed, skipping to keep up, umbrella at the ready.

"If I'm supposed to be comforted by the feeling of having a special tank amongst these cloned monsters I'm not. Let's see what else we can find."

I paced downwards away from the rows and rows of tanks. There was an office there. It had a wide chalkboard… and rows and rows of books.

There was a security terminal too. I booted it up but it asked for a password. I hadn't the slightest clue what the password could be. I turned to the books.

"Let's see… Jaune Arc, perhaps. No… it seems he only gave model numbers to successes. If I'm a true failure I won't be in here. Perhaps it's this one."

I pulled a book from the shelf and breezed through it. Notes on the DNA of the creatures in the tanks. And graphic illustrations of those monsters.

"One of these will be about me. Or my line of models at least…"

I tossed the book behind me and grabbed another. It was full of details on a vivisected Beowulf. I leafed through it and tossed it aside. I was beginning to make a bit of a mess.

"You want to help?" I asked Neo.

She gave a slow cautious affirming nod.

"At that terminal, try variations on Jaune Arc. What with caps and spaces and all. Maybe it'll work. I don't know."

She nodded and began typing away at the computer with resounding mechanical clacks .

I tossed another book over my shoulder. Adding to the growing pile. I ransacked the shelves but whatever labeling system Merlot had used didn't agree with me.

Eventually Neo stopped typing.

"No luck?"

She shook her head.

"I thought not… Did you try 'password?'"

She gave me a flat look and did. No dice. Just that same login screen.

"Hey wouldn't you? If you were me?"

She sighed heavily but she did nod.

I tossed a book on Creepers over my shoulder. It landed haphazardly and I found I didn't much care. If Merlot ever returned he'd find his collection in a state of miserable disarray.

"Wait this is it." It was a vitruvian man which kinda looked like me. It was in the cheekbones and jawline and around the eyes. It had my tank's label to it.

"I was… I was made from Salem's cells. And some donor's. It doesn't say who. How in the world did he get his hands on Salem's cells? Doesn't she like… live on a kingdomless continent? I feel a pull in her direction but I cannot tell how far."

"I was grown here from a fetus. In that tank until I was nearly an adult. The tank educated me, I think. There are vague impressions..."

"Salem's cells… it must explain her control over me. How she's able to get in my head. Why I still hear the whispers. I can still hear her now."

Neo pantomimed smoking.

I nodded, relieved at even the thought and pulled my pipe out. I packed it from the grinder with some Lemon Drop Haze and took a long pull using my lighter. My semblance died out around then. I sighed and started to recharge. I took a long pull as I did and the only thing I could see was the glowing red embers in the pipe, slowly growing, then slowly dying out as I roached the entire thing in a single pull.

I exhaled and like a light switch my semblance turned on. I breathed out in Neo's direction by accident and she waved a hand through the smoke, looking annoyed.

"Sorry," I breathed. "Sorry."

"It says here… it says I was a partial failure." I wasn't sure what to make of that. At least I had a face unlike the humanoid Grimm and he counted those as...something I guess. I felt something bitter rise up in me. Something howling.

A failure without so much as a birth.

I couldn't even be a failure from birth.

I had no model number. My father… Merlot...

Instead on through the notes. "This explains my fake memories. They were given to me by the tank. And my… and my sisters. There's no mention of them. I wonder if they were successes." I put the little book in my pocket and perused the rest of the shelf. "They'd have a different model number if they were successes…"

I searched through every last book but found no mention of them, my sisters and no more references to me, myself, either.

"She said I was Merlot's. Could my sisters have come from somebody else? The more questions I have answered the more questions I have!"

I swung out with Crocea Mors and shattered the glass on the tank nearest the office. Neapolitan shot up, looking alarmed. The Grimm thing stirred but I reached through the broken glass and strangled it with my bare hands. Liquids from the tank dripped over me and the green light dimmed. It fell apart into a disgusting black fluid.

I growled and wanted to scream.

"Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing about this is fair . I'm going to get my hands on Merlot for real. I'll make him pay for ever creating me. Every ounce of agony I have ever suffered I shall inflict upon him ten-fold."

I laughed madly and shattered another tank. I stabbed straight through it and the Grimm thing inside. Malformed. A reject. A bad batch and nothing more. That's all my existence was. My entire life and every emotion I'd ever felt.

The only people who could answer my questions were Salem and Merlot and lords only knew where Merlot was. I had no intention of going near Salem. Just so she could control my mind again? I wanted nothing to do with that.

I skewered another tank and this time I did scream. I pierced the thing inside and it died a bubbly, gurgling death.

Neo watched from the sidelines, transfixed. Her face was ashen white.

With shaking hands I pulled my pipe out again and set up another hit. I pulled hard and long and coaxing.

I fell to my knees with it and for a minute or two I just let myself be fully and truly mad. My semblance evaporated and I was in total darkness.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

#rwby #ff7 #ffvii #jaune arc #cloud strife #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #neo #neapolitan #war of the roses #white rose #whiterose #white knight #whiteknight #lancaster #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #motion sickness

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lambourngb · 4 years

Note

How bout some Michael POV for your masterpiece?!!!

This takes place during chapter 2, Michael has just exited the mindspace and is waiting for the agents to question him.

“I take my last chance, to burn a bridge or two”

Michael had passed the point of exhaustion both two days and ten years ago.

The thin, plastic covered cushion in the holding cell at Chaves County Sheriff's Office had the same feel of familiar comfort as his camp bed mattress in the Airstream, both places adequately met his needs after a bender or a brawl. He was never one to shy away from dropping into oblivion, met in the bottom of the bottle or at the end of a long night of working on his ship, until today. Closing his eyes meant slipping into the almost hypnotic state of the mindspace, and then he would hear her voice again.

His mother. Golden and whole for a moment. She was the energy between his cells, the original instructor of his atoms, funneling life into him; to grow and be strong.

“Oh my beloved son, oh you’re here, you’re here already grown and bound, I’m here, but no time, not enough time, there’s so much you should know my beautiful boy, I love you, I love you so much, I will always love you, now go, run, run for me.”

His eyes snapped open as the burn of tears threatened again. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time for that. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the unremarkable ceiling to force his mind to go quiet. It was an old building, but built soundly. Not a crack in the plaster, not a flaw to betray its age. It housed the broken, who knew where home was but stayed away in the arms of intoxication; the evil, who knew home as a place for violence or thievery, and the lost, who longed for a home but never found the way back. All those souls gathered under its roof, this solid roof that sheltered without wear or tear.

At one time Michael had been all of those; deep into the dark warmth of drunk, or full of crooked wagers from dice games, he had even been picked up on a cold night a time or two with nowhere to go. Marked by violence in a tool shed, the system shocked with such a hard shove on his orbit, that he was knocked forever from the path he once had as a teenager, left to wander in all of those grim directions.

Once upon a time his English teacher assigned to the class, near the end of term with graduation nipping at their heels, some busy work in the form of a ‘where do you see yourself in ten years’ thought experiment. His hand had sketched out a good job, college degree, and a house, while his mind traveled the fantasies of holding the small hands of a child, of helping pat dirt down over a buried seed in his garden, of Alex, always Alex, playing his guitar on the back porch-

Fuck. His bare left hand, now whole and hale, mocked him.

Michael wrenched his mind back to the present, and dug out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap over his left hand. He tied a knot, pulling it tight with his teeth. A bitter smile crept over his mouth, using his teeth again for the grip he lost in his hand was familiar at least.

Hopefully whatever trouble that Max was in, was teaching him a lesson in meddling where he wasn’t wanted. High on power Max thought to heal his hand, but took no care to think about the damn consequences of everything, of Noah, of the things Noah was up to in Roswell. He flexed his hand again, the tight constriction of the fabric felt comfortably close to how the scar tissue pulled and tugged over his ruined knuckles. Already there were too many questions to answer, he didn’t need one more on his hand.

As angry as he was at Max, he couldn’t help but hope that the flash of pain/wrong/vacuum wasn’t so serious that he couldn’t be useful now. Ride into the Sheriff’s Office, explain away the questions to his boss about Noah and Racist Hank, so Michael could be released without need of Alex and Alex’s story.

Goddamn it Alex. Showing up at the Wild Pony, those hopeful dark eyes turning wounded and betrayed as he realized that just because he didn’t see Michael as suitable, someone else did. Like he had the right to protest Michael moving on from them. It wasn’t Michael saying that they couldn’t be together because of Michael’s record, and it certainly wasn’t Michael saying that their relationship wasn’t worthy of a pyrotechnic breakup.

And yet. When the pyrotechnics were happening, Alex was there. Immovable. Saying everything that Michael had longed to hear for ten long years.

“I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and I would give anything to have this story be true, that you were mine all along.”

A tear slipped down his unshaven face as he blinked rapidly. Alex was so stupid, how could he miss the fact that Michael had been his? Across the years, through two different battlefields, and after Alex had finally come home, Michael had worn two concrete boots, Alex and Isobel. Each his own anchor to this planet, as he worked to complete his ship.

The door swung open, startling Michael off the bunk, as a tall, dark haired man was escorted into the room by Agent Ross, who shot Michael an annoyed look. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

The imposing cut of the military uniform and densely packed square of ribbons on his chest sent a shivered down Michael’s spine. It was only just over two days since Michael had been involved in the destruction of a secret military operation.

“Michael Guerin?”

“Depends on who is asking.”

“I’m Major Mark Torres, attached to the JAG office at Kirtland Air Force Base.” The officer tucked his cover under his arm and held his hand out toward Michael.

None of what this Mark Torres said made any sense to him. Kirtland was three hours away, Holloman was the closest base to the Caulfield facility. Michael lifted his eyebrows mockingly, but made no move to step closer to the open cell door, “That’s nice and all, but I’ve got nothing to say to anyone until my lawyer shows up.”

An amused smirk flitted over his mouth, “I am your lawyer, Alex sent me.” Instead of waiting for a response, Mark entered the cell and took a seat on the bunk, turning to Michael with a patient expectation. He placed the brim of his cover next to Michael’s black cowboy hat and then pulled his slim briefcase into his lap. “I admit, this isn’t how I expected to meet you, the infamous Michael.”

“Alex got me an Air Force lawyer?” The rest of that implication, that Alex had spoken of them to anyone in the past, let alone someone in the service was too much to even think about.

“I’m a lawyer who’s in the Air Force, and I’m doing this in the civilian court system pro-bono,” Mark replied easily, and popped the fasteners of his briefcase open to pull out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Now that we’ve covered why I’m here, let’s talk about why you’re here. Tell me everything you know about Noah Bracken, what your connection to him, why the police might think you’re involved with his disappearance, and why they found a body when they came to question you.”

Michael stared at Major Mark Torres for a long moment, weighing his extremely limited options. The distant place inside him, where his faint connection to Max lived, was still and empty. He rubbed his wrapped fist against his face before sighing as he took a seat next to him. Alex said to trust him that he would get Michael out of this, and whatever mess that lay between them after Caulfield and now Maria, Michael believed wholeheartedly that Alex didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

As a rule Alex Manes didn’t make promises at all, to anyone, least of all to Michael.

“I know Noah Bracken, I mean everyone does in this town and I have a record, petty shit obviously, but that’s enough I guess for them to suspect me. But I have an alibi, I was with my boyfriend all night- hell, I’m with him every night. We’re kinda makin’ up for lost time since he was in Iraq, until well-”

“You’re referring to Captain Alexander Manes, correct?” Mark asked, scratching notes down on his pad without looking up.

“No one calls him ‘Alexander’, but yeah. Alex.” Michael licked his lips almost nervously, before he took a deep breath. This was the easy part of the alibi. “Alex is everything to me. I fell in love with him when we were seventeen, and I never stopped fallin’.”

“He did mention you were a romantic.” Mark nodded in approval of Michael’s words and capped his pen, “let’s start with the last time people saw Bracken in public at that-, good God, this town has a museum dedicated to aliens? What a thing to celebrate. Anyway, Alex tells me you’re a mechanic, that you can fix anything you put your hands on, were you at the gala for business purposes?”

Michael stuttered a little, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to anyone singing his praises, let alone a complete stranger. What did Alex say to this guy? “Um I helped do the lighting and sound for the organizer, Isobel. Um, Isobel Evans-Bracken. I left Alex at home, err, my Airstream ‘cause he doesn’t really enjoy the dog-and-pony show even though there was free booze. I gave a friend a ride home, Maria Deluca, and then spent the rest of the evening with Alex. In bed.”

His pen never stopped moving, “and last night, when this Hank Gibbons ended up dead, you were with Alex again? At your Airstream again?”

“Yeah, um, Alex lives pretty far out of town, and I had work in town. Um, during the week he spends a couple nights at mine, on weekends we’re at his place. Compromise.”

Spinning this fairy tale of shared residences to Torres, of disappearing to Alex’s cabin on the weekends and splitting the time apart during the week renewed an ache inside Michael. The slow turn of a bolt, burrowing into his heart as the threads of the light caught on hope and corkscrewed deeper into place.

“No one can corroborate that, correct? Other than Alex?”

“We’ve been keeping our relationship quiet. For personal reasons.”

This time Mark’s pen came to a halt, and he looked over to Michael with a sad understanding smile, “I’ve met Alex’s dad. He’s a first class prick. I’ve never met anyone more different from Alex in my life.”

“That’s for sure. Niger can have him. In fact, I hope he gets Ebola over there.” His eyes glanced up to the video camera on the corner before dropping to Torres again. Michael paused, hedging the risk of this disclosure, before continuing, “I’m not a violent man, but if I were, I wouldn’t bother with the town lawyer or the local racist asshole, it would be to protect Alex from that guy.”

Mark followed his gaze to the camera and back, before nodding. “I think I know all I need to know about you, Michael. Let’s go clear this up with the locals and get you released.”

***

“You were with Captain Manes all night? You didn’t leave at all?” Agent Ross asked quietly, his thin face placid, while his partner, Agent Rollins barely held back the curl of disgust from his face.

“Have you seen Alex? Like dude, I know I’m punching way above my class with him, you would have to be crazy to leave a bed that had him in it.” Michael smirked, fiddling with his hat on the table. Next to him, Major Torres stayed quiet taking notes.

“And he can confirm that?”

“Yes. I know he didn’t let you have a good look, but my Airstream isn’t big enough for him to miss me leaving. Trust me. We were together all night.”

“Let’s go back to the fight you had with Mr. Bracken-”

“Man, that’s bullshit, okay?!” Michael cut him off, “I did not have a fight with Noah, and whoever says differently is lying.”

Mark set down his pen to touch Michael’s hand lightly, before looking at the two agents evenly, “one eyewitness, on a dark night, does not overturn the alibi provided by Captain Manes. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“This relationship you’re in with Captain Manes, he’s alluded to the fact that it was kept secret. I find that rather convenient, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to help out a friend. Maybe cover up the fact you were having an affair with the wife of our missing lawyer?” Rollins smirked, exchanging glances with his partner.

It took a moment before Michael could catch the inference, and then only Mark’s tight grip on his wrist kept him in his seat. “Wait?! You think I’m lying about Alex to cover up for an affair with Isobel? What the fuck, man? Number one, that’s gross on a number of levels, number two, Alex is the most stubborn man alive, but he’s also the most honorable. He wouldn’t do that for anyone, especially not about adultery. He could get court martialed for that shit.”

Ross picked up his turn to provoke, offering another even almost-bored question to Michael, “I see, you deny that an affair was going on with Ms. Bracken. So you’re not attracted to women then?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Torres protested.

“Mr. Guerin opened the door earlier, basing his alibi on how attractive a bed partner Captain Manes was.”

Michael took a deep breath again, pushing down the nettled feelings of exposure. Of all things he thought he would be discussing at the sheriff’s office, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Not that it’s relevant, but I’m bisexual, yes. I’m also monogamous. It’s not that difficult to understand. I love Alex, I wouldn’t cheat on him with anyone.”

“So on the night of the Gala, that was thrown by your platonic good friend Mrs. Bracken, you were there, without Captain Manes, but in the company of a Ms. Maria Deluca. Another platonic friend, I assume. Do you remember anyone bothering Mr. Bracken? Someone who might have wanted to harm him?”

***

Hours later, after they had combed through every minute of Michael’s time at the gala and the night before when Hank Gibbons was at the Wild Pony, the agents finally concluded their questions and granted his release from temporary custody. There was still an air of disbelief from both agents regarding his alibi being with Alex.

From the outside, Michael couldn’t blame them. Even setting aside his spotty employment record, rap sheet, and history of being in care of the state, anyone with eyes could see that Alex Manes was a man who could have his pick of partners. Why would he pick the outcast of Roswell? It didn’t make sense to Michael that was for sure, and that had been true almost from the beginning.

“This was fun, Agent Rollins. Let me know if you want me to go over my movements from the other night again, and Alex’s even better movements. I can really open up on that, if it helps,” Michael offered, stomping the blood back into his boots as he left the interview room eagerly.

There was some satisfaction in seeing out of the corner of his eye, Agent Rollins looking as if he had bit into a lemon.

Next to him, Torres grabbed Michael’s forearm with a warning squeeze and steered him down the hall where Alex was waiting with a worried expression. “What my client means is, you have my number if you wish to schedule a follow-up interview. We’re happy to cooperate in any investigation, especially if it leads to Mr Bracken returning safely home.”

Alex’s eyes flickered from Torres’s hand on his shoulder to the agents and back to Michael, but there was a hint of smug satisfaction in those dark eyes. Somehow Michael knew that Alex was holding back amusement over his graphic words to the bigoted agent. Well, there was no sense in not completing the performance.

He moved into Alex’s space comfortably, and brought his hands to Alex’s neck to draw him into a kiss. His last memory of kissing Alex, had been handled and revisited to the point of being thread-bare before being set aside as an old fantasy out of reach. Feeling Alex’s arms come up and hold him close, sent shocks down his fingertips as he cupped Alex’s chin to hide the chasteness of the kiss from view.

Alex wasn’t playing fair in return.

Those big, firm hands of his slid up Michael’s back, and threaded into the sweat-thick curls of his hair. Michael felt Alex’s lips part against his, that clever hot mouth opening to Michael, and nothing tempted Michael more in that moment, than following Alex’s lead.

That long bolt of the lie, turned deeper inside him, shredding the few safeguards he had in place. Alex loved him, Alex wanted to protect him, Alex had never stayed before- so many truths, so many reasons he wasn’t able to trust this especially now. Michael kept his mouth closed, and after a second, he felt Alex back away. They were good at that at least, retreating.

Alex’s cheeks were warm, probably from the public nature of the kiss, even as his face showed only the firm resolve of their shared story. His eyes drifted down, playing his role of a shy lover with Michael expertly. “You uh, ready to go home then?”

“Long past ready, darlin’.” Michael exhaled tiredly, already wondering how he was going to make it through this without losing more of his heart than he had to spare in the process. He reached for the familiar weight of his hat in his hand, and tipped it to the still watching agents.

#malex fic #fake dating your ex because of the feds #no beta here #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #missing scene #no excuses ask meme #hmd023

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