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jayeray-hq · 3 years

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How He Shows You Affection: Sakusa Kiyoomi

Timeskip/Manga Spoilers

Warnings: mentions of phobia and panic attacks, barely hinted NSFW

How He Shows You Affection Masterlist - Character Masterlist

Big thanks to the amazing Tay from Haikyuu Headquarters @deathcab4daddy who beta read for me, and told me to tag @dymphnasprose in this!

He Takes the Hardest Chores

You and Sakusa stared in muted horror at the mess that had once been your immaculate kitchen. The whole thing had started that morning when you’d noticed water leaking from under your sink as you were getting ready to go to work. Sakusa had already left for practice, so you’d been forced to stay behind and call into work late as you tried to get ahold of your apartment management and maintenance people.

You’d managed to get a large bucket under it, and had been assured by management that it would be taken care of. Thus, you’d left for work, though not before leaving a message for your germophobic boyfriend who would definitely need to know, that not only had a pipe under the sink leaked, but that you’d had to let someone into the apartment so they could fix it.

Naturally he hated whenever anyone he didn’t know intruded on his space, it made him incredibly antsy and anxious, which in turn made him act incredibly grumpy, not that you could blame him. You understood his fear was just that, a fear, and you did your best to understand and accommodate, the same way he did his best to never lash out at you and work through his fear.

Thus, you’d known without having to say that you’d probably have to do a deep clean of your apartment when you got home from work and he got home from practice, in order for him to feel safe again. You were more than prepared for it, and had even stopped at the store to pick up a couple refills for cleaning supplies you thought you might’ve been running low on in his favorite brands.

The small detour had meant you arrived home at the same time he did, and though he didn’t look happy at all, he had brightened a bit and even given you a masked kiss to the cheek in greeting when he saw you carrying your supplies. However, you were fairly sure that little bit of good mood had plummeted the minute the two of you had laid eyes on the kitchen.

Management had called you while you were at work to assure you everything was fixed, but had warned you that it wasn’t their job to clean up the mess. You’d acknowledged that, it was actually written into your contract with the apartment complex and had been one of the terms your boyfriend had been incredibly insistent about as he wanted absolutely no one in your apartment cleaning without permission.

However, you couldn’t help the swell of indignation in your chest as you stared at the brackish puddles of water, and clear muddy shoe prints all over the nice hardwood, along with the standing buckets of water, your nice kitchen rugs clearly left to soak in the disgusting mire on your floor. Yes, you’d agreed to do the clean-up, but at the very least they could’ve told you how bad it was, and whoever the repair person had been, could’ve cleaned up after themselves, which they obviously hadn’t if the black handprints on your sink and some of your cupboards meant anything. That wasn’t even touching on the smell, which wreaked of rotten things.

If you’d known about this you would’ve left work early to come home to try to clean things up, that or you never would’ve left in the first place in order to keep an eye on things. As it was, it was very clear to you that several things were ruined and would have to be thrown out, and the whole place aired out.

A quick glance at your boyfriend showed that he’d gone very white behind his mask, his eyes fixated on the mess, his breathing a little shallow, in a way that made you worry he was about to start hyperventilating.

“Kiyoomi?” you prompted gently, wondering if you needed to gently guide him away, get him out of the apartment before the whole thing got to be too much and he had a panic attack.

His dark eyes immediately snapped over to you, and he let out a long slow breath, clearly trying to gather himself. You remained quiet, and let him do what he needed to do, knowing better than to touch him in moments like these, as that only made it worse, but also keeping your eyes on his, as he’d told you before that doing that helped keep him grounded.

“Do you need to leave Kiyoomi?” you asked him gently, “You can step out for an hour, go pick up dinner or something and I can get started? It will be better when you get back I promise.”

“No,” he snapped immediately, the tone harsh and vicious enough to make you flinch, your eyes widening a bit in surprise.

“You go get dinner, and I’ll clean this… this… catastrophe,” he ordered a clear grimace of distaste on his face despite the mask he was still wearing, his dark eyes a little wild, clearly unsettled.

“That’s alright Kiyoomi,” you assured him, still gentle, “I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” he informed you, taking several deep breaths and clearly trying to keep himself calm, “I don’t want you to get dirty. You shouldn’t have to touch this disgusting filth.”

Your heart immediately softened despite the clear disgust in his voice. Most people didn’t realize, but Sakusa was actually fairly protective of the people he cared for. It apparently even extended far enough to the point where despite how afraid and disgusted he was he would rather deal with it himself, rather than have you, who he saw as infinitely precious, deal with it.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it either, Kiyoomi,” you told him, unable to keep the affection from your tone for your boyfriend, who was sweet in his own way, “We’ll do it together alright? And after that we can throw our clothes in the laundry and take a nice clean shower.”

He looked at you, intently for several seconds, clearly wanting to protest, but in the end his shoulders slumped, clearly both relieved and resigned, and the two of you set to work. However, you quickly noticed that despite working together it was very clear he was taking the hardest, grossest parts of your task.

You only tried to protest once, but he refused to listen, giving you a very pointed look that spoke volumes about how very much he didn’t want you to have to touch what he was doing before going back to work. It took the two of you a good couple hours to get everything cleaned to the level that he found acceptable, and by the end both of you were tired, hungry and dirty.

However, as you stepped into the shower, you couldn’t bring yourself to complain or feel unhappy about it, not when he’d clearly gone out of his way to make things easier for you, when he’d tried so very hard to protect you despite his own fears. Instead you felt warm, and incredibly loved, and resolved to use this time before dinner to ensure he felt the same.

He Fusses Over You

“Here,” your boyfriend told you, handing you a small pack of hand sanitizer, clearly never opened, travel sized and ready to go.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi,” you told him with a small amused smile, tucking it into your purse, along with the three other small bottles he’d handed you within the last couple hours.

“Don’t forget you have to use it before and after security,” he told you, his dark brows furrowed with worry, a small crease appearing between the two moles on his forehead as he watched you with concerned dark eyes.

“I will,” you assured him, reaching out carefully, and touching your gloved hands to his. He immediately accepted the touch, twining your fingers together, and squeezing, clearly incredibly anxious.

You knew he absolutely hated when you had to travel, and it was even worse when you had to travel without him. Usually you’d be going with him and the team, but this time work meant you had to leave before he could, the tournament not finished until tomorrow, which meant going on your own. You honestly thought sometimes that he might even hate the fact that you had to travel even more than the fact that he had to travel, especially if you had to take shared transit.

Planes in particular were something he hated with a passion, referring to them as ‘flying petri dishes’ and ‘cesspits of bacteria and disease’ and you on a plane was one of his worst nightmares for that exact reason. It meant he went out of his way to ensure you had everything you might need to keep yourself safe, and always bought you two first class tickets even when he wasn’t travelling with you, so you could have your row of seats all to yourself without fear of contamination.

“You have your extra masks?” he fretted quietly, “And your wipes?”

“I do,” you assured him tenderly, hoping to ease his fears even as your heart melted at how very much he cared and wanted to keep you safe, “And I have extra pairs of gloves, and tissues too.”

“I’ll make sure I decontaminate right away when I get home, and I’ll call you to let you know I’ve gotten there safe alright?” you assured him as the attendant called for boarding.

“Okay,” he told you, releasing a breath that was a bit shaky, as he searched your eyes, “Be safe okay?”

“I will,” you assured him tenderly, a little surprised but not protesting as he gently pressed his forehead to yours, an affectionate gesture the two of you had developed in place of kissing or hugs since he almost always wore a mask in public and didn’t feel comfortable with too much pda.

“I love you,” you told him quietly, “Have a good last game, and I’ll be waiting when you come home.”

“I love you too,” he answered just as quietly, reluctantly letting go of your hands and pulling back, letting you join the queue of people lining up to board.

You gave him one last smile over your shoulder before boarding the plane, taking your seat at the very front and as far from others as you could get. Sitting down with your purse in your lap, you dug through hoping to find your phone to let him know you were seated. You sent him one last I love you text, unable to keep the smile off your lips as you realized he’d somehow managed to sneak one more bottle of hand sanitizer into your purse when you weren’t looking, and unable to feel anything but completely and utterly loved.

He Touches You

You’d known from the beginning that Sakusa was a complete and utter germaphobe, and that a relationship with him wasn’t going to be easy, especially since the thought of touching people skin on skin was something that truly frightened him. A lot of people made jokes about his fear, which always made you frown in disapproval, mostly because while it may seem ridiculous and stupid to them, it was very real to him.

Most people held hands easily after their first date, might even expect to be kissed or hugged, an arm around the waist or shoulders, a gentle hand on their face or arm. That wasn’t you, and with Sakusa you were well aware it would never be you.

It took over a month for Sakusa to feel comfortable holding your hand, and that was only if you were both wearing gloves, and only if you let him know ahead of time that you’d like to do so. Touching him in any way required forethought and clear consent in order to ensure his comfort, and to keep him from panicking.

It was hard, incredibly so, and you inevitably messed up a couple of times, but he always forgave you even when your touch was enough to make him panic or tremble. The same way you always forgave him for hastily dashing to the nearest sink to wash himself clean or pulling out a bottle of hand sanitizer to clean himself off.

However, it was worth it, he was worth it, because you knew how very hard he was working on it, that he didn’t actually think you as a person were disgusting, just the germs you might accidentally carry on your skin, and that he really did want to touch you. He loved you and desperately wanted to give you the things he knew you wanted, so he worked on it, day by day and bit by bit he fought his fears for you.

The day he’d managed to reach for your hand first, with no glove in sight, the skin of his palm against yours and his fingers carefully twining into your grip, you’d nearly cried. You knew how much he’d worked for it, and how much he must love you to manage it, and in turn the gesture had felt incredibly intimate.

Yes, most normal couples would brush it off as something silly, or meaningless, but to the two of you, it meant everything. You knew there would be people who would scoff at your relationship, which moved slower than a snail’s pace, but for the two of you, every step forward was a battle won, every brush of skin on skin without flinching was a triumph and a blatant display of how very much Sakusa loved you.

And you treasured each and every moment of it. After all, who else could say that their boyfriend battled their worst fears just to be with them? Who else had a boyfriend who loved them so much they were willing to do whatever it took to give them what they wanted?

What you had with Sakusa was incredibly intimate and precious, and you didn’t care what anyone else said. It wasn’t your fault they took each and every touch for granted, but looking into his dark eyes, as he gently traced your lips with a bare elegant finger an expression of wonder and deep affection on his face, you promised yourself that you never would.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa love #sakusa fluff #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa drabble #sakusa imagines #love sakusa #how he shows you affection #JayeRayWrites #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagines #haikyu fluff #haikyū!!

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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In Which I Project

Jon has some sort of neurodivercence and it is making work hard.

@janekfan

cw Jon is really really getting down on himself about what his brain is making hard, so cw for that and internalized ablism relating to things like rsd and executive dysfunction. Jon also takes this out on his coworkers, because that is how Jon can be. This chapter is a bit heavy with a hopeful end. If there is a chapter two, it will have a lot more fluff, promise. (The reason Jon doesn't have a diagnosis is because I am projecting and I am not 100% what all is going on in my brain, this is just my experience.) Also mentions of alcohol and food.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why is he like this? Why can’t he just fucking be a normal, functional person. Why does his brain behave like a backed up, broken drain. He can’t think today.

He’s been staring at his computer since 6:30 this morning. He’s been here eight hours. And it isn’t like he isn’t getting anything done. But it’s not what he meant to do.

He was going to check his email, record a statement, do some filing, check Martin’s work, then do some follow ups and check his email again before going home.

Well. He checked his email. Then he noticed a flaw in what he filed yesterday so he had to fix that. Then the loo was out of toilet tissue and he had to go chase down that, because the building’s maintenance tends to skip the Archives half the time. (Which is usually fine because it’s used by four fairly neat people, but doesn’t help when they run out of things). Then Elias had requested a meeting.�� And that sent Jon spiraling because he wasn’t supposed to have a meeting today. That was supposed to be tomorrow and while it’s nice that he doesn’t have to do that tomorrow it threw off his whole day and now he just feels like he’s going to cry or pass out or break his jaw by clenching it so hard.

He can’t do it.

He tries to make himself record a statement. He does.

But he can’t open the file.

He can’t.

He wants to scream in frustration. Which, of course, is when Martin walks in.

Jon doesn’t mean to yell. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t know where this vitriol comes from. Was he always like this? He doesn’t even remember what he says, just the acrid taste of bitter words on his tongue.

When Martin flees, he tries to open the file again but the color and whine of the lights breaks down on him and his dragging fatigue.

He tries to loosen his jaw. Wiggles it side to side. It pops, but ultimately goes back to tense. It’s starting to give him a headache.

He can’t do this. It’s barely lunch. He’s gotten nothing done.

He tries to open this statement.

He opens his email instead.

The library wants his books back.

He’s tired. He means to gather his books and bring them up, but he ends up cleaning his desk and making notes on half researched statements he forgot about yesterday.

That puts him off balance. He hates not finishing. It makes him feel on edge. Like the world is going to drop from below his feet at any moment. Like, in forgetting, the world has already dropped from beneath him, and he’s been walking on empty air and delusions. And if this has already happened, how can he be sure it didn’t happen before.

He finishes cleaning and files the loose statements away.

He finally remembers to drink some water.

He rubs his eyes against unshed tears and exhaustion. It’s too bright. Too loud.

He takes his books up to the library.

Hannah in the library tells him to remind Tim to return his books, she he does that.

Jon is. Edging towards …probably a nervous breakdown, if he’s honest with himself, by the time he stands before Tim’s desk.

And Tim isn’t going to relinquish his books without a fight.

“You can give Martin a rest or I’ll tell Hannah that you lost her books.” Tim crosses his arms.

It’s reasonable, Jon knows. He’s behaved childishly. This is more than warranted. But, unfortunately his brain isn’t working. He’s caught up in the disappointment in Tim’s tone, and again, the floor drops from beneath his feet. Stomach dropping. He tries to convince himself that, no, Tim doesn’t hate him. All he as to do is agree or apologize which he should do anyhow. But. But what comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of, “Tim, I’ll thank you not to try to run my department. This is hardly professional behavior. Who do you think Hannah is more likely to believe?”

This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the force and anger in his tone. Misplaced confusion and frustration and exhaustion.

He turns on his heel before Tim finds the words to argue.

This is it.

He’s ruined everything.

Tim will never talk to him again and Sasha won’t either because he was rude to Tim. And of course Tim’s mad at him because he was a prick to Martin.

It’s all his fault. He should have been able to stay on task. He’s an adult, damnit!

He finally opens the file but he hitches a sob before he can squeeze the introduction out of his tight jaw.

He can’t do this.

He can’t do this job.

He can’t sleep at night and work all day. Can’t even feed himself or get to the store once a week.

How the fuck did he make it through school. He’s a worthless mess.

Georgie knew it.

He wants to scream.

They’re talking about him. They must be. That shouldn’t matter to him. He’s their boss. Besides, he was right even if he was rude about it. Martin does make irritating mistakes. He could have been more professional about handling it, but he still had to say something. And Tim. Tim had no right to bargain that way. He has a responsibility to the library, and trying to use it as leverage against Jon is ridiculous.

But at the same time. There are the closest he has… had to friends. Tim was his friend. Right?

Had he made that up too? Has some memory of some earlier misdeed fallen out of the torn hole in the pocket of his memory where he looses things like hours, tasks, sleep, meals, meetings, half-finished statements on his desk.

Why is he like this?

He gets some more work done. But none of the stuff on his list.

He tries to make himself read the statement, again. But he doesn’t.

It’s late. He’s left with lingering taste of disappointment and discontent.

Today’s been a wash.

He looks angrily at his scribbled to do list on the neon sticky note, from the stack Tim gave him back in Research. Nothing’s been crossed off. Statement has been circled twice. He rubs at his eyes. Tries to wipe away the tension headache. Remembers to take a drink of water, finally. It’s been hours. It does help, a little, soothes some of the anxious desperation and crushing despair. He wonders how much of it would be soothed if he got himself a hot meal. How would it compare to the relief of finished that statement.

But…. he won’t be able to go home and sleep if he doesn’t finish, because he won’t be able to relax until he gets it done.

He allows himself 5 minutes to cry. He sets a timer.

It doesn’t help. Doesn’t even offer the release he’d been hoping for.

He dries his eyes with his sleeve.

He reads the statement. And scolds himself for taking all day to get to it. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t even that bad. It was a foolish statement that reeked of mischief and falsehood. And he wasted his whole day avoiding it.

He cries again, then. No timer.

He leaves his office. He’s finally done with the day. It’s edging on 21:00. He feels like shit. Of course he hadn’t brought a lunch, why would he have enough brain cells to do that? He did make a halfhearted attempt at breakfast. But that was a lot of hours ago, and he’d barely managed a few bites before his anxious stomach had stopped him. He doesn’t feel hungry now, but he knows he is by the shakiness if his limbs, the over-lightness in his head, the irritation at himself still thick in his veins.

He still has to get himself home.

Then he hears footsteps on the stairs. He thinks about going back to his office, but the idea of going back in there makes his head spin. He’s spent too long in his office. Christ, he just wants to sleep. Just wants to be in bed without having to get home and make dinner or order dinner or shower or get in bed. He just wants to be there. Just wants to be there and sleep of eternity. He angrily brushes away a stray tear.

Of course, it’s too late now to try to hide, and eh certainly can’t hide how rumpled and tear-stained he is. So he stands there dumbly, some archaic part of his brain reasoning that if he stays still, maybe no one will see him.

Tim sees him. Tim is laughing on his phone, pleasantly buzzed, and fumbling for the jacket he most likely forgot before going for drinks. At least it’s still fairly early. At least Tim still cares enough about his job to wrap it up at a decent hour. He spots Jon, and hesitates. Jon doesn’t look like he’s doing well. He trails off mid chuckle. “Sorry Sash, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Had fun tonight.”

What does he say to Jon, who’d been a right ass earlier. Jon, who is now teary and frozen, staring at him with exhaustion and mortification.

He makes a decision, making a conscious choice to make himself smaller and softer. “Hey, come back to mine, I’m going to buy you dinner. As my boss, you’re a prick, and I haven’t forgotten that. But as my friend, you need a curry. Maybe we can sort out my asshole boss and my upset friend at the same time, yeah?”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #my words #my fic #hurt/ comfort #cw food #cw alcohol #cw internalized ableism

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themanip · 3 years

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yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft. The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

80 notes · View notes

misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Cheers from Newton Haven ( Mirror’s Edge)

Hey everyone E here with a surprising amount original works. haha so you can blame my good friend @hains-mae for this because she enabled me. So long story short I love writing. I love creating ideas, story plots, characters all that jazz. Often there's a lot of leftovers that i put away in word document just so I have stuff to work with or ideas i can use later. Most of the time I might write something just to get it out of my system but it usually just ends up gathering dust in my computer.

I've been getting more into modern urban fantasy stories and watching the unsleeping city which is a modern dnd show (highly recommend it. first season's free on youtube over at the dimension 20 channel) and naturally I wanted to write some so here we go.

I don't know how often I'll be writing this because this accidentally became my side project whenever I need a break from the underground but who knows might turn into another big layered project.

so basic summary is there are a group of friends, associates, reluctant allies, organizations and frenemies who work together to keep the peace of the supernatural world in check and to ensure it remains secret to everyone else while living their lives as best as they can. Today's chapter includes Finnrick Drift a private investigator wizard and his best friend Casey Remington, cleric of the hearth

that's it for me. have a great week! stay safe, take care of each other. wear your mask, wash your hands, get the vaccine if you can and I'll see you soon!

and if you wanna an easier place to read and leave me some good old comments or reviews you find the chapter right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

Not gonna lie i promised I’d try to promote myself more and it’s weird. it feels so weird. haha

It was a busy Friday afternoon in Midtown. People in designer named suits and dresses bustled across the sidewalks in all directions, too caught up in last minute phone calls or sudden late night work orders to notice anything else. The buildings that scraped the bottom of the sky were clean with a fresh coat of paint and maintenance, a testimony to the wealth and power that was found here.

So naturally Casey felt as out of place as fish out of water in his purple baseball jersey and black shorts just standing outside some fancy restaurants doors with his friend.

“Finny” Casey started awkwardly, his sea green eyes darting back and forth awkwardly “Any reason we’re out here being creepy? I got a Neighborhood Watch meeting at like 6.”

Finnrick or Finny as Casey referred to him, was no better dress than he was for the environment. A long black trench coat that was more stitching than fabric, a matching frayed faded fedora sitting comfortably on his head. He wore a nice collared dark red shirt tucked in a black vest but even that felt cheap and tacky compared to the thousands of dollars worth of clothing that passed them on the street every second. At least his black dress pants were dark enough to hide the patch up jobs and naturally the only kept squeaky clean were his loafers.

Finnrick sucked on the thin white stick for a moment before speaking up “I’m debating if it’s worth the trouble. I didn’t realize you had a meeting tonight.”

“Well we always meet up on the fifth. You know talking about treaties, clean up jobs, if any undead hordes have been spotted. My birthday cake.”

“Ah shit” Finnrick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his dark brown eyes apologetic “It’s your birthday? Did you want to go? I think I can handle it alone.”

Casey lifted the hat off Finnrick’s head and playfully ruffled his already messy black hair “You getting old Finny. My birthday is the tenth.”

Finnrick waved off his assault “I’m six months younger than you.”

“But” Casey gestured to the smattering of sliver streaks in Finn’s hair “You look older.”

“At least I don’t look like I’m 15. Dude you need a haircut. Everyone here thinks you’re a hippie.”

“A good looking hippie.” Casey gave a dramatic shake, his wavy dark brown hair flowing in the breeze.

The pair burst out laughing, doubling over trying to catch their breath as the business suits eyed them distastefully.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Finnrick made his way over, smiles and charm as they approached the doorman.

“Your cigarette sir.” The doorman spoke dully.

Finnrick pulled out the now finished lollipop “Don’t smoke but done anyway.”

The doorman gestured to the nearby trashcan but Finnrick opt to tuck it away in coat pocket. Disgusted but professional, the doorman gave strained smile as he allowed them entry into the building.

Casey nudged Finnrick curiously “Wizards? Warlocks? God not druids.”

“Probably. This is guy doesn’t have an ounce of magic in him but I wouldn’t doubt he’s got some casters on the payroll. Try not to leave anything behind.”

“I’m a freaking walking carpet here!”

“That” Finnrick grinned playfully “Is why you need haircut.”

Casey gave a fake snarl “Shut up and call the elevator.”

Finnrick whistled, amused by the near silence of the opening doors “Such fance. Barely a sound.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Finnrick scratched the little bush of hair he had on his chin thoughtfully “Ask some questions. Probably get no answers. Be threatened more than likely.

Casey cracked the tension in his neck “Think it’s gonna get ugly?”

“Depends on how many witnesses.”

The two made their way to the seventh floor, the elevator smoothly slowing to a stop before the doors opened with a ding. Two burly men in suits were waiting, flanked on either side as they gestured to an empty restaurant dining room.

“The boss will like to speak to you.”

Finnrick and Casey shared a look.

“Sure!” Finnrick beamed cheerfully, patting both the brutes arms as he passed “I was hoping to talk to him anyway.”

The men growled in annoyance but did nothing as Casey and Finnrick made their way to the center talk, unsurprised to find two glasses of wine waiting for them.

“After you” Finnrick joked, pulling out Casey’s chair for him.

Casey gave a mocking smile “Such a gentleman.”

“Only one I bet” Finnrick whispered before taking his seat.

Casey could hear the low hissing of whatever spells were on their chairs being dispelled.

Yep there was going to be trouble.

Casey eyed the room carefully in search for options: The room itself was pretty dark, dark reddish walls with dim lights to set the mood. Most of the tables had been left alone for whatever event this room was scheduled for later with the chairs stacked in the corner. A few feet to their left was the bar, unmanned but well stocked and a window to the outside nearby.

“Well, well, well!” A voice called out from some shadowy part of the room “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine Friday afternoon?”

Finnrick rose to his feet, politely motioning to himself and Casey “My name is Fredrick and this is my friend Charles.”

The man’s hazel eyes shone with suspicion “No last names?”

“Of course” Finnrick grin “But there’s no need for friends, right? We are friends Robert?”

Robert paused, a barely contained rage shimmering just under the surface. His slicked back graying hair and tailored perfect dark blue suit were signs of a precise, irrational control. This was a man that was never told what to do and considered himself above everyone and anyone.

“Of course.” He answered a moment too late. He was not happy. “Of course. What are polite manners among friends?”

“Thanks Bobby!” Finnrick gave a friendly wink before retaking his seat.

Robert fumed but followed Finnrick’s example as a trio of secret service wannabes took their spots across the room: Inhumanly beautiful men with dark suits and shades. Something was off about them but Casey couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What do I owe the pleasure Freddy?” Robert sneered, hoping to see how Finnrick a taste of his own medicine.

“Well Bobby.” Finnrick went on, purposely ignoring the older man’s jab “As you know you have been stealing countless money from your employees.”

Robert chuckled darkly “I am afraid wherever you have been getting this claim is very misinformed. I am a simple, honest businessman.”

Finnrick nodded in agreement “Of course. Of course. That’s how you can say that with a straight face. Honest businessman of mundane practices.”

Casey felt his hair on his arm stand on end as the atmosphere in the room tensed. The brutes growled unhappily, the trio of bodyguards shifted uneasily and Robert’s eyes shone with understanding.

“I see.” He spoke simply “You’re from the other side.”

“Naturally.” Finnrick confirmed “No need to peer around the bush, is there?”

“No need at all. It is refreshing for such transparency. You don’t get that often in the world of business.”

“I doubt you give much either Mister Walker.”

“Enough games. What are you doing here? Some kind of union rep for magical freaks? Blackmailing me?”

Finnrick sat up with pride “Private investigator. Building a case against you actually.”

Robert carefully studied both men before him, trying to piece together their plan, their angle.

“Either.” He spoke after a few moments “You have all you need or more than likely you have nothing and you are simply here to smoke me out, hoping I will give you something to use against me.”

Casey felt Finnrick’s hand move underneath the table and a rush of chilly air brushed his leg.

Casey gave a quick nod to let Finn know he understood.

Finnrick cleared his throat “You’re aware of the works of Tolkien Mister Walker?”

Robert was caught off guard “What?”

“Elves.” Finnrick answered with a calming voice “Elves are the most famous of his characters that aren’t humans of course but there’s more: Elves, dwarves...”

“Hob…” Robert began but Finnrick cut him off.

“That’s a legal matter but yes. Wonderfully fantastic creatures.”

Robert narrowed his eyes “And?”

Finnrick leaned in close, smile mocking and cold “I hate when people take advantage of them.”

Robert was a cold, calculating heartless man who was used to being the smartest one in the room. The one who rigged the playing field in his favor, held every ace in his hand and led his prey exactly where he wanted them to be. He played with people before he destroyed their hope. He was the apex predator in the world of business.

It was satisfying to see that swagger and pride drain out of his face.

The businessman went for the button hidden underneath his side of the table, no doubt the switch to trigger the holding spells on Casey and Finnrick’s chairs. Of course Finnrick had dispelled them first chance he got and since the only other caster in the room was Casey, no one else noticed.

Robert’s face was the second most beautiful thing Casey had ever seen (first being Jaime but there was no need to tell her that). The panic, the fear, the utter confusion. Just poetic justice at its finest.

Finnrick shot to his feet with a surprising speed given his unremarkable build. He muttered the words of power, a magical incantation as his hand made the proper gestures to complete the spell.

The shades squad went for their weapons but Finnrick had gotten the drop on all of them. He pulled his hand back, a burning flame sitting peacefully in his palm. He pitched the flame forward, lobbing directly at the closet goon. The inhumanly beautiful man rose his arms to defend himself in time. The flame, mostly pressurized air, splashed over him harmlessly as the force of the attack shoved him back into the wall.

Casey followed Finn’s example. He stood as well (not as quick as his friend), a soft gentle light glowing from his hands. He glanced at the two remaining shades and aimed directly for them. A bolt of pure light burst forth from his palms. One goon got a chest full of holy energy and skidded backwards but the other was ready. He leapt to the side and narrowly avoided the attack as he slid out of sight.

The brutes charged towards the pair, murder in their eyes. Finnrick barely spared them a look as he snapped his finger. The two flames sigils he had imprinted om them when he grabbed their arms ignited, twin fires eating at their sleeves and sending them into a panic.

“What’s the plan?” Casey shouted, sending more holy bolts towards the shades.

“Up and over the counter.” Finnrick answered, tossing another fireball.

Casey quickly made his way closer, prepping to leap over the bar when Finnrick crashed into him, a strange whistling sound piercing his ears one moment then silent the next.

“Over buddy over!” Finnrick repeated, grabbing Casey by the collar and heaving him ontop of the counter. Casey flailed for a moment before glancing backwards. Finnrick was right behind him, hand outstretched as a blue translucent field of protective magic hung before the two while the shades opened fire with crossbows, the jet black bolts barely visible in the dimness of the room. They bounced harmlessly off the barrier but Casey could see the cracks starting to form.

Casey hopped over the bar gracelessly, struggling for a moment before clearing the jump. Finnrick tucked himself backwards, allowing himself to roll over the counter top and land on the other side with a thud.

“Remember when elves were honorable?” Casey huffed, quickly scanning the various bottles.

Finnrick scoffed “They were never honorable. They just acted better than everyone.”

“Remember when we were kids?”

“Vaguely. Pass the absinthe. I want to really make this hurt.”

“Blue bottle? These are all in German and Russian.”

“Green liquid. Come on Case I taught you better.”

“Right. I miss when the cartoons used to tell us the mafia was honorable.”

“Criminals these days.” Finnrick shook his head disappointingly “Just don’t make them like they used to. It’s all corporate shit.”

Casey began picking other bottles at random, wrapping them tightly with the tape he brought “It’s disillusioning I tell you. How right is he?”

Finnrick smashed a pane of glass. He took the jagged edge and slowly inched it over the counter, catching sight of the trio of shades for a moment before a crossbow bolt shattered the glass.

He flexed his hand, trying to relax his muscles. They were elves alright. They might be dressed in suits and ears hidden by some sort of glamour illusion magic but old habits died hard. Elves habits never died given their long lives. The trio had fallen into a close knit triangle formation: one fires, one reloads with the last taking aim.

“He had this whole operation locked tight. No one was talking. Either bribed them or made an example of them. Broken bones or horns. I had enough evidence to implicate him but bringing him to trial in the mundy court was going to be pointless.”

Casey moved the bottles back and forth to ensure they wouldn’t come loose midair “So what are we doing here?”

“Given his limited knowledge and the numerous magical violations I counted in this building alone, I figured he’s not registered with the Council.”

Casey’s eyes lit up in understanding “Gotcha. How long we got?”

Finnrick shook his hand back and forth “I’d say 10 minutes knowing the Council. Magic in an unregistered area requires a subtler approach for them. “

Casey snorted “Fake beards and stilts for the gnomes you mean? Robert will be gone by then.”

Finnrick’s face scrunched in concentration “He’s still here. Cowering under the table. He’s not used to dangerous wizards up in his face. Let’s scare him put huh?”

Casey spared his friend a glance “Big shot?”

Finnrick nodded in agreement “Aim high Case.”

And with a synchronicity only achieved through years of friendship, the two stood up at once. Casey threw the makeshift bomb high into the air as Finnrick formed the magical shield once more. Arrow after arrow bounced harmlessly off its surface as the bottles sailed through the air. Finnrick focused directly in the center of the payload. The shield dropped but the elves had broken formation and were all reloading at once. Finnrick pinched his thumb and finger together, murmuring under his breath. A small spark of flame fluttered wildly on his finger. He flicked it as quickly as he could towards the bottles. The spark spun and twisted as it floated towards the payload. The spark expanded, growing in size, and intensity, rapidly without warning. The air warmed as the spark exploded, smashing the bottles and engulfing the alcohol within. Flaming liquid, glass and hot air shot out in every direction. The elves were blasted off their feet and crashed against the far wall with sickening series of crunches. The floor above now had a massive hole in it and the brutes sprawled across the floor. Robert himself was thrown onto the ground, ash and soot covering his face as he struggled to breath.

He tried to call for someone but his ears were ringing and everyone was down for the count. He tried to search for the trouble makers but the smoke that filled the room was too thick.

The elevator dinged open once more and three pale suits came scuttling out. They clung to the walls on all fours, unnatural and repulsive. Their blood red eyes shone in the dimly light room, their fangs barred and ready for blood.

“Vampires!” Casey rubbed his eyes tiredly “This fucker has vampires. Loose by the way.”

“Right?” Finnrick shook his head “There are just so many regulations being violated right now.”

The vampires did not care. They dropped to the floor, gliding effortlessly midst the smoke and flame.

Casey took a step closer to the encroaching undead. He outstretched one hand towards them while the other clasped his necklace tightly. The vampires tilted their head quizzically at the symbol that adored the chain: It was a house of all things, a simple shape of rectangles and triangles no different than what a child would draw.

The vampires chuckled, their eyes bright with hunger.

Of course in their bloodlust they had forgotten something important: It was not the symbol but the faith behind it that was their bane.

Casey held the symbol as high as he could. The vampire shrunk away from him as his eyes blazed with holy energy, the symbol of home glowing with a harsh light. The vampires barred their fangs as a symphony of noises overwhelmed their senses: the soft hum of an air conditioner, footsteps thundering about, the chill of winter, the heat of summer, the overlapping sounds of cars and buses as the roar of crowds boomed in their ears. The city, the hearth of so many people, filled this room for a moment.

The vampires drew back, white smoking curling off their charring flaky skins. They ducked back into the elevator, hiding in whatever corner they could manage until the doors shut with a satisfying ding.

“Come on” Finnrick gestured to the window “I don’t want to be written up for unauthorized magic in an unregistered area.”

Casey and Finnrick scampered to the window. Casey’s face turned a sickly green when he realized how high up they were.

“Ugh I don’t feel good.” his stomach churned queasily.

Finnrick broke the window with his elbow, the fresh smoggy air of the city bringing some color back into Casey’s cheeks “I know buddy but it’s only eight floors up.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Okay cool jump now!”

Robert regained enough sense to see the troublemakers leap out the window without hesitation. He struggled to his feet when flickers of something began to form. Before he knew what was going on, the previously empty room was now filled with various creatures: Elves, dwarves, a gnome on silts had appeared out of thin air. They weren’t dress in any ancient medieval garb but rather dark blue jackets, jeans and combat boots with the initials M.R.R.D stitched on their clothing. They were no different than any one on the street aside their more unique physical features.

“M.R.R.D!” the gnome cried out, brandishing a strange clockwork pistol “Everyone freeze! We sensed a magical disturbance and a violation of the Arcane Veil!”

Robert rose to his full height “I am Robert Walker and I…”

The gnome opened fire and Robert could feel exhaustion overtake him. Sleepiness began to ebb at his resolve and before he could mutter another word, he closed his eyes. A dreamless sleep until he woke up in a council prison cell a few hours later.

-----

Casey didn’t scream as he fell through the air. He was too busy trying to keep his lunch in his stomach.

Finnrick waited a moment to make sure everything was in place and with a wave of his hand, the two began to fall much slower. They landed on their feet as if they had taken a step off the sidewalk instead of several stories up.

Casey began hyperventilating, trying his best to get his stomach settled. Finnrick began fanning his face when a man walked up to him.

Casey and Finnrick said nothing, waiting for the Arcana Veil to fill in any blanks they were missing. They could’ve told this man anything but they found from experience that it was just easier to roll with whatever the magical blanket that separated the mundane world from the magical decided.

The man peered at them, his gaze unsure and confused.

“Hey, you guys okay?” he asked helpfully.

Casey and Finnrick remained silent.

His eyes glazed over for a moment, a strange shimmering sheen within his pupils telling the duo that the veil was in effect.

“You guys are oddly dressed for window washers.” the man chuckled.

Finnrick glanced back to find a ghostly image of an electrically operated scaffold behind them, water buckets and squeegees included.

They shared a look.

“Would you believe it’s national window washer day?” Casey filled in.

Finnrick added “Yeah, they let us wear whatever want today. It’s only one day out of the year anyway and most of the time we work by ourselves so no harm done.”

the man nodded like that was the most reasonable thing he had ever heard “Right sorry. I’ll just be on my way.”

Finnick and Casey ducked out of the alleyway behind him, heads low and nonchalant as the human M.R.R.D members began to shut down the restaurant from the outside.

“Well that sucked.”

“Just a little. Here let’s go some dinner on me.”

“Damn straight on you Finny. Brutes, elves, vampires?”

“Oh my.”

“Now I’m ordering extra bread for that.”

#Original Work #original story #my work #Mirrors edge story

43 notes · View notes

idle-writer · 4 years

Text

His Place

HIS PLACE

fandom: Detroit: Become Human

pairing: Nines (RK900) x Reader

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none

A/N: This is for the lovely anon who asked for more DBH content (I wish I know who you are so I can tag you, hope you like this!) I hope you all enjoy reading :)

_______________

You hear someone calling your name, followed by knocks at your door. Peering through the peephole, you see a delivery guy holding a clipboard, a big human-sized box beside him. You slightly open your door, bolt still on, cautious since your part of the neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest. “How can I help?”

He says your name, and you nod. He points his thumb at the huge box. “Delivery for you.”

“I just need you to sign here and here,” he hands you the clipboard, which you refuse.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I hauled this big heavy thing four flight of stairs. Just accept the thing so I can leave.” The man taps his foot impatiently at the floor.

Sighing, you take the clipboard from him and sign your name. He gestures for you to open the door so he can wheel the box in and you let him. He asks where he can put it down in which you pointed at a random space at your living room.

After the delivery guy has left, you inspect the box. Nothing seems out of ordinary except for its size. Grabbing a pair of scissors, you decide the box will not open on its own. You carefully drag the sharp edge of the scissors to free the box from it seal. Opening the flaps your eyes widen at what you inside. There inside the box is a man - dark chestnut hair, his chiseled face littered with few freckles, thin lips in pursed in a straight line, his eyes closed. Is he dead?! Panic surges through you, and you do something that people shouldn’t do when they see an assumedly dead body – you poke it. On the cheek. Which is incredibly soft, and cold? You shriek when you see steel grey eyes staring back at you.

“Apologies for startling you. My name is Nines,” his voice is rich and you are immediately drawn to it. “…and I’ll be your android companion.”

You open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water, confused as hell as to what and why is this happening. “Android companion? I didn’t… oh god.”

Quickly pulling up your phonebook you search for his number. Only he can pull this kind of prank. The person on the other line hasn’t even said hello when you starts yelling at him, “I swear to god, Gavin Reed. Did you just send me an android boyfriend?!”

The boisterous laughter on the other line confirms your suspicions. Gavin is a childhood friend. When you were younger, he teased you mercilessly for not having a boyfriend, and you kept telling him it was because you hang around with a jerk like him too much. And when he went to the Academy, you just lost contact with each other. Until the other day, when he walks into the same café you usually get your coffee.

“You look so lonely reading your book with only a cup of latte or whatever,” you swear you can hear the snicker on his voice. “Just try and give it a few months, yeah?”

You sigh and shake your head, knowing there’s no saying no to Gavin Reed. Still as stubborn as ever.

“Fine fine fine,” you glance at the android standing at the middle of your living room, he seems to be inspecting his new environment. “But don’t they require. I don’t know. Maintenance?”

“Don’t worry about it. I have it covered. Plus that’s the latest model of its kind. It uh does it’s own self maintenance. So yeah gotta go. Bye.”

“Wait-“ you have a lot of more questions but before you can ask, he has already dropped the call.

“Is there a problem?”

You jump back, startled by the voice near your ear. It’s not everyday you have a male companion – human or android – in your living space. “No, I just haven’t done this before.”

He nods at your words, “I’d hate to make you uncomfortable in your own place. So let me know if I have to make adjustments to my configuration.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just be yourself,” you give him a friendly smile, “This is your place now, too.”

_______________

Nines is seating in an almost 90 degree angle on the couch, feet planted to the floor, his eyes are trained forward, his LED spinning yellow. For the one month, you’ve been together, you’ve learned a lot of things about him, and he about you. You begin to notice his small mannerisms like how he subtly tilts his head to the side when he thinks.

He begins to notice the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, or how you gently pats his arm when you laugh at something funny on the television. He also notices that there are days when you’re completely worn out from your job, but you still give him a smile and does your usual chores, ending up with you passing out on your bed.

You flop down beside him on the couch. “Thanks for cleaning up the place by the way.”

“It’s my –“

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your job. Whatever. Still thank you,” leaning your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes. You can’t help but feel how nice it is to go home from work and find someone waiting for you. You are almost on the edge of falling asleep when you feel yourself being shaken awake.

“You have a perfectly fine bed."

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine here,” you bury your face on his shoulder, “This is my place now.”

You wake up the next day, still in the couch, blanket sitting lightly on your shoulders. You don’t know how you got into that position with your knees bent on the couch, head resting on Nine’s lap. There’s a slight soreness in the back of your neck but you don’t mind. All you can feel is the gentle caress of his fingers through your hair.

_______________

You are walking up the stairs to your apartment, silently cursing your building for not fixing the goddamn elevator. Nines is trailing beside you, finding it adorable amusing how you’re stopping every five steps to take a breath, a sound similar to a chuckle coming from him.

You are almost on your floor when something flashes by and bumps in to you. The impact so hard you feel air get knocked out of you. With your balance lost, you stumble backwards. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for the fall that didn’t come.

Nines holds you firm to his chest, “Are you alright?”

When you don’t answer, he turns you around. His eyebrows are knitted as his steel eyes frantically scans your body – neck, shoulder, wrists - for any injuries.

“Nines. I’m okay.”

As if he doesn’t hear you, he drops on his knees and continues fussing over you, his LED spinning in quick red circles.

Using both your hands, you cup his head to make him look at you, “Nines. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

You watch as his LED slows down. Red. Yellow. Never letting go as it reaches Blue.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. “You’re okay.”

That night he tucks you to bed. You jokingly asks if he wants to share the bed with you, when he doesn’t respond, you squeeze his hand, bidding him a silent good night. He spends a few minutes standing at a dark corner of your room, watching you sleep.

The next day you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found.

_______________

It has been a week since you last saw Nines. You even contemplated tracking him down, maybe he has a GPS tracker or something, only stopping when you realize how weird that’ll be. He’s not some dog you own you can just track and put missing posters up for. He left for a reason. And the more you think about it, the sadder you get. The couch feels a lot bigger. Your apartment feels a lot emptier. Life feels a lot suckier.

A loud banging on the door followed by yell, “Police open up!”

What if they found Nines and?

You scramble to your feet and open the door. Your vision going red when you see Gavin Reed laughing on the other side. You swing a punch at him, connecting at his jaw. “You jerk!”

“What?” his signature stupid smirk on his face, “I am police.”

“I told you, detective. That was not a good idea.”

The familiar voice freezes you on the spot. Tears starting to sting the back of your eyes. Nine is safe. He’s okay.

“Suddenly, you know her better than me? I know her since – ” Reed jeers. He turns to you , only to see you crying, face hidden in your hands. “ – woah – are you crying? You punched me yet you are the one crying.”

Your sobs becomes louder, barely muffled by your hands. Reed silently pleads for help to the android who is now glowering at the detective. Nines ushers you inside your apartment, and seats you in the couch - the same couch you two spent hours just seating side by side. Nines wraps his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest. The clean crisp smell of his clothes no longer sharing the smell of your own detergent, instead it reminded you of the first time you met him.

He waits for your tears and your shaky sobs to halt, and for your heart to rest in a steady beat. He waits for he knows you waited long enough.

And when you are able to calm down, he holds you hand, rubbing gentle circle with his thumb, gauging your reaction, calming your distress as he explains. He is sent undercover to survey the building. The guy who bumped in to you week ago is actually a wanted criminal, and if ever you see something that night, you’ll be in deep trouble that’s why Nines had to leave and make sure to capture the guy as soon as possible. His words falls in your deaf ears, your mind focusing only on two words.

“An undercover mission, huh? Just a mission. Just doing your job.” You try to act normal but ended up cracking miserably, “Why did you return then…”

Thoughts of him saying his goodbye springs in your mind, just as fresh tears does.

“I have nowhere to return to but here,” he squeezes your hand, “I was told this is my place, too.”

He will never say it out loud, at least not right now. His place is with you.

#dbh rk900 #rk900 x reader #dbh nines x reader #nines x reader #idle-writer #detroit become human #dbh imagine #dbh fanfic

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spc4eva · 3 years

Text

Star-Burned: Chapter Two

Ngl, reader is well endowed in the breast department. hate me. trust me, reader is gonna complain about it later about her back hurting.

Paz fluff is probably my favorite thing to write. This fic is undoing me. Goddammit.

Word Count: 8,626

Rating: M (+18) oral sex m!receiving

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

Paz barely understood what was happening when he'd crash landed, falling out of hyperspace and being thrown around the hull of his ship like a tin can before crash landing. It was miraculous he'd survived with just broken ribs. An even bigger miracle that he'd been found.

You were a pretty young lady with more hair than should be humanly possible, a ray of sunshine, and so hilariously goofy that Paz was smiling beneath his helmet half the time as you trotted in with meals for him, eying him beneath your mop of hair --- which you often tried to manage in a ponytail, though ringlets would fall free and cascade into your face smattered with a constellation of freckles. That's why he named you Tranyc -- Mando'a for sunny or quite literally translating to 'star-burned', because you were the ray of sunshine on his day while he was stuck in bed healing. You were good company, easy to talk to, never berated him despite how much of a burden he was. Took him less than a day to realize you were on your own, running the entire moisture farm on nothing but cultivated crops and several cups of caf a day. And despite how often you fumble over words, you were smart.

There wasn't much to do and the highlights of Paz's day consisted of you spending time with him. You had piled all your holobooks near him, given him the remote for the television, and anything else you thought he might like while you wandered off to go make repairs and tend to your livelihood. You must've been tired. The farm was a fulltime job on its own and now you had to look after him. Paz felt guilty, because you'd not complained once, not asked him for credits or when he might be leaving. You were cautiously curious, but not impolite with your questions. Not many people would have chanced bringing a Mandalorian into their home, let alone a young woman on her own. That was what was different about you and maybe it had to do with Paz's sheer luck of landing on a relatively backwater planet where people weren't in fear of their lives constantly.

Paz had lucked out.

He hated feeling weak, being unable to walk on his own, but you were blissfully patient and kind, cracking jokes and making silly faces, telling him how he'd be good as new to start back up on hunting -- or whatever it was that Mandalorians did. And while he was eager to not have his ribs feel as if they'd been kicked in by a bantha, he was also ruing the countdown for when he'd have to return to his ship and leave you behind. Despite it being a few scant weeks, Paz liked you. Not just because you were pretty, but he found your demeanor relaxing. So when he managed to get to his feet to go to the kitchen and he saw your hair sticking out on the couch, he trotted over without an afterthought to check on you.

He hadn't been expecting to see your coveralls crumpled on the floor and your beet red facing eying him in horror. Originally, he'd believed you were hurt from when he'd fallen on you. After all, you were a small thing. Despite being lean from working the farm you were dwarfed by him. And when the blanket had fallen over... Paz's mind began turning, the gears clicking into place, the disbelief that the pretty ray of sunshine had been caught in the midst of masturbating. To the thought of him.

Until that point you'd been hospitable and courteous, it was the last thing he expected and dangling deliciously in front of him like a forbidden fruit. He more than owed you at this point. He owed you his life and getting you off wasn't really repayment. In fact, Paz had enjoyed it, thinking the situation was more self indulgent than selfless. You became putty in his hands, passing out from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. That brought a smile to his face -- well, there had already been a smile -- but it was bigger now.

He didn't mind cleaning you up and putting you into some more comfortable clothing, tucking you into the large bed that had obviously been yours. He had found discarded hair elastics under the pillows and a few socks that had been lost to the depths of the sheets. You had taken care of him, he could manage picking up your tiny form and putting you to bed. You didn't come around until morning when Paz was up in the fresher, still testing his weight on his aching chest.

"You can walk now," you popped your head through the open door, stating the obvious, but it made him smile that you weren't half as doleful as he'd thought you'd be after yesterday. "Um... I can make breakfast real quick and then there's something I wanna show you if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" Paz rumbled, he still couldn't wear his armor, the weight would be too much of a burden. "How are you feeling?"

Your face brightened with blush immediately, matching the hue of your flaming locks at the sheer mention. "G-good, th-thank you."

The moment he'd put you to bed, he'd staggered off to the fresher to relieve himself and the throbbing erection he had from going through his ministrations. Not that you needed to know that he had been wanting more. Yesterday hadn't been about him. The last few weeks you had doted your attention on him.

"Good."

You darted away, back in your usual attire which consisted of mechanic coveralls, boots, and a tightfitting short sleeve shirt in russet. Your arms were bared from the bicep down and you wore a pair of beat up leather gloves, hair cinched at the base of your neck with a straining scrunchie that fought desperately to contain all the curls which rebelled at being held against the back of your slightly too large overalls.

Truthfully, you were very nervous over what had happened yesterday and even more distressed that you had slept away the entire freaking day. The hardworking farmer in you was berating you with every step, unbelievable, you slept the entire day until breakfast. Now, when drifters had stayed and you had slept with them, you had woken up and prepared breakfast without an afterthought. There was no guilt, no twisting of nerves in your tummy, because you knew that what had happened was a simple arrangement of two lonely people breaking up the cobwebs. What happened with the Mandalorian should have felt the same, but it didn't. Only one man had stayed a few days and engaged in multiple trysts and by the end, he'd been asking you to leave behind the moisture farm to go adventuring with him. While that was a very... juicy prospect, you couldn't think about leaving behind the canyons you'd known your entire life. You loved it here, even if it was solitude and silence.

From the views up on the plateau where your farm was located, a bird's eye view of the spanning clay walls, billowing in waves of amber, brown, and orange. Your favorite days were the overcast ones where the clouds would sweep low and fringe the mountaintops with mist. That was during the wet season when the lowest parts of the canyons would fill with turquoise water from the rain. The only freestanding water you'd ever gotten the luxury of seeing and it was still a trip on your speeder bike since you lived pretty high up on the plateaus. Wasn't that time of year though, it was still the dry season and so you had to keep regular maintenance on the farm to suck every bit of moisture up.

You kept mostly grains on the farm, but had a few animals to include tip-yips which produced eggs. Otherwise, any greenery you had was produced in your greenhouse, utilizing misty puffs of water to keep it nice and humid inside. Without it, you certainly wouldn't have been getting enough nutrients to live out this remote. You would stock up on seed every six months and grow leafy greens, root vegetables, had a few berry bushes, and rhubarbs. They were genetically modified to have additional benefits, keeping you going and healthy. You loved checking in on them, standing in your little bubble of green, imagining other planets that looked just like it but instead of being in a little capsule -- the entire planet was green. That was hard to fathom, giving the landscape you'd grown up on, but so were oceans and you knew they existed.

Jumbles followed you out to the coop, drooling all over the dirt as you scolded him for getting too close. His head drooped and he stayed behind while you picked out some fresh eggs and threw fodder out for the tip-yips. You knew if you didn't keep the birds carefully locked up, Jumbles would gobble them all up. "Calm down. I'll give you some eggs you beast," you chided as you stopped in the green house to pick a few vegetables and fruit before going back inside. You'd never wanted more aside from companionship and to not be alone. You loved your farm so much and all the work you had put into it. You loved this dry, arid planet and the raw beauty you got to witness. But you weren't perfectly content.

You were lonely.

Paz was waiting in the kitchen at the table, which was funny, considering he couldn't actually eat with you. Humming to yourself, you put a pot of caf on and then frowned at 6PO, who wandered around aimlessly. "6PO please make yourself useful. Go sweep out the greenhouse if you can't decide on what to do," you sigh, the droid looking as confused as ever, before creaking out the front door.

"Where did you get that droid?" Paz asked curiously as you set a skillet on the stove and began heating it up.

"Found it," you shrug. "Wasn't in one piece, so I scavenged parts and put it all back together again. Some of the neural harnessing was missing, so the droid will never be complete unless I replace it entirely."

"You mean you reprogrammed it?" he actually sounded sort of impressed.

You rolled your shoulders again. "Yeah, suppose so. Wasn't too hard. Lots of trial and error... and caf." And time. During the wet season you had more time on your hands and so typically that's when you'd spend it on projects.

"How'd you learn how to do that? Droids are complicated pieces of tech."

"My dad taught me. He was an engineer, could run this whole place without even trying. Always knew how to fix everything," you gave a sad chuckle at the thought of your parents. You missed them so much. Maybe if they hadn't passed you wouldn't be half as lonely and feeling as if there was something missing in your life. "Studied on... Coruscant, I think? Before the war broke out. Round 20BBY he came out here with my mom and I because they wanted to avoid the fighting."

"And he taught you everything he knew," Paz assumed.

"Oh, well, I mean, probably not everything. He probably would have found a way to fix 6PO completely."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

The corner of your mouth quirked involuntarily and you stared down at the pan as you began sautéing the cut up tubulars. "We get a wet season here every standard year. The canyons are vast, mostly stone, and not porous. My mother was sick, so they had to make a visit to the city which is a 2 day trip on bike. Usually, we don't leave during the wet season. Too dangerous. But mom's condition wasn't improving and so my father decided the risk was worth it.

"In order to get to the city, you have to go through the canyons. This time of year, no big deal, but during the wet season? Can start raining without warning and when it does, the crevasses act as funnels, diverting water to the lowest point, which... you're catching my drift, right?" You glance up, not particularly fond of explaining how nature worked around here, especially when it had taken your parents from you.

"Flash floods?"

"Mm," you began cracking the eggs. "Can't outrun a flash flood. Not on a speeder bike. They drowned. So-" you drew in a sharp breath. You had rationalized this several times over. Never really talked about it, but it didn't make you cry anymore. This planet had been good to you. Better than most people could hope for when they settled on a farm. You knew that you were lucky because of that and you couldn't resent the planet even if it took your parents from you. "The Jawas found them a little while after that. They know us, we trade with them -- I still do -- and they brought my parents back for me. Despite what people say about them, they didn't ask me for payment."

"I'm sorry... was that six years ago?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, wiping your hands off and picking up a few eggs, cracking them over your massiff's eagerly waiting mouth. "Not your fault. Might be safe from raiders and looters, but it's a harsh unforgiving landscape. Sometimes you get too comfortable and forget about that. My dad knew the risks when he took my mother. They lived a good life, just wish they didn't have to go that way." You wish you hadn't been left alone.

"Where's the closest neighbor aside from the Jawas?"

"Hundreds of miles," now you were plating the food and grabbing mugs for the caf. "The canyons are the best place to set up moisture farms. The deserts soak up all the water from the wet seasons, but due to the stone around here, it's a lot easier for moisture to be trapped in the vaporators. However, they're remote and a lot of the plateaus are too dangerous to set up on because the foundation of stone is likely to crumble. Only about three farms in all of the canyons and this is one of them. We're the highest producers of water on the planet, especially during the wet season. 'Bout the only time I see starships since the city will come and pick it up."

You slapped Jumbles on the nose as he leaned over the counter toward one of the freshly assembled breakfasts, causing him to whine. "Oh shut it you baby," you hadn't even hit him that hard, just a little boop on the nose and he was pretending you'd wailed into him. "Drama queen."

You brought Paz's food over for him and went to grab your own. "I can go outside. A few things I can start on before we head out."

"Sit down and eat first," he invited, which confused you, because how were the both of you going to eat with the whole helmet situation. "If you sit at the counter with your back to me, it'll be fine."

Oh, well that went against what he said about only removing his helmet when he was alone. But... that also meant he trusted you. How many opportunities did you have to remove his helmet? The first day you probably could have if you weren't terrified of being shot. Until you'd gotten to know Paz better, he had been the big scary Mandalorian and not the patient and easygoing one you knew now. "Are you certain? I mean, it's not a big deal. I eat on the go all the time," you object kindly, not wishing for him to feel obligated to have you in your own kitchen.

"Sit," he insisted.

"Well, I mean-" you grabbed a chair, mostly talking to yourself when you muttered those words and pulled it up to the counter. Jumbles was drooling on your leg, looking at you as if you hung the stars, which admittedly -- was quite cute except for the fact that you knew he just wanted your leftovers.

"Where'd you get a massiff?" There was a click and a hiss, the helmet disengaging and being set on the table. You tried not to think about how easy it would be to turn around and finally get a look at him, focusing on your cup of caf instead.

"Kind of just... found him," you reveal, thinking about the day you'd stood toe to toe with the beast, your arms full of scrap metal, wondering if you were going to have to use the bacta shot after getting munched on by the creature. "Thought he was gonna try and eat me."

"It's wild?" Paz's voice was different, unmodulated. There was still the same warmth you were used to, but the lack of the radio static and translation from human to droid made your skin hot, little lances of static playing down your spine as the deep bass in its full glory.

"Uuuuh," you almost forget that you're eating, your egg falling off the fork and onto your lap. Jumbles gobbles it up before you even think about grabbing it. "Jee-uh-yeah. Started feeding him scraps, probably shouldn't have done that, and then he kinda just started listening to me. I read that on Tatooine Tusken Raiders keep them as hounds, so I thought that maybe they're just partial to bonding with sentient beings."

Honestly, you'd always been good with animals. An uncanny, unnatural, totally unexplainable ability you'd possessed since you were a kid and ran into a wild dewback and nearly pissed yourself. Instead of swallowing you whole, the dewback had palmed your hand and then trotted off. The canyons were host to a plethora of fauna, many of which were quite dangerous. Having Jumbles had actually saved your skin more often than not, as the canine was keen on keeping his source of food around.

"When they're raised from pups they are," Paz informed you.

"Oooh. Well, I found Jumbles when he was an adult," you gave the dope a fond pat on the head. He leaned into your gloved grasp and harrumphed contentedly. "Maybe he was already trained and got lost." Yeah, that sounded more logical than your weird animal whispering abilities. "He's been good. If not for him, I don't think I would have found you. He's the one who led me over to your starship." And that's when you realized something. "H-hey, Jumbles is living and your helmet-"

"I'm not worried about a massiff seeing me," Paz chuckled. "I'm not going to shoot your dog."

"I-I didn't say you were," you stammer, heart fluttering a little bit as you gripped one of the massiff's spines to comfort yourself. He could very easily shoot your dog. Did he want to shoot your dog? You didn’t think so, but you weren’t keen on losing him. "Just you said no living thing and then you'd only take your helmet off alone..."

"No living sentient thing," he corrected, his silverware clattering before the helmet clicked back into place. A tiny wave of disappointment washed off you, almost as if you were expecting to get a little more time with his raw unfiltered voice. "Thank you for breakfast. Good as always."

You blushed slightly at the compliment. It was just simple food, hearty enough to keep you going throughout the day. Standing up, you nearly whirled into the Mandalorian's chest as you went to retrieve his things for him. Catching yourself before you did, you offered an apologetic smile before frisking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for later. It was a sonic sink, you were very careful about how water was used. Only for food and growing plants.

Out by the front door you grabbed your outing belt, which had your blaster and a set of tools that you'd been using. Picking up the sack beside it, laden with a few canteens, ration bars, and holobooks you glanced back at Paz. He still didn't have his armor on, but he did adorn his belt with a vibro-blade and pistol. "C'mon," you told him, offering a small wave before striding out the front door and into the crisp, sunny morning.

Drinking in a deep breath of dry air, you gave a dizzying and pleased smile before beginning to talk. "Now, I told you that I borrowed your speeder bike to get us back up here. There was a bit of damage to it since it took a beating during the crash. Most superficial, which I managed to get the dings out of the metal and replace the exhausts which were nearly crushed. Probably needs a new paint job, but I didn't have any paint laying around," you explained, bringing him over to the bike. You'd doted a bit of time on it, because you knew bikes and it was easy for you to fix. Plus it was nicer than the one you had on the farm, so you'd been using it to go back and forth between the ranch and his starship.

Paz's helmet was craned down as he gave the bike a one over and your original pride began to fizzle out with each beat of silence. Finally, "You did a really good job. It... didn't take up too much of your time, did it?"

"Hm? Oh no, not at all. Bikes are easy, fixed plenty of bikes in much worse condition than this," you gave it a fond pat, relief flooding you that he wasn't upset that you'd fiddled with it. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you," you climbed on. "Hop on!"

Paz chuckled at your overexuberance, the way the bike looked much too big for someone of your stature. Afterall, it was his bike and so he'd gotten one that would fit his physique. Your arms were stretched upward to meet the accelerators and it was quite comical from the dopey, excited smile on your face to the way your legs barely reached the stirrups. He sat on behind you, edging up comfortably so that his thighs framed you.

"Might wanna hang on," you warned mischievously.

"What, this isn't going to be a leisurely ride?"

"The canyons look much the same when boxed in. Trust me, just hang on," you told him, feeling your cheeks roll was heated pleasure as strong arms encircled you and his pelvis pressed tighter to your backside. Oh, that felt really good, almost enough that you could lean back into his strong embrace and relax as you started this ride. But... No. You chased away the devious thoughts and tried not to fixate on the sturdy Mandalorian behind you as you revved the engine. It purred like a loth-cat, humming deliciously before you kicked off and started whistling down the hill and into the chasm that led into the canyons.

He wasn't expecting how quickly the two of you rocketed off. Arms tensing around you to prevent himself from sliding right off as gravity snared him, he let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't kidding."

"Tried to warn you," you laughed at him, shouting over the din of the motors that echoed against the canyon walls. Bowing your head ever so much, you went up another gear and stuck the wide turn. He grabbed on again, his chest now flush to your back as you dared to accelerate again.

"Where-" his voice was breathless in your ear. "Where did you learn how to drive like this?"

"Mom," you grin. "Dad was the engineer. Mom was the podracer."

"Kriff!" he cursed as you hooked the bike, reversed the thrusters, and then sputtered a sharp turn that should not have been possible except for the trick maneuver. During down time and on your long journeys to the city, you'd picked up a thing or two from your mother. Speeder bikes were easy compared to podracers, she'd tell you. Small, streamline, and capable of quite a few tricks if you understood the inertia, gravity, and capabilities of the machine you were on. Passing the signs out for the Jawas, you curved the halt, brakes slamming as the sideways turn kicked up clay sand and dust. He was still clinging to you even after you'd stopped.

"Did I frighten the big Mandalorian?" you teased, his vice grip finally relenting after taking a moment to realize that you stopped.

Paz's muscles were vibrating from the adrenaline filling him from helmet to boot from the ride. The last thing he'd been expecting from you, the little farmhand mechanic, were daring turns and hiking the bike up to full speed without as much of an ounce of panic as you tried to take a 90 degree turn. Even Paz wasn't as gutsy with a bike to attempt what you had done, but you'd stuck the turn gloriously and were laughing at him now. He hadn't realized that he could like you more, but you were filled with pleasant little surprises.

"Can you podrace too?" he countered as he let you go and you hopped down, springy, unaffected and brimming with joy. Your hair was scattered a bit, a few curls puffing loose from your scrunchie.

"Never tried, but can't be too difficult," you reply. Not arrogance or mock confidence, just... the comprehension of someone who knew a lot about machines and how they worked. "Now, come take a look. Gotta talk to you about somethings-" you padded away, leaving Paz to dismount and trail after you.

The ship still had a hole in the hull, landing gear squashed, but the supply crates had been moved back inside. For something that had crash landed, Paz was astonished how intact it appeared. The reason for his confusion was soon explained as you brought him inside and he saw that wires had been soldered off and repairs had been made.

"So, I've been heading out here when I can to make sure the thing didn't leak its fuel lines everywhere," you started, gesturing to the neatly arranged containers. "Now, I'm not a starship mechanic, but I have a few old holobooks and the manual that was laying around in here. I read up on them and was able to figure out that the fuel line was cut -- managed to fix that -- and the engines were running at 10% capacity after debris got sucked in. That's how the thing didn't explode on impact, the thrusters were still working enough that it padded your landing.

"Landing gear is shot. I don't have any lifts strong enough to hoist the ship up or the proper caliber of steel to fix the hull. I got the engines to bout 50%, so theoretically that should get you to the spaceport on the other side of the planet. Gonna be crunchy, don't know what's hiding underneath here. So you've got a few options -- try your best to get to the spaceport and the pay for repairs there, you can try to get off planet, though next planet over is Tatooine and you'd pay an arm and a leg for shoddy repairs, or we can try trading with the Jawas. They've got their sandcrawler which might have the capability of picking your ship up, but won't be cheap. Even with my connections they're gonna want something good."

Paz was flabbergasted and at a loss for words as he looked at the work you'd done on top of the farm, on top of taking care of him, and how candid you were about what solutions he had going forward. "How did you have the time to do all this?" he asked.

"Hm?" you were looking over at a few wires that needed to be routed properly. "Uh, lots and lots of caf."

No wonder you had passed out for over 16 hours yesterday. Additionally, you'd read dry holobooks on starships and for what? To help him? At this point he knew that you weren't expecting anything out of it. He'd not been to a lot of backwater planets, but he was beginning to realize that people like you were more common in these quiet remote locations, just happy to be helping. Why that nearly broke him right there, he couldn't say, but he was absolutely moved by your selfless compassion that you didn't even really acknowledge, because it was all so natural to you. A little gem in the canyons, hiding up on your plateau farming water.

"What do I owe you? Repairs like this cost a lot... you've saved me a lot of credits, Tranyc."

You were a little distracted, admittedly, your eyes finding the problems you hadn't remedied yet. "Owe me?" you repeated before finally looking back toward the visor. "You're my guest. Don't worry about it. Consider it a little bit of desert hospitality. There's still some work I need to do, haven't gotten round to it, but I figured you'd want to see your ship."

He didn't owe anything. How didn't he owe anything? Paz was shell shocked as you turned away, removing a set of pliers from your tool belt as you started working on the frayed wires that were getting on your nerves. People always wanted something, no matter how minute or simple it was and yet... You were fiddling along, pleased as a womp rat in sand you continued to chug along as if he weren't even there. And you'd learned how to do this in weeks? Taught yourself how to do it? Your parents had to have been smart and if your father studied at university on Coruscant -- you might've been modest about it, but that meant he'd imparted the same years of study into you while you grew up.

He knew how to make baseline repairs, how to weld, and keep the ship from falling apart. What you were doing -- he had no idea how to do. Truthfully, the gunship needed a lot of work before it was going to be good enough to leave the planet and you were correct -- parts were needed. Sitting on a storage crate, he placed his helmet in his palm and rubbed his aching ribs, trying to think of which path would be the best option. Going to the spaceport meant that he'd leave you behind. He also didn't know how much repairs were going to cost on this planet. Flying to Tatooine was just a bad decision all around, who knew if the ship could handle it. Then trading with Jawas... It would keep him around you for a bit longer and you knew the Jawas. He was bound to have something that they wanted aboard the Kote. He could also use a talented mechanic, but somehow doubted that you'd be willing to part with your farm.

The way you'd talked about your home, you were very proud of it and you loved the landscape. But still... all alone... he didn't like the thought of that. Even if this planet was relatively safe, what if the Jawas found your body in the canyon ravines?

He had been lost to his thoughts as you worked, the ship heating up in the midday sun. You'd flipped down the straps of your coveralls to work and that's when he noticed. A thin sheen of sweat decorated your arms, a few curls sticking to your face as you hunched over the controls for his cryo chamber. But that wasn't what attracted his attention. No, it was the swell of your breasts beneath the fitted shirt you wore, the perky mounds that were well sized for your slender form. The fabric left little to the imagination, mostly because you weren't wearing a bra. Why would you? You lived on your own and bras were awful, constricting things that made you even clammier on hot days. Plus they were stupidly expensive.

The coveralls usually kept them hidden, but with the thick panel of fabric cast down, Paz was staring. He'd been distracted by your lower half yesterday, but not his fixation was on the top. How could you look so good in just a tight fitting shirt that didn't betray any cleavage? He estimated that each would be more than a handful for him, the nipples pressing through the fabric and you didn't notice, completely unaware of the lack of decorum because you were a farmer and those sort of things probably didn't pop into your mind. Which was why he felt a tiny bit ashamed watching you, eying you from the protective mask of his helmet. Would you want him to touch you again? You had told him that you'd been getting off to him, but perhaps that was in the moment when he'd caught you.

Neither of you had broached the subject this morning, but nor were you being incredibly demure or shy. You were just being normal.

"Wanna toss me a canteen from in there?" you asked, pointing to the bag you'd dumped by the hole in the hull.

Paz tore his eyes away, glancing down, retrieving the requested item. Tossing it to you, you caught it and upcapped it, taking a few generous gulps and spilling some on yourself. He gritted his teeth as you wiped your mouth, the soft plush lips having been locked around the rim, the water seeping into your shirt. Your shirt. Dank farrik. Now he was staring again, hopelessly pressing his palms together as he tried to keep it together. Stars, he wanted more of you than just the bit of pleasure he'd brought yesterday, but it wasn't his place to take it. You'd already gone above and beyond in assisting him and so he couldn't just ask you to sleep with him, no matter how much he wanted it. That felt... wrong. Like a dirty, awful thing to request after he'd come to like you -- only utilizing you for your body in the end and not the company he'd grown fond of.

"Did you think about what you're gonna do?" you ask him, drawing his visor back up to you.

"The Jawas--" his voice was kinda hoarse, which made you tilt your head. "Might have something on here that they'd like."

A smile unfurled on your face, because secretly you'd been praying that he'd choose that option. Just stealing more time with the Mandalorian, despite the fact that he was stranded. You didn't want him to leave, but it was going to happen eventually, just like it did with everyone else who came here. Everyone left. Everyone but you and the animals. You were pretty sure you were gonna cry like a baby when the Mandalorian finally departed. "I can send 'em a transmission tonight. Probably will take them the better part of a day to get here, but they'll come."

"Thank you again," Paz insisted, but you brushed it off with a silly and overly dramatic hand wave.

"There's gotta be some kindness in this galaxy. 'Else it'd be a sad, miserable, hopeless place," you counter, springing back to your feet, dusting your gloves off animatedly. "Let's finish up in here and then head back. Got some work I have to do on the farm too."

Sonic showers weren't the best, but they were all that you knew. Aside from when the rain would billet down during the wet seasons, you didn't know what an actual water shower felt like. Either way, you needed to get the sweat and grime off of you by the end of each day, so you trotted out with your pajamas on and into the Mandalorian. You'd already contacted the Jawas and were getting ready to tuck in for the night when he caught you. "Oof, sorry... I-I didn't hurt your ribs did I?" Your eyes flitted to where his injury was immediately.

"I'm fine," he assured you, large hands butterflied against your sides where he'd caught you from doing too much damage by trolloping right into his chest. Big. His hands were big. So large that they covered your ribs entirely when gripping your sides. They lingered, the skin beneath growing hot and beginning to tingle. Then he removed them, as if he were worried about overstaying his welcome.

Your skin sighed where he released and you glanced up chewing your lip. "Um..." uncertain -- you didn't know where this was going, but why the hell not. What did you have to lose? He was stuck here until his ship was going to be fixed. "Yesterday--"

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have done that," Paz interrupted, launching your heart up into your throat.

"Wha-no, I liked it," you assured him, feeling courageous enough to take his hands in yours. Maker, you looked like a child, holding those large calloused palms in yours. "I... wouldn't mind more. I-i-if that's what you want, of course," you sputtered, cheeks sweltering and ears about to rocket off from the intense embarrassment you felt in suggesting such a thing. It'd been easier before. You could see the faces of your guests, gauge what they were thinking, see the lust in their eyes that you could give right back. They'd never stayed this long, never gotten to know you this well, and... you didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you felt a little horny with him around. But Maker, how was that not possible? He was an absolute unit, pure muscle, easy conversation, and had a voice that shattered your resolve like an earthquake.

"Would I want more?" he repeated slowly and your stomach sunk into the abyss, blood draining from your face. The leap of faith had been in vain and instead of swan diving into water, you'd hit stone. And then suddenly his hands were on your chest, driving the air from your in uncontrolled gasps as he squeezed. "Maker--" he cursed, vocoder breaking up as you almost melted on the spot. "So... you're so mesh'la. Had my eyes on you all day while you were working. You're such... a distraction."

He wasn't rough, despite holding onto your breasts, moving carefully over the fabric as he caressed you. In the past, your chest had been a fixation of other lovers because you were well endowed and you were accustomed to rough squeezing to the point where it was painful. It was almost as if most men just wanted to push them until they popped or just liked the pillowy sensation of squeezing and didn't care much for how it felt for you. They were bloody sensitive and you didn't appreciate them being manhandled -- except for right now, right now was good. Better than good in fact.

"Distraction? I'm the one doing all the work," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he palmed you and rubbed circles over your breasts, the nipples stiffening beneath the fabric and dimpling it. "While you just... just sit there."

"I'm still hurt," he didn't sound very convincing, maybe that wasn't the point.

"Too hurt to be doing anything too... arduous," you pointed out, humming as he gave another gentle squeeze. "Last night did you-- I sort of just--" passed out. Say it. You passed out and left him there with an erection. That couldn't have been too pleasant. To top it off with a cherry, he'd put you to bed with clothes on.

"I took care of things, mesh'la. You left me with some... good visuals," his thumb was circling your nipple, still separated by your shirt, the careful flicking making you shudder. Your entire body was reacting, legs weak and the same radiating heat vibrating between your thighs.

"Bu-ut it couldn't have been that great. N-not like..." you fell off, head lolling slightly as his hands flipped the hem of your shirt and began cruising the plane of your tummy, scratching its way to your breast. A hot palm met skin, a low moan echoing as he grasped you firmly, but not too hard.

"Stars, you're so soft," he murmured, pushing the shirt up -- higher and higher until your breasts were revealed to the air. "Maker, look at you."

The praise made your thighs clench together. They didn't usually talk. Not as much as Paz was, which was somewhat ironic considering he had a helmet on and was a mysterious Mandalorian and yet he filled your ears up as he roamed you. No, it was all typically rushed, frenzied, and to sate both parties. Honestly, the sate part was just the rutting, having to take your own hands to your clit while your past lovers plowed into you. There was no copious foreplay aside from a little making out and breast squeezing and while they'd called you pretty, it never really felt the same as the way as Paz's voice. The way in which he was breathy, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and that you'd been put on the planet delicately by the Maker himself. It made your heart rush, galloping forward, and it made you want him more.

"Le-let me," you found your hands, having been savoring his exploring before brushing the hem of his trousers. You had felt him, sort of, yesterday but you didn't actually know what was beneath the belt. From how tall and broad he was, you had an assumption of what was there. "Y-you're still hurt, s-so..." pitifully tinny, your voice was sliding away as you offered to give him something in exchange for what he'd done for you.

"Mesh'la... I-you have already done so much-" he protested.

"But yesterday--" you were whining now, hand coasting down more until you cupped his groin, feeling his length twitch. He was already hard. You weren't even undressed and he was already rock solid. "It'll feel better this way."

"Is... is that what you want?"

You nod, waiting for permission.

He couldn't say no. Not while your palm was between his legs and you were staring up at him with big, round, imploring eyes. In fact, he didn't think he could possibly deny you anything, removing his hands, the shirt falling back down over your spectacular chest. "I-Yes," he confirmed, drawing a shaking breath which made his ribs ache.

You undid the belt buckle, hands scrambling slightly from nerves before undoing the buttons. Coming down on your knees didn't really work, there was still too much of a height difference, forcing you to half-crouch as your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his boxes and untucked his manhood. Now it was your turn to be wordless. You had expected it, but expecting and witnessing were two very different things. He was massive, just the sight of him making your core twitch painfully, imagining trying to accommodate him, doubting that he'd even be able to fully sheath himself in you without pushing into your tummy. If he could even get in.

Ok, so when you had offered to do this you thought he would fit in your mouth. Doubt welled in your stomach and he must have noticed as you stared down his cock, brushing a hand over your loose hair. "You don't have to-" he soothed. But the challenge spurned you on, undaunted and a little over zealous to be honest.

"You'll tell me... what you like?" you had just flattened your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, licking like a kitten, lathing him before you'd attempt to take more.

His thighs shook and he gave a terse nod.

You weren't extremely experienced in this field. Just enough that you knew now not to bite someone. But this wasn't just 'someone'. You liked Paz a lot and wanted it to feel good for him. To chase away the pain in his chest and to show how much you appreciated what he'd done for you. Guys liked blowjobs, didn't they? That's why they were requested so much, you just assumed that he'd like it all the same, and honestly you wanted to become more intimate with his cock after feeling it pressed beneath your leg.

You ran your tongue along his shaft, trailing back around before leaving saliva. Your hand smoothed the wetness over him, pumping a few times over his length to help lubricate him. Then you made your first attempt, tongue over your lips as you pushed his girth into the damp chasm of your mouth. He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, which gave you the courage to take him deeper. The head of his cock met the resistance of the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering and jaw aching. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax your throat-" he managed gently through tight breaths.

Easier said than done, forgetting to breathe, your throat clenching, you were forced to pull away for a moment.

Spittle trailed down your plush lips, cheeks flushed wildly as you considered your next approach. You were a sight for sore eyes, Paz's own glued to you as you gasped for air. You'd bitten off more than you could chew, but he admired your undaunted commitment as you sank back onto him and closed your eyes, clutching onto his leg for balance. This time, you were able to take his guidance better, breathing through your nose before easing your throat. Your mouth was small, tight, and damp. With the accommodation of the back of your throat, Paz's hips bucked and a strangled moan crackled through the modulator.

"G-good. Fuck -- so good, mesh'la," he praised, beginning to move in tandem with you, fucking deeply into your throat. Your face was hot and wet, tears leaking out from your eyes at the sensation of your throat being stretched. The noises were wet and sloppy, punctuated by sharp hums as you tried to do well, to do what he wanted, to keep going -- but Maker, it hurt. Your attention was fixated completely on pleasing him, forgetting entirely about your own climbing heat, just trying not to clench your throat or forget to breathe through your nose. Then you dared it, reaching up and grabbing his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as he pushed into you. "Ahh- oh, fuck-- I'm going to cum. Do you want me to--"

You managed the smallest nod, squeezing him tighter as his thrusts rocked you, shattering almost all your resolve as you gagged. Ropes of cum splattered in the back of your throat, your lips suctioning to him as he stuttered to a halt, palm on the back of your head. His skin was like velvet on your tongue, slightly salty, but smooth and soft. Lavishing the last drops from his cock like precious water from the desert. In fact, it was more precious than water, more rare.

"Mesh'la... ohh," he keened softly, his hand spreading over your hair, petting you, brushing the curls from your face - which was wet with spilled tears, saliva, and a little cum. Releasing him from your sweet mouth, he brushed the white droplets from the corner of your lips, which you sucked off after it being offered. "W-what did I do?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You tried to talk, but your voice crackled in the back of your throat, so hoarse and quiet that you simply shut your mouth and blinked. Oh fuck. Had he broken your vocal chords? Panic began to seize you and you clutched his leg and offered a very broken, "UhhhmmMm."

He bent down, cupping your face, holding it between his palms as he took a good look at you. "I was a little too rough, wasn't I?"

"S'okay," fuck that hurt. Hurt to talk. Least you still had a voice.

"What do you want? Do you want me to--" His helmet was so close, almost brushing your nose as he looked at you. For a brief moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his eyes. What color were they? Brown? Green? Hazel? Maybe blue?

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. That had literally taken everything out of you and you just wanted a cold glass of water and to curl up in bed. "Water. Sleep?..." you had to swallow again, struggling to get the words out. "W-with you?"

"Just... that?"

Oh no, had you chosen wrong? Did he really want to play with you? Honestly, you were good. Just making him finish had been enough for you. Your legs and throat ached, it had been a long day. You offered a dejected nod. No one ever really cuddled with you and you assumed that he'd be warm, comfortable, and feel like a blanket of protection. You wanted to feel that, even if only just once. Having sex wasn't as important as this to you. Sure, sex with him would probably be amazing, but you didn't want to overexert him because you were being greedy. Despite getting it infrequently, you'd never gotten a good cuddle. Not since you were a little girl and curled up in your parents' arms.

"Ok, ok, mesh'la," he agreed, smoothing your hair again before pushing his helmet to your brow. The gesture lit your cheeks up and felt... strangely intimate. Cool beskar kissing your sweating skin, chasing away the sweltering blush and just a thin layer between you and the Mandalorian. It felt like a kiss, but it wasn't. So gentle and tender that you let it linger and closed your eyes. "C'mon, it's been a long day," he muttered, gripping you beneath your elbow and guiding you to your feet. Your bed was just a few paces away and you were already dressed for it.

Who would have thought that a Mandalorian could be this... kind? From all the stories you'd heard, you had half-expected him to be a broody tin can that barely offered you the time of day. But there was a man underneath, a man who had desires, who had feelings, and who could be delicate. He wasn't all blasterfire, beskar, and war -- he was still a man.

He put you into bed, leaving the room for a moment to get a glass of water. You smiled at his return, accepting the offered water, and gulping it down. Your throat ailed and your jaw was already beginning to groan in protest. But the water helped. Putting it down on the nightstand, the Mandalorian removed his boots and climbed into bed with you, just trousers and an undershirt. Offering an open arm, his impressive bicep being revealed from beneath the short sleeve of his shirt.

You snuggled forward, heart pounding solidly in your ears as you tucked into his side. Maker, you loved this, the way his arm coiled around you, planting against the small of your back before tugging you in tightly. It wasn't as if you didn't feel safe in your home, you always did, but this was different. You trembled slightly because you'd yearned for this proximity, not just a rush of passion, but what came after and the security of him. From the strength of his muscles, to heat of his skin to yours, and the smell of him so close. This is what had been missing. The last piece to the puzzle that was home, the rut in your belly and soul curling pleasantly as you melted into him. Please never end. But you knew morning would come and one day he'd have to leave like everyone else. And you knew that day would be soul shattering. Because once again, you'd be alone.

#paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla smut #smut with plot #smut with feelings #star-burned

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 3 years

Text

Slumber Party Massacree

Not a typo!

Yuu has a sleepover, and things go to shit. Second person, as always. Let me know if you liked it! And You can find more on my blog under the “twisted wonderland fanfiction” tag.

~*~*~*~

"Thank you for inviting me, Yuu."

"Thank you for coming, Mal. You too, Idia."

The tablet made a cheery ping as it hovered in the air.

Mal tilted his head as he inspected the strange object. "Why is it that you couldn't show up in person, and instead used this," he poked at the screen, "device?"

You said "Ortho maintenance night, can't be skipped" Idia said "Sleepovers mean touching hair and I don't know you that well," and Ortho, from some distance, said "I don't want her putting her hands on my brother," and you sputtered.

"I... see." Malleus sounded as serious as the grave. "At least you are present in some capacity. I do appreciate it."

You'd invited them both for a sleepover at your dorm, but only Mal was here in person. Ortho still hadn't forgiven you for laying hands on Idia, even if you both explained to him that you'd made up (vigorously), and he refused to allow Idia to come. You really needed to make up with him, or you wouldn't have even the beginning of a love life.

"How are we to begin? I understand there are... rituals involved with sleepovers."

"I mean, sort of. Like, pillow fights. Scary movies. Popcorn. Braiding each others hair."

"Lesbianism!"

You stared at Grim in horror. "We're missing a very important aspect for that, and also, no. Who taught you that."

"Your movies?"

“Shut.”

Malleus raised a hand, and thankfully did not ask what lesbianism was. "I would like to start with the scary movie."

You clapped your hands. "Perfect! I have a few."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu."

"Yes?"

"Deadites are not a real occurrence in your world, are they?"

"No, dear. They are entirely fictional." You swatted at the tablet as it issued a hissing laugh. "Don't make fun, you asked me if the Texas Chainsaw Massacre was real."

"That said it was a true story!"

It was going excellently, if you did say so yourself. Grim had his own little bowl of popcorn, watching the screen with rapt attention. Idia had synced his own file of the movie to play, although you were fairly certain he was paying more attention to some Fortnite equivalent or other. Mal had you splayed over him as you both lounged on the couch, watching the screen with curiosity as he stroked your hair. "If we are supposed to braid this, there is really not enough to properly do so. Shall I grow it for you?"

"What? no."

"A pity. You would look fine with hair to your ankles."

You lightly thumped his chest. "I would not. You've never seen me with my long hair. It was all split ends and hung like lead. At least like this, there's volume."

"I would keep it very healthy for you, if you ever decide to let it grow." He leaned his cheek on the top of your head, and switched from fussing with your hair to your earlobes. "These are very nice."

"You like them?" You'd gotten a set of tiny pearl studs from a "secret admirer" that you were fairly certain had sharp teeth and a streak in his hair. "They're pretty cute. I got more, too."

Mal hummed as he looked at them. "They suit you well. I don't see you with much else but earrings."

"They stay out of the way. Do you want to try any of mine on, later?"

"I am afraid I cannot, as I lack holes in my ears for them."

You sat bolt upright with a great idea.

~*~*~*~

"And this is safe?"

"Safer than Claire's." You'd already wiped his ear with peroxide, and done the same to a sewing needle. "I've done this dozens of times, and the only girl who got an infection went to the beach the next day and got it there."

"Was that Claire, then?"

"No, that's a store. Kitschy, little girl shit. They use a piercing gun and are legendary for giving people dreadful infections because they don't clean the gun properly. Their jewelry's cheap as shit at turns your skin green. Fantastic place, you'd love it."

"I'm still surprised that you simply did not grow the holes naturally."

"We don't work like that. We've been shoving things in out soft bits for forever."

Idia, through his tablet, wheezed, but otherwise didn't comment.

"And just think, my dude, you get one of the most authentic sleepover experiences ever. And you get to be sparkly!"

"I could sparkle plenty if I so chose." He turned towards you slightly, doubt on his face. "Only a small amount of blood?"

"Just a little bit. Beauty is pain, as Schoenheit would say. Deep breath now."

He obeyed, and as quick as you could, you drew the needle through his earlobe. He didn't bleed much - his blood had a curious oilslick sheen to it, and after sanitizing again, you placed a plain gold stud in. "One down! You want to see?"

He nodded heavily, and you held up a small hand mirror. The gold stud shone pleasantly in his ear, and his face shone with a sweet, childish wonder as he turned to you. "I like it very much."

And then he keeled over on top of you.

~*~*~*~

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO LORD MALLEUS?"

"I- DON'T- KNOW-" Sebek was shaking you furiously as Lilia peered over his charge and Silver tried to coax him into not giving you whiplash. "IT- JUST- HAPPENED-"

"Please do not arrest her I don't know how to break people out of prison-"

"He'll be fine."

Sebek dropped you to the floor and walked away. "Thank the seven! We must take him away from this assassin right away!"

"What was it?" You still felt like you were moving, though whether it was Sebek-caused dizziness or stress over hurting your friend was unclear.

Lilia held up the needle. "You used this, right?"

You nodded.

"What's it made of?"

"Steel?"

"What's steel?"

You thought for a moment, before you put your head in your hands and howled.

"YOU TRIED TO GIVE THE PRINCE IRON POISONING?" If he kept shaking you like this you’re going to wind up with a concussion.

"It was an accident please stop-"

"Ziegvolt, please. He'll be up in a few minutes, we can go and leave them all be."

"I refuse to leave him alone with her!"

"I said he'll be fine." Lilia came and clapped him in the shoulder. "We can go. Take Silver with you, he's already out."

He was, indeed, already out and asleep on one of the couches, peaceful as could be.

Sebek only left, cradling Silver to him, at the insistence of Lilia. Lilia, before he left, got on tiptoe and placed a kiss on your forehead, which you accepted with grace and more than a few sniffles.

"Honest accident, don't cry. Make sure he gets some water when he wakes up. Next time you try that, use gold needles, they clean easier and won’t make anyone sick, fae or not. I'll calm the kids down so it'll be all good. Play safe now." He tucked an old paisley handkerchief in your hand for your running nose and flew out the door, leaving you with an unconscious friend, another friend not present but in the midst of a panic attack, and a deeply annoyed not-cat. First things first.

Mal was fine, breathing regularly, on the floor with a few pillows to support his head. He looked a bit grey, but alright, otherwise. At least this wasn't a sleeping curse, while you loves Mal dearly you weren’t sure if friendship was the right kind of love to break- Lilia did the other ear for you, what the fuck.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #malleus draconia

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Electronic Tonic

[SPARKS MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Robot!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, Implied Smut

Summary: You had a robot since you were in your late teens, upgrading his systems ever since you had a job. Now you run your own bar, while you make the drinks he serves. However, it seems some patrons can’t resist his charm and handsome features. After an incident that sends a shock down his systems, he seems to feel and think a little differently.

Announcement: I just hit 800+ followers!!! Thanks so much. This is a little something I wrote on my phone today and thought I would post.

Jimin was a robot. But not a very good one. At least that’s what he was told by the customers. He was a waiter at a bar. He would carry drinks across the floor and smile politely when he was called derogatory terms and they tried to touch him.

“Hey pretty boy, how much for a little extra service?” One guy shouted

“Good evening sir, I have many skills and programs used within this job. My job requirements include delivering drinks, chatting with customers, upselling, cleaning spills, and maintaining peace inside the bar” Jimin smiled wiping their table and taking empty cups before leaving.

“Robots like you are useless” he scoffed his friends chortling behind him.

“Hey, Chimmy baby” He looked over,all his programs seemed to slow down his taut belts and wires loosening some of the tension. His facial recognition matched you as his boss and owner who was in the friend's category. Your emotions were happy if your smile was anything to go by and he couldn’t help smiling back.

He didn’t like when others called him pet names, it made his programs go haywire in confusion, were they being nice or were they being manipulative. But when you called him terms of endearment it made his circuits tingle in a way he liked. He would love to feel that every day if he could.

“Order for table twenty one, we got a vodka sunrise, a fruit tingle and a margarita. It seems like a girls night if they try to keep you, call for me” You smiled as he loaded up his tray.

“Of course, Miss y/n”

“Chim, I told you not to call me that?”

“Would you prefer boss?”

“Just y/n (or nickname)” your laugh made him feel like, he was good like he wasn’t completely useless. He left to deliver the drinks and you watched him go. His moves more elegant than a human’s, it was so smooth and graceful, each carefully calculated and controlled. He was a strange robot, he was about 5’10 (as to not appear intimidating to customers) he had a lean muscular form.

He was a walking juxtaposition between a soft angelic boy and a demon boy. He had a beautiful androgynous face, his eyes were sultry and lips so plump, his jawline was sharp. When you looked at him, some angles had you breathless.

You knew he had trouble with customers. He was very charming as you had programmed him to be. He was also sassy, shy and yet confident, helpful and enticing, you had rules and your regulars understood not to mess with your employee. But newcomers often found out the hard way that he was not here for their pleasure.

Your bracelet buzzed. A device you created for him to call you when he was in trouble. You went to collect him from the she-wolves, arriving you saw something that stopped your heart. The female threw a drink in Jimin’s face, he glitched and shorted out. Gasping you grabbed him, taking out your phone to call the police. “I have your name and credit card details, you are going to pay for the damage you inflicted on my employee.”

“It’s just a robot, how much is he worth? three thousand, I will give you a hundred bucks that will cover any shitty wires I fried” she scoffed watching you carry the robot back to the bar. You grabbed your books and opened it to show her, his maintenance and insurance cover.

“This robot was hand-built by me, his net worth is eight million, parts of him are waterproof, and you had to get the part of him that isn’t, wet. If you have broken my eight million dollar employee you will be paying back every penny?”

“He touched me” she accused you could see she was grasping at straws, you pulled up his live recorded footage on your phone which would have saved before he was short-circuited and began playing it for her. You heard her propositioning him for sex multiple times and she went pale.

“That’s classified as sexual assault you are lucky he isn’t a human”

Jimin switched himself back on. He felt funny, he tried to send commands to move, and yet the system wasn’t responding. He wished he could open his eyes. When they did he was confused, the probability of him being able to move whilst his systems were down should have been damn near impossible.

“Miss y/n, it seems my waterproofing has been compromised, I will need some assistance” The patrons in the bar started leaving understanding that their night was over, due to this incident. Some of the regulars lead the newcomers out explaining that the woman had damaged staff and the bar would be shut down until it was resolved. It could take days or weeks.

“What you can’t do that we just got here?” The young men from earlier heckled, you turned to them eyes blaze ready to murder anyone who opposed you, they blanched “we are paying customers”

“Look just get the fuck out of the bar” Jimin growled you turned back shocked, he had just swore. Of course he knew the words but he was too shy and nice to ever use them.

Jimin felt unrestricted like he could do anything and the problem was he didn’t know what to do without his programs. He didn’t like seeing you upset angry or worried and though his facial readers were offline he somehow could tell how you felt. He didn’t have his programs to tell him how to resolve the situation but he wanted to hold you. The police arrived helping to clear everyone out and the woman gave her statement you gave them the live video footage.

Once they had left, you sat Jimin on the bar and unbuttoned his shirt, he seemed to breathe a little differently. He didn’t need to breathe but you added it as a feature to make him appear more human and life-like.

He was feeling all sorts of weird today, as you touched his body trying to open his chest panel. He didn’t understand but he wanted you to keep touching him, and he wanted to touch you as well. Whatever this was he knew his systems were deficient in it and at this moment it seemed detrimental for his maintenance to feel your hands on his silicone skin. He had touch sensors and they must have been damaged because every touch felt like he was growing a hundred degrees. Perhaps his cooling system had broken.

There was a reason he was eight million dollars you had been upgrading him since you got out of school. Spending days and money and energy making a best friend, a companion, an employee, someone you could always lean on when you needed it.

You tried to fix the damage, carrying him upstairs. His skeletal system was hollow titanium strong but light weight. Plugging him into your computer to perform some checks and maintenance it would tell you which systems were working and which needed to be replaced.

Plugging him in as he laid on the workbench watching you, you hit the power down button. Jimin’s eyes closed and you heard everything power down and back up. The errors were fixed with your maintenance programs and you had a few parts to tinker with before he was back to normal.

A few panels and receptors later you were almost done, you went to retro his face when you paused. You had ordered a new face piece the same exact look, if not more realistic. You didn’t want Jimin to appear different. He was your soulmate best friend and companion. The new silicone face ensured he would be entirely water proof. And safe from customers and when you plugged in the facial cords to the face panel you knew he would move so much more life like.

His eyes opened and he felt like he was working again but he felt different like he was limited, the access he had was gone and his weird thoughts and feelings were no more. He was just Jimin your robot, he frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“I am expressing the emotion sadness and it is unclear why. The source is undetected, why do I feel sad miss y/n? It’s hidden deep within me and makes me want to stay dominant and run binary alone, so many zero’s”

“Chimmy look at me, it’s okay to feel sad it’s human to feel things”

“But I am a robot?”

“Yes but I gave you emotions just like a human would feel in response to external stimuli, it was a bad night and you got hurt so you feel bad that is understandable”

“I am sad because I am not human” Jimin’s palm rested against your heart sensing the tiny flicks of life behind your rib cage. The structure of your bodies was almost identical, but he didn’t have this. He didn’t have a heart. “Why didn’t you make me a heart?”

“I did Jimin, you have the biggest heart. There is a reason why you are so expensive, right here, it doesn’t beat but it works the same. Thirty trillion transistors in a quadruple-chip processor they switch on and off rapidly sending signals around your body. And here is your brain I hand-coded programs that can run self-sufficient and you have a learning system so anything you don’t know you can learn and store yourself”

“Here is your stomach, we give you oil in here every morning remember, you love that, and beside that is your battery you sleep every night beside me chim”

“I want to feel love?” He whispered this small confession shocked you, “can you let me feel it program me to feel love, I watch people at the bar and they kiss and touch and I don’t feel it”

“Jimin, it’s not something I can program, love is the hardest emotion of them all and it’s shown through expression,” you said softly taking his hand his transistor switching faster behind his silicon chest piece.

“My facial recognition and emotional receptors have never seen you in love, can you not feel it either? Why do those people from the dramas you watch get to fall in love? It's all a lie.”

You had never seen Jimin act like this, it was as if he was a pubescent teen, throwing tantrums. Because life wasn’t fair. He grabbed your face in his cool smooth hands and pulled you forward crashing his lips to yours. You felt intoxicated. He tasted like the cinnamon alginate that he used to brush his ceramic teeth with every morning.

These silicone lips were soft and smooth feeling like silk brushing against yours. They were plush and mouldable and you lost yourself in the moment thinking he was real that this was something more than a robot. He was a robot. Feeling like you were a villain stealing this poor boy's virtue, you pulled away.

His hardware let out a long continuous beep, “I feel funny, I like it” he buzzed against you. He licked his lips, touching them, remembering the feeling of yours pressed there, it wasn’t the same. He wanted to kiss you again.

His hands ran down your neck to your waist scooping you up into his arms once more pulling you onto the work bench. Leaning in kissing you again. “Ji-” you tried to push him away but he was caught up kissing your lips and touching your warm skin. “Jimin stop we can’t?”

“Why?” He paused looking up at you confused “does it not feel nice to you?”

“It feels amazing chim it’s just” you could barely get words out around moans as he kissed your neck.

“These are the moans you told me about correct, you are feeling good right?”

One night you had taken the time to relieve your work stress, you thought Jimin had been charging. You later found out he charged rather quickly and would just lay there till morning every night.

You were busy bringing yourself to a beautiful ecstasy when you moaned particularly loudly. Jimin ‘woke’ alerted by your sound of assumed distress, you awkwardly explained to him the situation.

“I wasn’t in pain, its something people do?” “Why?” “Because it makes them feel good and when your stressed it helps” you tried to explain cheeks red and unable to look at him. “How?” “It’s hard to explain but it just releases tension and hormones that make you happy” saying it out loud it didn’t seem like you should be embarrassed about it.

“Can I see, or help?” “Uh no people don’t usually show other people unless they are lovers it’s usually something private” he nodded dropping the subject but a million questions raised in his head. He spent the evening researching online all his questions diving deeper and deeper into this strange phenomenon and the two of you never spoke of it again.

“It feels so good Jimin but we shouldn’t?”

“But I love you, we could be lovers” he smiled “online it says that some robots are sexual companions I could be that with you? I could be useful”

“Jimin I am not your master I am your friend, I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do”

“But I want you and I want you to want me too”

“You don’t know that Chim, I programmed you to be helpful and loving and you think this is what you want but it’s just the programs”

“You said it yourself, I have a learning algorithm. This isn’t the programs not anymore” He blinked up at you placing his hand over your heart. “Tell me you don’t want this, I have a built-in lie detector, tell me you don’t want me”

“I can’t” when he determined you were speaking the truth he leaned forward placing a delicate kiss to your lips and asking for your permission.

Unable to hold back any more you said yes and he grabbed his shirt and then yours laying waste to your clothes.

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vendeavendea · 4 years

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From Cuts to Scars

It’s fanfiction time!

I'm finally able to share something here that's not personal stuff or venting, so please enjoy a little bit of traumatised fictional characters instead of traumatised me :D I love both of them to death, and I'm so so sorry about torturing them! (Actually, I'm totally not sorry.)

It also exists on AO3 if anyone prefers to read it there.

Summary: Hordak and Entrapta realise that healing is not always easy. Set weeks/months after the season 5 finale, I'll leave it for you to decide when exactly. CW for mentions of blood, physical injury and mental trauma, but I tried to keep it light, so nothing very nasty.

From Cuts to Scars

"Ouch!" Entrapta exclaimed, suddenly dropping the pipe cutter she was working with. The metal clanked on the floor, its sharp sound echoing between the walls.

"What happened?" Hordak left everything at his own working area and quickly moved over to Entrapta's. She was standing by her desk, several piles of metal parts around her neatly organised into different categories by size and purpose, her left index finger in her mouth, frowning a little bit in pain. With a lock of her hair shaped into a hand, she pointed down at the cutter. He picked it up and looked at Entrapta, then, when he figured out what had happened, he clenched his fist around the handle.

"Unwary fool," he scolded, waving the tool in front of her face for a few seconds before he moved a bit closer to her to toss it back at the desk. His eyes ran over her bare hands, and he huffed quietly. "You're supposed to wear protective garment, where is it?"

"Well, I have my gloves here, but I had to take them off." She pulled her finger out of her mouth to reply, and cradled it in her other hand. "I'm working on the most delicate part right now, and I need to give a very meticulous attention to measurements or else it won't last. The gloves make it more difficult to..."

"You're impossible," he snarled. For some reason, it scared him to think about how the moment she removed her protective clothing, the instant she became vulnerable, she damaged herself with the first object she'd come in contact with. "Don't ever attempt to do this again. Now let me see it."

She reached out her arm, and he took her hand with a gentle gesture and pulled it up towards himself. Entrapta used her hair to push her body away from the floor and lift herself closer to his eye level so that he could see her finger better. Luckily, the cut didn't seem to be serious at all, but it was deep enough to cause a significant amount of pain. A thin line of blood was running down on her finger, gathering in the small dent where their skins touched. Hordak smudged it away very carefully, making sure that he didn't press her wound too hard or hurt her skin even more with his sharp claws, but just a second later, a new drop appeared and started to grow slowly until it was large enough to stream down again.

"You're bleeding," he remarked.

"Yes, but don't worry, it's such a minimal amount I'm quite confident it won't cause a hemorrhagic shock," Entrapta assured, grinning.

"I know that! Don't be a fool," Hordak snapped. "We need to treat this before it bespatters everything. Here, hold this." He grabbed a clean cloth from the tiny shelf under the desk and gently pressed it against her finger. "I'll get some bandage. And it's time to suspend this for now. No more tinkering until tomorrow," he added, pointing at her working desk.

"Aw, but I'm almost done," she protested. "I must finish this tonight, it's very important. I just need to make a few more cuts and welds before it's ready for the first test."

"You definitely don't need to make any more cuts," he grumbled, then he turned around to walk back to his workstation. He knew there was supposed to be a box of bandages somewhere, but it took him longer than expected to find it.

Meanwhile, Entrapta walked to the opposite corner of the room, to the huge cot covered by all those different sizes of colourful cushions that Glimmer had sent them as a present. They'd built this part of the lab for relaxing, but they barely ever used it. During the day, neither of them liked having breaks, they were constantly up and about building things, taking things apart, discussing plans, sharing data with each other; and at night they both had their own place to sleep. The only occasions the cot had come in handy had been those few times when Entrapta had done some maintenance work on Hordak's armor that had required him to take it off, and he'd needed a soft surface to keep his sensitive body comfortable while it had been uncovered. She dropped down and sprawled on the cot, face down, hugging as many cushions as she could with one arm, including the largest of them, a very fluffy pastel purple and sky blue one that Hordak had once described as a gaudy and tawdry piece of botchery. She'd never realised how nice and cozy this cot was, and it felt wonderful to just lie there with her eyes closed, breathing in the pleasant blend of perfumes from the cushions that reminded her of Bright Moon and the smell of petroleum that was probably coming from her own hair. She didn't even mind the stinging pain throbbing in her finger, but Hordak was probably right, she didn't want to get all her equipment dirty with blood, so it was better to just wait for him to dress that cut before she got back to working on her machine.

She didn't move an inch until she felt the cushions stirring, then the weight of Hordak's body elevating the mattress under her for a moment, and his right leg pressing against her left thigh as he settled himself next to her. She stretched her limbs and sat up when she heard him opening the first-aid box. Neither of them said a word while he was working, the only noise breaking the silence was a weak squeak coming from her throat the moment he first touched the cut with a cloth soaked in saline. Her arm twitched as she felt the wound absorbing the salty water and sharp pain flared up in her finger, but he was holding her wrist firm and strong so that she couldn't instinctively pull back. Usually it was her fixing up his body, not the other way around, and she knew too well that the mild discomfort she was feeling right now was nothing compared to the severe pain she'd caused him every time she'd been repairing his armor, even though he'd always done his best not to show any sign of it. She put a warm, admiring smile on her face as she watched him wrap bandage around her finger.

"Great, thanks," she grinned after he secured the ends with a small knot. "Now, back to work!" she added, ready to jump up and run back to her workstation, but he didn't get up, nor did he let go of her hand.

"Did you not hear what I've said?" he asked. "No more tinkering. You're going straight to bed."

"I will," she promised. "But I really, really need to finish this prototype first."

"No." With a very careful and soft motion, he stroked the edge of her bandage with the tip of his thumb. "It's almost midnight. You've been working for days with barely any break. You're exhausted, and it's affecting your performance. You need to take better care of yourself."

"But that's exactly what I've been doing," she chirped, her eyes shining in excitement. "I've been studying the alternating of different types of brain waves during several common daily activities, and I came to a fascinating conclusion that the rythm of the waves influences the relaxation level of the brain, more precisely, the slower the rhythm gets, the more relaxed the brain becomes. So, if I was able to reproduce this phenomenon by artificially generating slower brain waves such as delta waves, there's a significant chance it would lead to an increased quality of sleeping and help me overcome my insomnia and my nightmares, which is... self-care, right?"

"Entrapta, you..." Normally, listening to her sharing her ideas with him would be a pleasant experience, he was always mesmerised by the passion in her eyes and her voice when she was talking about things she was working on, things she deeply cared about. But this was different. There was something painful about the excitement on her face, something that resembled... despair, maybe. "You never told me you're having nightmares," he said, his ears pointing slightly downwards.

"It's not that important," she smiled weakly, still trying to keep her tone light, but looking up to his face, she started to suspect that it probably didn't suit the nature of the conversation anymore. She quickly turned away her head, her eyes on the gaudy cushion, the edge of the cot, the tip of her shoes – anything would do if it helped her escape his penetrating glance. She'd never been good at holding direct eye contact for too long. "They're usually about Horde Prime. But he's gone. He can't hurt us anymore. We're safe. So it doesn't matter."

He didn't know what to say. She was right, and yet she was so wrong. If those nightmares were bad enough to prevent her from having a peaceful sleep, to force her to stay awake and work so hard, so desperately, seeking for a remedy, then it did matter. A spark of an unknown emotion flared inside of him, something he'd never felt before, yet it was strangely familiar, and it took him a while to identify it as... anger? Or not exactly? He wasn't sure. Anger was something he was supposed to know very well, but this version of it seemed different from everything he'd ever experienced before. For some reason, it included a strong urge to gently pull Entrapta against his body, to hold her protectively, and he didn't quite comprehend the reason behind this, so he simply resisted the instinct, hoping it would fade away if he didn't act on it. But it stayed, and it made him uncomfortable and confused.

"Why have we never discussed it?" he asked.

"I've just explained why," she replied with a hint of uncertainty. "Did you not listen? With Horde Prime gone, it's not important anym—"

"Stop saying that!" he interjected with a loud grunt, making her twitch for a moment as he raised his voice. Realising that he might have scared her, he pulled back with an apologizing look on his face, but he didn't loosen his grip around her fingers. He took slow and deep breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, attempting to calm his mind. He'd been working hard to overcome his temper issues for a while, and he didn't understand where the sudden wave of rage was coming from. It may have been the thought that he was the one who'd failed to protect her from whatever she'd witnessed while being held hostage by Horde Prime, from whatever horrible things that had etched themselves into her mind so strongly that they'd been causing her nightmares ever since. She didn't deserve this. And he didn't deserve her forgiveness. He quickly shook his head, he didn't want to give in to these excruciating thoughts, not this time.

"Well... What is it exactly that you want to discuss?" Entrapta asked patiently.

He remembered the moment when she, after Horde Prime had finally left his body forever, had rushed into his arms laughing and crying in joy, squealing that they'd had so much to talk about. And since that day, they had indeed talked about many things. About space and magic, about scientific research, about plans, blueprints, robots, First Ones' tech, ideas, experiments, new discoveries. About staying together as lab partners for the foreseeable future. About helping to rebuild all the kingdoms the Horde had destroyed. But still... "Everything that happened... What he's done to us... We never talked about it," he whispered, bringing his right hand under her chin to gently lift up her head, searching for her magenta orbs. "You never told me how much he's hurt you."

She looked away again, this time turning her whole body away from him, pushing his hand back from her face, peeling his fingers off her hand with a firm but gentle movement. Had she been wearing her welding mask, she would have used it to cover her face, but it was resting at her workstation, too far out of reach, so she just pressed her legs together, slightly bending her back and leaning forward to hide herself behind the curtain of her hair.

"He's hurt you, too, way more than he's hurt me," she drawled slowly, thinking through every single word before saying them out loud. "It made me very uncomfortable to think about him, and I thought you'd felt the same. I thought if I never brought it up, we'd both be able to move on. I wanted to talk about pleasant things with you. I wanted to think about the future. I wanted to see you happy." That last word made his ears flinch for a moment, but before he could say or do anything, she continued. "I'm sorry I've assumed things instead of asking. I know this is something I need to be more careful with."

"No, I..." He hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to invade her personal space just after she'd pulled away, so he resisted the urge to lean closer and sweep her hair out of the way to reveal her face. "I deeply relate to what you've just described."

"Really?" She twitched her shoulders a little bit. People usually didn't understand her at all, and Hordak's words made her feel... seen. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though she knew her face was still hidden behind her hair so he wouldn't notice.

He nodded. "Yes. And I owe you an apology, because I, too, have kept things from you for the same reason."

The tip of her ponytails twitched in realisation, and she finally looked up to face him. "Are you... having nightmares as well?"

"They're more like... flashes," he replied hesitantly. "Visions. Of... things." He presumed that specifying "things" as images of himself pointing his arm cannon at a horrified, trembling Entrapta, ready to shoot her to death, would probably have been too harsh. He shivered, and a thin lock of her hair swarmed up his right shoulder, softly stroking him in consolation. He reached out for that lock and slowly ran his fingers through it, then he closed his eyes, gave a long sigh and flopped back on the cot, with his head and neck against the wall. He felt Entrapta following him, settling herself comfortably between the cushions and his body, but barely touching him – just a light contact of a lock of her hair against his shoulder, continuing the gentle, soothing motions.

"I don't understand why we're like this," she said blankly. "It doesn't make sense. He's gone, and he's never coming back, so everything's supposed to be okay, but it's not."

"Exceedingly illogical indeed," he agreed. "But this provides us new areas to explore, and I believe that's what we should do."

The stroking motions stopped, and the lock of hair was now resting still on his shoulder. "I'm not sure I want to explore this," she muttered. "It would... hurt."

"I've explored your cut. And it hurt you, but it was also very beneficial," he pointed out. "Just like when you do maintenance work on my armor. Maybe sometimes things are supposed to hurt first so that they can get better."

"You think so?"

"I do." He slightly turned his torso towards her, lifting up his hand to... slide it against her arm? Put it on her waist? Pull her closer? He hesitated for a moment, then simply placed his hand atop her lock of hair that was still resting on his shoulder, and rushed his fingers through it. He soon felt a ticklish sensation on his claws as her hair curled itself around them, forming into a soft, violet-coloured hand, and he found himself smiling, if only for a glimpse of a moment. "I know it's hard. It's painful. And I don't want to press you. But there's nothing wrong with talking it out. As you've said it yourself, he's gone. There's nothing to be afraid of. Talking about what we've been through won't bring him back, and it might even benefit us in some ways. So if there's anything, anytime, that you wish to tell me, I'll always be there to listen."

She felt her eyes get watery. "Do my nightmares really concern you this much?" she asked quietly.

"Of course they do," he replied. "My lab partner's safety and wellbeing are my most significant priorities."

Entrapta grabbed a cushion with a lock of hair, and pulled it closer to her face. "I care about you a lot, too," she responded. "And you can also tell me anything, anytime."

He let go of her hair and reached out to hold her left hand, carefully sandwiching it between his two palms. For a few seconds, he examined her wounded finger.

"How does it feel?" he asked, running his thumb across her knuckles just above the bandage.

"Slightly itchy." Entrapta gave a weak little laugh, then a deeply honest smile warmed up her face, though her gaze seemed a little uncertain. "There is actually something I want to tell you. I want you to know that I... When I was... When Horde Prime... When you were gone, Hordak, I really missed you."

He somehow expected, hoped to hear these words from her, but that didn't make it easier to respond. There was nothing he could think of to say. No matter how badly he wanted to answer "I missed you too", it just wouldn't have worked, he felt like it wouldn't have been honest enough. When he'd been deceived into believing that Entrapta had betrayed him, and after he'd found out she'd been sent to Beast Island and had probably been dead, he'd became completely empty. He hadn't been able to feel anything at all, let alone miss her. And while under Horde Prime's control, his memories of her had seemed to be so distant, they'd felt like they'd been from someone else's life. Sometimes he'd seen flashes of the two of them experimenting with the portal in his sanctum, but other times he hadn't even been able to recall her name. All he'd done was try as hard as possible to cling to that feeling while holding the crystal in his hand, clenching his fist around it so strongly that the sharp edges had almost felt like they'd pierce through the skin of his palm. Yes, sometimes, there had been that strong urge to be around her, to understand the strange warmth her presence had awaken in him, to figure out why everything about her had felt so familiar, but he clearly couldn't have missed her, because he hadn't known who she was. He hadn't even known who he'd used to be. Not until the very end.

"Oh, it's okay, you don't have to say you missed me, too. I know it's complicated," Entrapta said quickly after finally realising why Hordak went so quiet. "But I definitely missed you. I wished you'd been there with me when I went to space. I thought about how we could've explored all those galaxies together. We could've collected so much data, and I'd have let Darla analyse them for us, and... What I'm saying is... I was thinking about you. A lot," she murmured, and Hordak gave her a smile, probably the tenderest one he'd ever given to anyone in his life.

"I... was trying my best to think about you, too," he answered.

"I knew you would." She moved a bit closer and looked up in his face, then slowly, hesitantly, because this was something new to them, and a part of her was afraid of him pulling away, she laid down her head on his shoulder. He didn't move or protest at all, so Entrapta carefully placed all her weight on him, gently wrapping her hair around his upper arm. Then she felt him spreading that particular arm over her, his palm resting against her waist. She'd never done anything like this to anybody before. At first it was awkward and a little bit scary to be this close to someone and sense each and every little flinch of his body, and then she suddenly felt even more exposed when she realised it was mutual. But after a while, the sensation started to become more natural, and the tension slowly faded away, leaving only comfort and pleasure behind. She took a deep breath and curled up her legs, lifting another lock of hair to softly twine it around his body, pulling herself even closer against his chest. Then she just rested her head there, eyes closed, she had no idea how long for.

"Hordak?" she whispered wearily. He let out a low, sleepy, interrogative growl. "I think what we're doing right now is having a positive effect on my relaxation level. May I... Could we just stay here for a while, please?"

All he did in response was reach out for her right hand and lace their fingers together while tilting his head just enough to be able to bury his face into her hair, breathing against her scalp, and Entrapta happily sank into the feeling.

"Is that a yes?" she asked softly.

"A very definite one."

#she-ra #She-Ra Reboot #SPOP #entrapta #hordak #entrapdak #my fanfiction

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moonlitdesertdreams · 3 years

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Judgement Call (Din Djarin x OC)- Chapter IX

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CHAPTER IX: DANGER

“Mando, can you help me?”

Zakia held two large crates from the ship, one sliding awkwardly overtop of the other and threatening to fall. They were on the small wooden ledge surrounding their hut, courtesy of the thankful village, moving all of their supplies in. The Mandalorian had moved most of the large items, but Zakia had apparently bit off more than she could chew.

“I got it.” The Mandalorian took the top box, successfully removing it from Zakia’s view.

She carefully trod into the hut, almost running into Mando’s back as he stopped in front of her. Zakia peeked around his body to see what had stopped him, taking in the tall woman who was anchoring the outside blinds up for them. She recalled Caben mentioning that someone named Omera was setting up their lodging, and assumed this must be her.

“Please come in.” She said, tightening the knot. “I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn”

Omera had a kind voice and brown eyes, but Zakia could see the weariness behind her irises. “This will do fine. Your village is very quaint. Peaceful.”

“I’m glad.” Omera smiled gently, and Zakia felt herself gravitate towards the personality. It had been a long time since there had been a motherly figure in her life. “I stacked some blankets over here.” She motioned to the corner.

Zakia managed to squeeze by Mando and place her box on the ground as he thanked the woman for her thoughtfulness. A flash of gray and blue near the door caught Zakia’s eye, and the Mandalorian was already reaching for his blaster by the time she turned around. The offending figure leapt out of sight with a gasp, and Zakia brought a hand to rest on Mando’s arm as she realized it was not a threat.

Omera glanced between them and the door, before walking over to wrap an arm around the shoulders of a young girl. She bore a striking resemblance to Omera, and Zakia’s lips turned up at the edges.

“This is my daughter, Winta.” She introduced as the girl clung to her skirts. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

Zakia waved a hand in greeting, attempting to dispel some of the tension that had grown in the room. Winta managed a small smile back, fingers lifting off her mother’s shirt in the smallest hint of a wave.

“These nice people are going to help protect us from the bad ones.” Omera explained to her daughter, stroking a hand through her hair.

Winta lifted her head, brown eyes darting between Mando and Zakia.

“Thank you.”

It was barely a whisper, but it caused the motherly feeling within Zakia to flare. The warmth that spread through her was the same as when she held the Child, who was toddling about behind Cara outside the hut. Winta’s scared eyes and timid voice seemed to affect Mando as well, though no one else would ever pick up on it lest the helmet be removed.

Omera gave the couple a fond once-over before ushering Winta off the small porch. “Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.”

The family took their leave, and Zakia turned to Mando. “I think this place will be good to us.”

Emotionless steel stared back at her, but the voice gave away all she needed to know. “I think you’re right.”

The Mandalorian was unused to the sounds of children playing and people milling about so close by.

Zakia was scouting the edge of the village with Cara, though Din was fairly sure she was just bored sitting around and needed an excuse to move. The village was quaint, as she had said, and it was something foreign to the hunters. His own lack of action manifested into an afternoon of weapons maintenance. After cleaning his own blaster and handing it off to Zakia, he took hers and offered to clean and oil them. She accepted and kissed his helmet before taking off with Cara.

Having made his way through a quarter of the blasters and rifles in the crates they had moved in, Mando settled on taking care of his Amban rifle. The pronged weapon was getting used more and more as Zakia once again acted as long-distance support on missions. It was a rhythm he had missed- one they had forgone after her injury. Before they traveled together, it was fairly common for them to work together on a large bounty. Din would go in the front and draw the attention, and Zakia would pick off the enemies as they appeared. She’d been damn good, and the best, according to many. To both their surprise, the injury she’d befallen at the hands of the Wookiee damaged her facial muscles beyond comprehension. Sniping proved much more difficult with half a face that refused to listen to nerve signals.

Din focused on the rifle, carefully removing the pronged end to clean the connections and oil the threads where it screwed together. A knock echoed from the hut’s entrance, and he didn’t have to turn. After many years of wearing a helmet and using his ears, Din learned to identify people by their footsteps very easily. And they were too heavy to be Zakia.

“Come in.” He grunted, wiping a rag over the tip of the rifle.

His shoulders moved just enough so he could see Omera enter with a tray of food and cup of water beside the provisions. Her daughter followed close behind, eyes on the Child which rocked in a small wooden bassinet behind him. The creature’s ears perked up at the girl’s appearance, and Mando heard her giggle as he continued his work.

“Can I feed him?” The quiet voice of Winta reached his ears, and Din felt the hair on his neck rise.

A protective instinct rose within him, making his limbs jittery and his throat tight. He fought the feeling back, squashing it with confidence and looking back at the girl.

“Sure.”

He watched the girl carefully out of the corner of his visor. She knelt down to his level and the baby giggled happily, clawed hands reaching out for her hair. Mando had noticed the fascination it had with woman’s hair, as it had stared down Cara’s when they were on the speeder the previous night, and always reached out to grab Zakia’s wild curls. Winta kept her hair out of reach, but instead satisfied the Child with a small piece of cheese. It chirped happily as it accepted the meal, and Din couldn’t help the smile beneath his helmet.

He was almost finished with the Amban rifle when Winta spoke. “Can I play with him?”

Again with the jitters. It was harder to push away this time, and Din grit his teeth. He was unwilling to admit his attachment to the creature, but at the same time didn’t want it out of his sight.

“Sure.” The answer was choked out, but his modulator helped to hide the edge in his voice. Din propped the rifle against a nearby create and bent forward to place the Child on the wooden floor.

It toddled and babbled after Winta, and Mando’s body moved forward out of instinct when they made it to the threshold.

“I don’t think-”

Omera waved him off, “They’ll be fine.”

His body propelled him another step forward. “I don’t-”

“They’ll be fine.” This time the woman took a step in his path, obviously sensing his distress.

Din realized then he hadn’t been alone in an unfamiliar place in a long time, and it explained some of the anxiety that mounted in his brain. Zakia was out of his sight and the Child as well, and his heart was racing beneath his beskar.

“I brought you some food. I noticed you didn’t eat with Zakia before she left.” Omera motioned to the tray which she’d sat on the windowsill, “I’ll leave it for when I go.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” The Mandalorian said, wiping the remaining oil from his hands.

His hands that absolutely were not shaking with unjustified paranoia.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

The roundabout question momentarily pulled Din’s mind away from the feelings swirling around his brain. His eyes found Omera in his peripherals, and his body relaxed a touch. The woman was docile and kind, and Din admired that which remained after everything she had been through.

“Go ahead.”

The shifting of Omera’s robes indicated her hesitancy. “How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?”

It was the question everybody had, but few were brave enough to ask. Din admired the courage she had in asking, and sighed. When on missions, the days rolled by with the helmet over his head. He tried not to count, only beginning to maintain some semblance of normalcy when Zakia began traveling with him and he would take it off at night. He tried each night to remove it, taking a few moments to plunge the living quarters into darkness and allow Zakia to touch his face. To card her fingers through her hair and remind him that he did in fact have a home. But it had been a day since his helmet was removed. Their recent shenanigans with regards to the Child had left their previously managed schedule in disarray.

“Yesterday” Din decided. He thought he remembered waking up and pulling it on, though that very well could have been the previous day. Time felt different in space.

“I mean, in front of someone else.” Omera pressed.

Din could hear the concern and feel the mothering. He hadn’t embraced anything like it since he was a child. Zakia cared for him in a very specific way; they were partners and they did love each other. However, Zakia was never one for doting. She knew he could handle himself and he acknowledged she could do the same. Losing their unborn child had made her grow cold and callous. Their love had faded, but the bond they shared never would. But their acquisition of the Child had reinvigorated something long gone. Something Omera seemed to possess and lend out to anyone in need.

“I wasn’t much older than they are.” Din motioned to the children playing outside the window, ignoring the twinge of sadness that came along with memories of his childhood.

Omera’s face fell into what Din could only describe as sadness. “You haven’t shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?”

It was unlike him to allow these types of questions, but Omera’s nurturing nature and motherly tone didn’t indicate her as an enemy. The opposite, in fact. “No. I was happy that they took me in. My parents were killed and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

“I’m sorry.” Omera said softly. Her hands moved as if she wanted to comfort him but thought better of it.

“This is the Way.”

The saying seemed lost on her, but the woman nodded curtly. “Let us know if there is anything you need. And, please extend the same courtesy to your family.”

The word family hit Din like a charging mudhorn- and he knew what that felt like. It knocked the wind out of him and plunged him headfirst into a freezing stream of emotion. The helmet suddenly felt too tight, and he maneuvered to the windowsill. He remained in the shadows and shed the beskar, sucking in a deep breath. The plate of food was dragged closer automatically as he realized how empty his stomach was.

The Child was directly in front of him, surrounded by other village children who were gigging excitedly. Din drew in a breath and rubbed his face. His mind was racing, and he gulped down the glass of water like it was his last. The food followed shortly after, and Din found himself munching through a pack of the spicy bantha jerky Zakia liked so much.

Nerves calmed and stomach satiated, Din slipped the helmet back on. He stood near the windowsill for a moment, this time so the children could see him. The Child seemed to sense his presence, and cooed at him from his playtime. Two other figures who he quickly recognized as Zakia and Cara crossed through the village center, the former kneeling to say hello to the Child. Din’s breath caught as he watched the creature smile at her and tug her curls. Watching her interact with the kid had the jittery, protective feeling shooting back through his limbs. These were his people.

His family.

Though she had come back appearing to be in a good mood, Zakia had always done well hiding her concerns. Her and Cara had entered the hut quietly, each taking a seat as they explained their suspicions. DIn’s stomach lurched at the fact that there may be a AT-ST concealed in the trees, and hoped Cara and Zakia were simply overreacting.

However, he was the one who was wrong.

Din followed the women back to the sight of their find, kneeling down near the patterned footprint. It was an obvious indication of the machine’s presence, and he gritted his teeth. There was no way the tiny village plus him, Zakia, and Cara could fight off an Imperial Walker.

“Bad news” He had announced when they made it back to the village, “You can’t live here anymore.”

The village erupted into mumblings of disbelief, and some stared at the trio of warriors on the porch. Din stood in the middle, with Zakia and Cara on either side. The blonde smacked his arm at the declaration, the ice shards she called eyes rolling. “ Stars, Mando.”

“You think you can do better?” He snarked, nuding her ribs with his elbow.

Cara snorted. “Can’t do much worse.”

Much to Din’s relief, the dark-haired woman stepped forward. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear.”

“You took the job!” They protested. Din bristled, but he knew they villagers couldn’t comprehend the danger. They had never experienced the carnage that an AT-ST was capable of.

“We didn’t know about the AT-ST when you found us.” Zakia remarked, lips dropping into a frown.

“What is that?” It was one of the two men who initially met Zakia and Mando who spoke.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us.” Cara returned, eyes catching Din’s visor and Zakia’s icy ones before turning back to the crowd.

They all murmured their protests, begging for help. Din’s eyes landed on Winta, who cradled the Child to her chest and pressed into her mother’s side as the agitation grew.

“We have nowhere to go.” Omera spoke directly to them, and Din watched the exchange carefully. Zakia chewed on her cheek, puckering the already mangled skin. He could read her eyes, and the pity in them. The village was being hunted, just as he, Zakia, and the Child were. They couldn’t run away like he had. Their whole lives were rooted in this one place, and it was a place Din and Zakia had both agreed that they wanted to stay in.

“Sure you do.” Cara’s words pulled him out of his reviere. “This is a big planet.”

The villagers began to rile once again, speaking of their family’s history in the village. It became blatantly clear that they were wholly opposed to leaving. Din considered the thought. They could train these people. Teach them how to shoot, how to fight. But going into battle with an AT-ST was a whole different story.

“I’m sorry. We understand your reluctance, but there are only three of us.” Zakia spoke up, surprising Din. The pity had not left her gaze, but it was evident she cared more for their safety than their village. Things could be replaced.

“Look around! There’s at least twenty here. We can learn!”

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” Cara exclaimed, looking to Zakia and Mando for help. The former nodded in agreement, but Mando leaned against the wood hut, internal debate raging.

What was happening to him?

“We’re not leaving.” Omera insisted. Her eyes darted from Zakia to Din, pleading for support from someone who could sway the shock-trooper’s opinion.

“You can’t fight an AT-ST.” Zakia reiterated Cara’s statement, blue eyes shifting across the crowd. “I’m sorry.”

“Unless we show them how.”

Both women whirled on their heel to face the Mandalorian. Cara maintained a neutral expression, but the concern in her eyes was clear. Zakia simply stared before brushing by him into the hut.The villagers were too busy whooping and cheering to notice the exchange, but Cara cocked a brow.

“You got your work cut out for you.” She said, stepping off the porch.

Mando glanced down at her, mind already planning their training. He had the guns here, but there were other weapons in the ship he hadn’t brought. “We’ll have to make a trip back to the Crest, but-”

Cara chuckled. “Not with the villagers.”

She disappeared into the small crowd, and Din stared at the empty space she had occupied. He knew Zakia had been strained after all of their sudden lifestyle changes, and the added stress of the Walker seemed to stretch her further. Din had hoped the decision would make her happy- if they were to stay there with the kid, it had to be safe.

Biting the inevitable bullet, the Mandalorian turned on his heel and left the people to their devices. Inside their dwelling, Zakia was sitting on the small futon near the windowsill with a blank gaze pointed towards the treeline. Mando took a moment to cover their door with a canvas and pull the drape over the window. She didn’t flinch as he came and sat beside her in the now-darkened room.

“You’re angry.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not.” Zakia rubbed her eyes as if trying to wash the emotion away.

“Then you are..?” Din never was good at gauging a woman’s mood, and he assumed it wasn’t the best time to guess.

“I don’t know. Hormonal?” Zakia supplied.

Din flinched, and she lifted her head to look at him.

“Don’t worry it’s not serious. Just, between the shootout and the kid, and everything else. I’m a little frazzled. I want to stay here, but these people can’t fight a Walker, Din.” Zakia leaned into his side, nudging her hands beneath his cuirass and holding onto his undershirt.

“Maybe they’ll surprise you.” He thought of Omera and her child, and didn’t doubt Zakia inferred something from his statement.

“Speaking of,” Zakia set her chin on his pauldron. “It seems that you made quite a connection with Omera.”

“She’s very kind.” Mando said, hand moving from his lap to stretch across Zakia’s shoulders.

“I noticed.” Zakia tapped her nails against his beskar, and Mando wished they were on his skin. “I think she likes you.”

Din snorted, and the modulator changed it into a strangled sound that Zakia giggled at.

“For real! Maybe I’ll take the Crest and go back to bounty hunting. I’ll leave you here with the widow.” Her face was serious, but her words were teasing. “Really though, I think she’s hiding something.”

“What would that be?”

“I don’t know, Din, I just feel it.” Zakia told him. “I’m good at people.”

Their training began the next morning. Mando worked with blaster skills, Cara with staff and bayonetting, and Zakia with preparation. The blonde was teaching them how to put their wooden fence up, and where to dig out the ponds to create a trap for the Walker. She only paused when they began target practice across camp. Her group continued working as she strolled to Mando’s side. The villagers were firing one by one down the line. Each missed or ricocheted, until they reached the end. Omera stood there with a repeat blaster to her shoulder, and fired off near twenty shots that hit the target dead center each time.

Mando tilted his head in curiosity, and Zakia’s elbow was once again in his ribs. “Told you.”

When sunset fell and Zakia was strapping on her holsters so they could draw the enemy out, she noticed a presence on the porch where Mando stood. Omera stepped up quietly, and Zakia narrowed her eyes. She was a sweet woman, that was a fact, but she was hiding something. There was no reason that a villager from Sorgan would have ever had weapons training as she demonstrated.

“You’ll be departing soon.” Zakia could hear Omera’s voice from her position on the bedroll. She finished strapping her boots and listened closely.

“And when we return, we’ll be coming in hot.” Mando replied. Zakia looked towards them, and her eye twitched at the proximity. She caught herself shortly after, sitting up straight so quickly she almost had whiplash.

She was jealous.

Zakia almost laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it, and a short guffaw broke through her lips. She knew the Mandalorian would never give anyone a chance except her, and she was comfortable in their relationship. What she was feeling came from somewhere deep and instinctual.

“Are you okay?”

Zakia shook her head to clear it, looking up at the form in front of her. Cara was ready to go, guns on her hips and hair freshly tied back. The blonde stood, striding out of the hut with Cara to where Mando was waiting. Zakia couldn’t help the urge to touch him, and reached a hand to the underside of his pauldron. Din looked to her as she initiated the contact, and she would imagine his eyes were confused.

“Are we ready?” Zakia asked, repossessing her hand.

“Yes. Clear on the plan?” Mando asked aloud, boots whispering on the grass they stood on just outside of their Walker booby-trap.

“Draw them here and bring the Walker. We’ll take it down, and then handle the raiders.” Cara recited.

Zakia nodded in agreement as they headed into the forest to end Sorgan’s conflict once and for all.

#din djarin x oc #din x oc #din #mando #mando x oc #sorgan #baby yoda #star wars #grogu #at-st #imperial walker

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cagestark · 5 years

Text

-Defender-

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: homelessness, poor!peter. Adult!Peter. Mean!Avengers. Not Steve Rogers friendly. Also, in this AU I’ve taken it upon myself to change some aspects of Spider-Man (not too many, no worries). Enjoy.

The first time he meets the spider-kid, it is after hours on the eighty-second floor of the main building of Stark Tower.

But the kid is on the wrong side of the glass.

“FRIDAY, run that by me again,” Tony says. He’s in his pajamas—a pair of hastily pulled on pants with not even boxers underneath, donned only when FRI sounded the alarm. The holographic video plays in front of him, but what it shows him makes no sense. It isn’t even possible. “What exactly am I seeing?”

“Fifteen minutes ago sensors on the first floor were triggered, suggesting a human presence. On closer examination, the intruder seems to be scaling the side of the building using grip enhancements that I can’t identify.”

“Okay, but is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

“Do you think he appears to be washing the windows, boss? Because all signs point to such.”

As they speak, the figure (barefoot—barefoot and more than eighty floors above Manhattan) dressed head-to-toe in black including a dark balaclava that obscures their features, pulls a squeegee from where it is secured to a multi-purpose belt around their waist. They wipe the glass clean in long, smooth strokes, flicking the water and soap off behind them. The way they move across the glass gives him goosebumps, makes him shiver with terror and awe.

He takes the elevator down from the Penthouse, passing the Avengers’ floor where the others are sleeping peacefully (God knows he doesn’t want to wake any of them up). There’s no indication that this person is a threat—and if they were a threat, this is hardly a dastardly plan.

The eighty-third floor is dark and quiet. It’s an accounting floor where they work to manage his assets and the company’s assets. He passes cubicles on his left and right, and though he visits this floor maybe once a month or less, he feels at home here. The entire building is home to him, and he knows it the way Steve and Bucky knew their tiny homes in Brooklyn, the way Clint knows the farm his wife maintains.

The south wall is entirely glass. Tony stands back in the shadows to watch as the dark figure crawls from east to west. They become preoccupied when they realize that their bare feet are leaving smudges on the glass, and their floundering is—well, it’s almost cute.

Tony approaches that glass cautiously, unwilling to startle person and send them plummeting to their death. When they pass by, squeegee pressed to the glass, the freeze with their face just inches from Tony’s. The balaclava has goggles on over it to obscure the person’s eyes, but Tony doesn’t need to see those eyes to know they are wide with alarm.

Grabbing a paper and pen from a nearby cubicle, he writes a quick message and presses it to the glass.

MEET ME ON THE ROOF.

They stare at the paper for so long that Tony begins to question their literacy. But then they attach the squeegee back to their belt and lift the bottom half of the balaclava. They reveal a cut, angular jaw and thin lips. Leaning in, they come so close to the glass that Tony thinks they’re going to kiss right where Tony’s mouth is—but instead they heave a silent breath, and in the fog of it, write with one bare finger: NO.

“Are you kidding me, right now?” Tony mutters. He uncaps the pen again, holding it in his teeth, and writes on the other side of the paper. TRESPASSING!

They breathe again, write: BUSY. Then they squeegee over the words and continue on like they aren’t dangling 1200 feet above Manhattan.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “I believe I’ve pegged the identity of our intruder. It wasn’t until he wrote on the glass that I was able to get a decent map of his fingerprints; all other readings keep coming back inconclusive. His name is Peter Parker. He was hired by Stark Industries in early August as a member of the maintenance department. Twenty years old, native of Queens, emergency contact is one May Parker, also of Queens—”

“Thank you for solving the mystery, Velma, any ideas on why he’s acting like an oversized microfiber cloth on my building’s glass at the devil’s hour?

“Jinkies, Shaggy, I’m an intelligent digital assistant, not a mind reader.”

“Shaggy? You’re grounded, baby. I’m a Fred guy all the way.”

“If anything, boss, you’re most similar to Daphne. But according to Mr. Parker’s recently opened emails, the maintenance department was mandated just yesterday to wash the windows on the main, north, and south towers. It appears Mr. Parker is getting a head—and unorthodox—start.”

“This maniac works for me?” Tony mutters. He follows along the window while the kid cleans, though he loses him when Parker crosses around the corner of the building and disappears onto the west side. “How the hell is he sticking to the window, FRI?”

“I can’t tell, boss. Diagnostics can’t find anything between his hands and the windows, but whenever he is sticking, the characteristics of his fingerprints change. It appears he grows scopulae.”

“Scopulae? As in, spider hair?” Tony stands at the window for several long minutes, lost in thought. At last, he heads back towards the elevator, shivering in the air conditioning. Instead of asking FRIDAY to take him to the floor Parker is currently cleaning (Floor 69, as of now), he tells her to take him back up to the penthouse. If the kid’s enhanced, then he’s safer on climbing the walls than anyone else Tony knows.

Not to mention, the windows are fucking spotless.

Peter is up to his eyes in the HVAC unit of zone 3 in the Stark Tower main building when his ears pick up the sound of the elevator door opening on the other side of the floor. With a building as tall as Stark Tower, heating and cooling takes division of the building into several zones with their own separate units. Zone three is for floors twenty-four through thirty-six—and twenty-four in particular, where the HVAC home base is, is a marketing floor. People here come and go without noticing him, walking briskly and talking on their phones. The elevators open and close all day long, but something about this particular incoming occupant has the office going silent.

The hairs raise all over Peter’s arms and legs. Danger? he wonders. But then he hears the murmuring of voices, a name said over and over in reverence: Mr. Stark. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark. The man who had caught Peter scaling the side of his supertall last night. Emblazoned in Peter’s memory is the image of the man coming out of the darkness on the other side of the glass, wearing nothing but some low-slung pajama pants. And who knew that Tony Stark, forty-plus years old still had the remnants of a six pack? Peter had been distracted for the rest of the night, even almost losing his grip around floor 21. Which wouldn’t have killed him (probably) but would have been very shocking to anyone walking down below on the street.

And now the man is on Peter’s floor? Well. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. He immediately starts packing away his tools, tucking his hat down lower on his forehead to obscure his brow. His senses activate accidentally and suddenly a wrench is stuck to his hand and he shakes and shakes but for the life of him, it won’t come off—

“Well, hello.”

The wrench goes flying out of Peter’s hand, and Tony Stark barely manages to dodge it as it careens by him, hitting the wall and denting the plaster. They stare at each other, eyes wide, neither of them expecting such a thing to have happened and not being entirely sure how to proceed. The man is even more handsome in the light, eyes like the whiskey he drinks, hair immaculate and threaded with grays around the temples, lips full and curving into a smile. Fuck, Peter has had a crush on this guy since his Uncle Ben took him to a Stark Expo more than a decade ago. Seeing him in the flesh is almost too much to handle.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, going to pick up the wrench.

“Don’t be. You’d be surprised how often I get that reaction.” He sticks out a hand, and Peter’s got no fucking clue what Tony wants him to do with it until the older man wiggles his fingers. For a business guy by day (and a suited superhero by night), Stark’s hands are calloused and strong. He looks Peter in the eye, gaze soft and unassuming, like he isn’t the most powerful man in the business world, like Peter isn’t some gum he’s tracked in on his shoe.

“I’m sorry for the wall, too,” Peter says. “I’ll fix that.”

“No, you won’t.”

Peter’s shoulders hunch. Of course, he won’t. Stark’s going to fire him. Peter will be back to shelter hopping and picking pockets until he finds another job. At least now he might have some references from coworkers who all seem to have taken to Peter, the youngest of their troop. The quiet woman Sam saves him a seat every lunch hour in the breakroom, and Carlito has started asking his wife to pack him two sandwiches so he can give one to Peter. Everyone has been so nice.

Peter should have known it wouldn’t last.

“You’ll be much too busy, I imagine,” Stark says. He takes the toolbox from Peter, like Peter is some dainty girl who can’t carry her own books to class, or something. Like a gentleman might. Peter is keenly aware of everyone’s gaze on them while the older man escorts him to the elevator. It must look ridiculous: Peter in his dirty work clothes, sneakers taped together, walking beside Tony Stark.

“Are you calling the cops on me?” Peter asks when the elevator door closes. He can tell that it’s moving upwards and not downwards, though—

“Why would I do that?” Stark asks. He’s wearing tinted glasses, and it’s a crime, because he’s so fucking pretty Peter would kill to see his face without them.

“Because of last night.”

Stark’s face smooths out. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to pretend like I didn’t know it was you—but I guess this makes it all a lot easier on my part. No, I’m not calling the cops on you.”

The elevator opens on the most lux penthouse Peter has ever seen: modern decore with glass tables and marble countertops and windows that show Manhattan below them like a toy city that Peter could step out and crush if he so felt like. The wood floors are polished and gleaming under Peter’s disgusting tennis shoes, and he’s never felt more out of place and more at home all at once.

“Thirsty? Hungry? I’ve got leftovers, if you don’t mind my germs. If you do mind my germs, I can order in for you. What do you like? Any food allergies?” Stark’s head pops up from where it had disappeared into the refrigerator. With narrowed eyes, he assesses Peter’s silence.

“Water would be—that’d be cool.”

“Sparkling? Distilled? Alkaline?”

“Uh—tap?”

“Excuse me, tap?” Stark shuts the door with a thud. “Now I am calling the cops. Seriously. You? Sit.”

Peter sits at the stool tucked beneath the island countertop. The marble cools his heated palms when he presses them against it. Despite his words, the man does not make any move to call anyone. He moves a Styrofoam dish to the microwave and heats up something that smells lovely, like marinara and basil. He cracks open a bottle of water and places it in front of Peter. It’s the crispest, most tasteless water he’s ever had. Probably harvested from mountainous glaciers or something.

At last Stark joins him on the other side of the island, sitting the dish of—yes, pasta—between them. He hands Peter a fork. “Dig in, kid,” he says. “I don’t have cooties.”

What the fuck, Peter thinks as he shares pasta with Tony Stark. Unbidden to his mind comes a scene from some Disney movie, when the two dogs share the piece of spaghetti and it makes them kiss. Just the idea of it has Peter staring resolutely at the wall of cabinets, chewing mechanically, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Shall we talk shop while we eat?” Stark asks, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

Peter shrugs. He has no idea why he’s here. No idea what shop this man could possibly have to talk about with the likes of him.

“You’ve got mad skills,” he says at last. Stark lays his phone flat on the table and from it comes a holographic projection. Peter watches himself in 3-D scale the side of Stark Tower. Yeah, he looks pretty cool—except for the squeegee. That’s kind of dorky. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s—a long story,” Peter says, rubbing his thumb against the prongs of his fork. Society has made a lot of advancements regarding its treatment of enhanced humans, but there’s still a minority of people who are afraid in their ignorance. It was on the news last week when Peter was killing time in a McDonalds before he could arrive at work to Stark Tower: an enhanced teenager was murdered by some concerned townsfolk who believed she was destroying the crops with her weather-controlling capabilities.

He can feel Stark’s gaze on him. It makes him bristle, makes his shoulders hunch. Peter doesn’t do well with authority—that is, most authority seems to just use and abuse Peter. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now: a twenty-year-old with no family, no friends to come looking for him, in the penthouse of the most powerful man in the world who has perfect blackmail material on him. Peter’s palms start to sweat, and he wipes them on his pants.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Peter asks, voice low and quiet. He can’t look. But he has to know—has to prepare himself.

Stark stands, abruptly. “No—Parker. Peter. Look at me.”

Peter does, his jaw clenched and eyes flat. He might be scared, but he’s no coward. Only, Stark doesn’t look anything like a man who is about to hurt him. His mouth is downturned in the softest expression of tragedy that Peter’s ever seen. “I’ve just realized,” Stark says. “This won’t do. I need Burger King.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Burger King. Don’t you know that I’m an eccentric billionaire, doomed to give in to my every whim? And my whims want a Whopper. Come on. Grab your metaphorical coat—or your literal coat. Should we stop by the maintenance floor?” Stark strolls to a closet and rifles through it, pulling out a long, dark, very expensive looking coat. Peter can almost feel it under his fingers, it must be so soft. “Kid? Are you hearing me?”

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Alright, take one of mine. Let’s go. My stomach waits for no one.”

When Peter tries to step onto the elevator behind Stark without grabbing a coat, the man insists on going back in and finding one for him. The billionaire puts him in a half dozen coats made of the soften Italian wools and genuine cashmeres, before settling on one that’s very similar to Mr. Stark’s, only with a collar that Peter can pulls up around his throat to keep the wind away. It smells clean, but faintly of cologne, like the man has worn it out recently and put it away without washing it. Thank God the coat is thick enough to hide the semi he sports.

They end up hiding in a booth in the back of a Burger King two blocks away, both of them with Whoppers and Large Fries and Cokes. Peter inhales his—an enhanced appetite, not to mention the general lack of food he suffers from on a typical day’s basis—but Tony keeps up, holding his own. He takes out his phone and sits it on the table again, tapping several buttons, and suddenly Peter’s head throbs a little, senses spiking.

“Is that bothering you? I’m using it to scramble anything we say from being overheard by anyone around us, but we can do it the old-fashioned way if we must—you know. Whispering.”

“It’s fine—that’s, that’s amazing.”

Stark blinks. “I—thanks. I made it.”

“I figured—how does it work? Can you tell me?”

And the man humors him. Actually humors him, explaining in laymen’s terms even though he might be surprised at the level of conversation Peter could keep up with. When Peter asks a question, the other man grins showing neat, white teeth that Peter would give anything to run his tongue along.

“You’ve been really nice,” Peter says when their food is gone and cups nothing but ice. It’s an understatement, because this is the nicest anyone has treated Peter in a long, long time, and the way Stark talks and looks at him isn’t condescending or pitying. It’s like he sees Peter as a human. “But why am I here? So, you know. About me. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Stark says. “It’s not illegal to be enhanced. And while it is illegal to trespass, mostly it’s very unsafe to do it more than a quarter mile above the ground, so I do ask that anymore night time adventures aren’t spent scaling my building.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “I just wanted to make it easier for the other guys. They really look out for me. I didn’t want to make them have to work so hard, when I could do it so easily.”

“That’s very generous of you, Peter. May I call you Peter?”

Peter shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes—and you can call me Tony, okay kid? I’m not here to call the cops or to fire you. As a matter of fact, I want to offer you a job. Tentatively.”

“You want to promote me?” Peter asks, brow furrowing.

“It’s hardly a promotion. The hours are longer. The pay is—well, under the table. There’s danger too. Potentially mortal peril.

“Tell me, Peter, what do you know about the Avengers?”

#starker #homelessness #adult!peter #mean!avengers #badass!peter

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

8 - Twisted Warren

Too much had happened in this place, between the time Murkoff had lost control, and the MHS failed to regain control. The patients had gotten free and had ample time on their hands to undertake all manner of hobbies.

I wasn’t certain what to make of the large hole chiseled through three feet of solid cement, and rebar. Given there’s not a lot to do around this place but come up with creative ways to get around, I gave this one a seven out of ten. I doubted that big ugly fucker would have been amused by a commission for big fuckin holes, he seemed dedicated to his current task of decapitating the former law. I couldn’t envision the inmates having the tools for this sort of work, and then using them correctly to remove the cement, but they were just insane, not stupid. There was a difference.

The problem was they were not stupid.

To satisfy my lethal curiosity, I did return to the other side of where I had dropped down, to see if the egress guy was still lurking. I didn’t want someone following me, I’d rather know at this point and try to lose them than get a nasty surprise in a dark cramped hole.

There was only a small room, and a door. I tried the handle confirming it was locked, but perhaps earlier it was open and the patient decided to lock it. Didn’t matter, my path was charted out. It must’ve led into a lavatory, or female wash room, there were hand dryers on the wall, a mattress flung on its side, and the more important detail. Sinks.

I tried the dial on one and received a fresh flow of water, its color I couldn’t tell due to the night vision but it looked clean and free of sediment. After giving my perimeter a quick look I leaned under the tap and tasted it, first rinsing my mouth out of the reek and copper. The water had a strong metallic quality, I wasn’t sure if I should drink it, much as I was advised not to drink the water when visiting another country, but I was dehydrated. I reasoned with myself the lines couldn’t all be compromised, and drank just enough to quench my thirst.

There was also the issue of my bloody camera, and my backside, but I felt my jacket was a lost cause and it was cold. In the dark I flushed water on my sleeve and used it to carefully dab the side of the camera until it felt like much of the stickiness was removed. I didn’t expect to do a perfect job in the solid black. I also took the time to rinse the blood from my scalp and the back of my leg, then flushed my tender brow.

I felt renewed, not meeting ready but stable enough on my feet to carry me onward. I returned to the other side, squelching over the sticky puddle of blood back to the warrens entrance.

Below looked like an access space, for repairs or maintenance on broken pipes that might be reached through the basement. It might’ve been installed in the past century if this place was as old as I suspected.

The hole wasn’t deep, but there was a passage dug out in the softer earth beneath the crawl space. A small draft crept over my ankles, warmer air spilling into the cool shower. The thick reek of natural gas coupled with moist earth reached my nose as I crouched down and used the night vision to navigate, I really didn’t need to get lost under this place.

Though the path seemed straightforward, I was fully aware of how easy it was to get turned around in a short section of black crawlspace. A few of the Outdoor Adventurer columns warned of how inexperienced cavers could get lost in less than twenty feet of cave. One story mentioned a specific case in which a cavern had only a few extending tunnels, but the individuals involved thought only to bring one light source plus their cell phones. As with any adventure destined to fail, the torch had a mishap and the cavers with their cell phones couldn’t distinguish between the details of the cave through the poor light source, nor could they call for help. Many would scratch their heads or joke towards their expense, how can you get lost in such a small cave? Few have ever experienced the total silence, the oppressive dark, and the disorientation that comes with confusion, then panic. How easy doubt sets in and turns your instincts against you.

This is why they, like many, didn’t live to learn from their error.

Even a few feet into this passage, I could no longer see the light. Not at all. Thick pipes ran in orderly groups into the dark depths, railways of electrical input. My path was carved around a cement pillar, going deeper. My heart thudded harder against my ribs filling my head with a dull pulse of pain. How deep did this go? Would I be able to turn back if I lost my way? I paused to listen in the crushing black, the total silence but for the thunder of my heart and my heavy breath. I had my reservations for traveling deeper, I was terribly fucking lost running everywhere through the Asylums endless maze of halls, but this was fifteen times worse. This was my grave.

I pressed on with no where else to look back on, I fortified my resolve to keep calm and find a way out. There was nothing that could hurt me here, I could hear nothing, no shrieking, no pleas for mercy. Dead silence.

The warmer air would’ve been a nice change of pace compared to the chilly asylum, but the reek of sludge and compost did not set me to ease. Blood was, as always, my guide through this twisting nightmare. Across the upper portion of the tunnel was a set of pipes, I had to stretch out and slip under them to get through. It opened up a bit and I could stand, more pipes, for gas or water.

As I moved forward it looked like my path came to an end, but the earth shifted under my feet. Looking down, I found a deep hole which I had nearly stumbled into. I dropped down, making sure to evade the bricks on the one side. The stench and heat was in full force at this point and I turned, locating where the bricks had been torn out of a wall.

The sewers beneath the asylum were huge, possibly to redirect the flow of water and alleviate erosion. It wasn’t called Mount Massive for the jollies of it. I glanced beyond the ruptured wall, crinkling my nose at the odor. To my right was a light source, but my left was difficult to make out even with the NV. Moisture in the air interfered with the feed.

Satisfied that the path was free of wavering figures, I sloshed into the filthy water of the drainage flow trying not to think about what might be floating in it. The dark tunnel twisted around and after a few feet I could make out the collection of fallen boulders and earth. A cave in, a weakness of some sort in the foundation. This made me uneasy, the tunnels could be subjected to collapse while I was down here, especially with the heavy rainstorm currently hammering the mountain. I didn’t bother to get closer should there be an opening I could squeeze through, it wasn’t worth it.

The lit tunnel offered two paths, I proceeded through the light, and presumably the path the patients had taken when they came down here. At least I knew there must be a way out, unless they came down here and backtracked out. I doubted that. This was where the blood led me.

No matter how many times I repeated that phrase in my head, it always sounded wrong and insane.

A barricade for flotsam shed some perception on the water levels of these tunnels, if there was a good flood it could reach my hip. I imagined the water was lower but even now the flow rolled over my ankles, I could only be thankful the water temper was tolerable or I’d succumb to hypothermia. The barrier offered little trouble, but a sharp pain in my side. Nice thing, I was growing accustomed to the jolts of pain. Just had to avoid getting thrown out of windows, or kicked in the chest.

An intersecting tunnel came into view, but it was easy to decide which way from here with no detours. My right was completely packed by another cave in, giving me some mild grief if that was my way out. The ruble didn’t look fresh but I was no expert on collapses.

The right looked like another dead end from a distance, but as I moved closer I could see the small drainage tunnel in the shallow ditch was open. A strong source of light soaked through a large grate overhead, offered by the upper floors perhaps, I couldn’t tell. I stood off to the side of the gaping drain to look up, but the light from above was too bright to view past and make out its origins. I thought I heard someone screaming, it could’ve been my imagination. The echoing chatter of water spilled along the cobblestone bricks into the ditch below at a high frequency.

As I looked down, I thought I saw a body slumped by a grated drain. It was a body, I crept in close to examine him through the NV feed. He didn’t look like one of the patients that had come down earlier, a small relief. He had been dead for some time, his pants and the lower area of his body had absorbed so much water he almost looked fluffy, but it was only skin dissolved and flaking away. I didn’t need that thought on my mind, though I had already presumed I would find more bodies in the sewer, I didn’t need to see them immediately. What a naïve hope that was.

Returning to my task at hand, I grimaced as I couched low and scooted along the water into the small tunnel. The humid stench was overpowering and the cramped space of the drain had me nearly knelt in the foul water, but I managed to only submerge one knee as I felt along. I tried to bury my face in my collar and hold the camera up so I could see where I was going and not put my knee into something unpleasant. Blood was one thing, it was tolerable.

I tried to keep my hand along the ‘dryer’ side of the wall, where the tunnel sloped down but wasn’t in the water. The cuts along the back of my leg stung like hell and I tried not to envision what sort of bacterial infections I’d come away with. A piece of paper from something got caught on my foot, but I wouldn’t mess with that until I could stand. The tunnel ended and I assured myself there was nothing here with me poised just beside the opening to lop my head off, before I shuffled out and stood.

Much of the same met me, no light and pipes suspended along the roof of the tunnel. As I stared through the quivering visor I realized for the first time, I was shaken all over. Not just mild tremors, I could literally not hold myself still as I inspected the open channel over. I wasn’t cold, in fact a thin layer of sweat had spread under my coat causing it to stick against my shirt.

I was terrified.

Despite my small reprieve of isolation I was frightened, my nerves frayed. Where was I going? How did I get out of here? What if there was no way out? What if this was where I was meant to die?

Get ahold of yourself. I stepped back and leaned beside the wall and touched the cool brick, feeling the vibrations of the Asylum against my palm. Not gonna die here. I would get out. I would get out with the evidence and reveal this heinous mess to everyone.

I took a small breath through my mouth and stared at the long corridor ahead. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to make that the truth so bad.

The water sloshed over my shoes, and I flipped off the remains of that sheet of paper–

Something flittered into sight ahead. I barely turned my camera up, night vision and everything I could see perfectly, and something glided by in the intersecting tunnel. Looked black, like a shadow, but it was in direct light. Was something there?

I took a few steps back to the tunnel and perched down, checking on my camera. Features, playback, last five minutes. I realized in reviewing the footage that I was breathing hard, I still was. Didn’t care.

I paused the feed and stared at what was caught, it wasn’t very clear. Just a black shape, it had passed in barely a second and looked almost transparent. It wasn’t in the light as I had imagined, the NV had caught it in the dark of the intersecting tunnel. Maybe it was a residual image, the camera had color mishaps since I flew out that window. But…it looked suspended, a good six feet above the ground.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and exhaled. Later I would review the evidence with better equipment, image quality enhancements. And I’d make copies of everything.

First, I had to get out of here. And the only route open to me was ahead, where that shadow was.

I exercised extreme caution as I proceeded forward, listening every few steps for sounds or stopping when I thought I heard something. Carefully I picked my way along the tunnel with my eyes fixed ahead, the camera never picked up another image.

To my right where it must have gone, was a barricade or gap for high water levels. I decided to avoid that path and check elsewhere, give whatever was there now a chance to clear out.

The left side extended a distance, all manner of trash was down here from dissolving files to cardboard boxes. The path took a right path followed brick and on the left a drainage tunnel, grated up. The path took a right and around the corner a light source, and possibly a way out.

I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t to be. This was an exit, perhaps some time before, but the ladder set here was completely destroyed. On the floor beneath lay the remains of a human, entrails, rotted limbs, and the ladder. I attempted to lift it up but it was too short. Even pushing some cardboard boxes over helped in no way, they were too soggy from sitting in the wet air. The upper one cracked and folders scattered, patient letters. I’m guessing Murkoff never sent these to the families, and probably forged return notes. A few were stuffed into a file, which I took interest in

“"(Found scrawled in pencil on the back of an admittance form. Handwritting matches samples from patient “Father” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD.)

This God is real. What we’ve mistaken so long for ghosts, spirits, madness. We were only willfully ignorant. The scales on Saul’s eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see. This is the gift of the Walrider. The Gospel of Sand. The greatest sin in the world is willful ignorance of God. To receive a revelation and not spread it to the waiting flock. This place… To stand in the way of salvation is a sin for which there is no punishment too great’.”

For some reason this note caused goosebumps to crawl up my skin. My mind brought back images of the MHS team, throttled and dragged away. What had I seen? What did Father Martin ask? “Will you see? Can you?” I still didn’t understand, but I felt closer to understanding these mysteries through these sloppy scribbles. Something about these words felt more than deranged delusions. There was a truth.

I left the file and moved around the opposite side of the tunnel, lowering the camera where the lamps overhead still functioned casting deep yellow globs of light to spread over the moist stone. Save batteries, live longer.

A soft tinkling…turned into an aggressive rattle as I passed under a large pipe. I tried to find the source, but it sounded as though it were coming from within the pipe itself. I raised my camera though there was nothing to record, but that sound was eerie, I could see nothing to generate that sort of sound. Like pouring pellets into a bebe rifle.

I left that place and quickly returned to what must have been my route, where the shape had gone? I don’t know at this point. Peering through the tight gap I could make note of nothing threatening or otherwise, despite the distance I could tell there were areas where danger could lurk. My progress so far had been quiet.

The barricade was tight, difficult even for me to get through. I grunted as it rubbed on my bad side but I made it. I’m sure there were hundreds of those down here.

The sewer opened up into another tunnel, a huge drainage gutter sat a few feet ahead with a grate over it. To the right was a ladder swallowed up in a flood of murky water with a plaque reading Lower Junction

Fuck that. I’m trying to get out of this place.

A large pipe directed down into the lower area was clearly labeled ‘Female ward,’ and across from it an identical pipe with the faded words ‘Prison ward.’ More the reason not to go THAT way. I continued to where some crates had been abandoned, probably filled with replacement parts or materials for the plumbing. The asylum was nearly a city all in itself and required routine maintenance.

This made sense, they had a lot of people here on residence doing the experiments. Probably the higher security clearance guys never went out on a sunny day, couldn’t risk them getting hurt or lost.

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel, I stopped near the crates and watched as a shape dropped down at the other end. I stepped back and knelt behind them as he marched forward, struggling to breathe as he always did after the heavy exercise of killing.

The big ugly fucker just wouldn’t give it a rest! What was his obsession? Did he just follow me wherever he thought I was, or was it just chance? Maybe he was following the patients, and somehow I was shepherd in with the flock. Didn’t change matters, he was here now for whatever reason. Damnit.

He moved towards the middle of the corridor and paused, glanced around as his breathing calmed. Now that I saw him clearly in the light, I could make out details I hadn’t been able to pick out on when he threw me out a window.

No. I will never let that go.

His face was indeed mutilated, by himself reports said. I doubt he had sharp items while institutionalized. Was it from the treatment he became so large? Or just bad cardio, the guy ran like a horse. The report also stated he had modified restraints to conform his massive size, and by modified they meant huge chains which he dragged around on his legs and arms. The ones wrapped about his wrists appeared to have restricted his blood flow, I couldn’t tell from the distance if his hands still worked, they looked pale and skeletal.

Chris turned and began down a path on my right. I listened to the sound of his chains as they grew soft and distant, with his heavy huffing. At this point I wasn’t sure where to go, if I used my camera and zoomed, I could see to the end where he plopped down was grated. One of the tunnels might lead somewhere, someplace where I could climb out of this sewer. This option was more favorably than sitting here waiting for him to find me while I was indecisive about where to go.

I took hesitant steps forward, listening. The sounds bounced around the walls, but I only heard the soft swish of water around my shoes. He entered a tunnel further away on the left, as I moved it I could make out a dark entrance not far from my position on the right.

The tunnel was well lit, it set my nerves to ease but a coil of anxiousness knotted in my throat as I felt exposed. I gave a small whimper unintentionally as I sprang over a flotsam guard when I twisted the wrong way, and I stopped to listen for a few seconds to assure the bug fucker hadn’t heard that. As I resumed, the tunnel took a right into shadows and a cool draft, at the end I found a few planks of plywood and another grate drain. And an open door brimming with light.

The room had little to offer. Some shelves stacked with paints and boxes, a few batteries that I could use, lockers, and a large pipe with a valve labeled Prison drain

Apparently I was going into the Lower Junction.

I shut the door behind me and griped the valve tightly and turned. Or tried. My arm ached and my ribs just couldn’t take it, a hot streak of pain pulsed in my side. I stepped back and frowned at the valve. Maybe I could trick Chris into turning it, or rig him up to it in some elaborate way.

Or I could stop being a pussy and turn that valve?

I took a few shallow breaths and steeled myself. I was not halfway done with this place, and it wasn’t done with me. If I was going to survive this, I would endure a lot more than some cheap shots and…

Crashing out a few windows.

I gripped the valve and braced myself, ignoring the throbbing or the red in my vision. It would turn or so help me.

The valve gave in and wrenched. I turned until it was all the way open, or what I presumed to be open. I panted a bit as I turned and left the room.

Nothing. That was nothing. I could turn valves all day. The pain would subside soon, and I could forget it in favor of more compelling matters.

In the dark tunnel I heard chains drag, and a voice mutter. Two ways to spell dead. Without a thought I pivoted and returned to the room, shutting the door behind me. I stood waiting for a short while before I saw the knob twist. My immediate instinct told me hide in the lockers, but the door was already opening and I was too far to get one open and stuff myself within. I had already moved to the other side, where there was a large space behind the shelves where the light fell short. I squatted in the furthest corner and watched as Chris entered.

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside checking on the lockers. Yes, they were very lovely. He must not have known I was here, he didn’t bother opening a one. Then, he turned looking at the shelves where I was hiding. I held my breath and stared at him, directly at him. I thought we made eye contact and my heart stopped, but the big fucker turned smoothly and left the room.

Even when I was certain he was well gone, I couldn’t move. It felt like my body was frozen. It took some effort but I managed to adjust my grip on the camera, then raise my arms and took a breath, then another. I felt my mind begin to clear and the images replayed in my mind, Chris turning and his murky eyes dead on me. In reflex I shut my own eyes and listened to the sounds of the sewer, soft hissing in pipes, water trickling down ancient mortar. The tremors were back in full force, but I doubt they ever truly left me. I only forgot they were there.

In some time I had coaxed myself enough to stand and move towards the open door, I wobbled on my feet and caught the frame before I could go charging out to make a thunderous descent on the slick plywood.

The dark was my only ally.

I pushed myself off the doorframe and ventured into the tunnel, jumping at every little sound. The drip of water was incessant, nerve wrecking. I couldn’t see where he had gone from the opening of the tunnel, I stood waiting for some sign. The idea that he might’ve left this area by some way was on my thoughts, but I knew better. If he found a way out, I’d have a way out. But he would exhaust his search first and that could take hours.

There were two large pipes leading into the lower junction, I already drained one. The female drain was located on the left side of the tunnel, the pipe must’ve run that way.

While the coast was clear, I went ahead to the backside of the tunnel where the big fucker had initially entered from. Maybe there was a way out I missed, a break in the grate.

Another dead end. A dead guard, crumpled and broken, it looked like his legs had been twisted off and the only thing keeping them attached were his blood drenched pants. I spun about when I picked up on the big fuckers approach, and ducked down behind the crates pressing myself into the edge where they met with the curved wall of the tunnel. He was getting closer.

For a tense moment it sounded like he was right on the other side of the crate. My only option was to hold still and pretend I wasn’t there. The chains clinked as he moved and sniffed the air, I imagine this smell didn’t faze him a whole lot. I was focused on the sleeve over my arm as I held perfectly still, studying the different colors and stains it had acquired.

“Scout the perimeter, then isolate the target.”

Eventually he continued on his way, his footfalls and muttering getting faint. I waited a moment certain he took the left tunnel, towards the prison ward. Of any tunnel, I just wanted to relocate and find a better vantage point. Slowly I stood up, and there he was no more than fifteen feet away.

Chris bellowed something unintelligible and charged, sounded like “There you argh!” I bolted, hitting the edge of the wall with my arm and skimmed off heading to the other side of the tunnel. Had to find a place to hide, needed somewhere I can duck into. He was screaming something after me, it was hard to tell between the splashing water and his dragging chains.

I vaulted over a drain guard and took a sharp left, into the dark. No place to duck into, only a few alcoves that heightened my hopes only to crush them. I slowed to toggle the NV and not drop the camera, he was nearly at my back when I picked up pace. I nearly missed the sharp turn to the right, I stumbled when I stepped on a greasy cardboard box but managed to stay upright. Ahead was light, revealing another cave in, but it looked like there was an opening I could squeeze through. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but standing around debating wouldn’t improve my health either.

The boulders and brick felt sturdy enough as I crammed myself between them, had to get deeper or the big fucker would drag me out. Or rip my arm off in the process.

“Get out ‘ere!” Chris was trying to dig me out as I crammed my body deeper. He could topple the mound onto himself for all I cared.

As it was, I was nearly trapped in this alcove. But with a firm shove I dislodged some rock at my feet and was able to slip down and crawl out. It looked like the tunnel did continue down this way, but the cave in extended to that area and effectively blocked this path.

A bent door was lodged in the brick wall a few feet ahead, ripped off the lock by a force of science I didn’t wish to meet. The plaque beside it read ‘Female drain.’ I pushed the door in and peered inside. There wasn’t much to note, the room was small and there was no place to hide. A shelf held a few of the paints, and a few boxes had been abandoned here.

I stepped across to the valve and braced myself before attempting to turn it. I coughed a bit as my side tingled, but managed to get the handle to turn on my first try. Small achievements were possible, now if I was able to get out of here.

I couldn’t hear him working to dig me out from the other side, or his heavy breathing. He knew I was here and had no place else to go, it was likely he was camped on the other side waiting for me to emerge. He was former military, he could afford to wait hours if necessary without losing focus. If it came down to it, I could dodge him. Or try, it worked but I had a sick feeling he’d remember that trick.

The rocks hadn’t shifted at all, I was able to get through with little effort. I listened when nearly clear but picked up on nothing, only the constant drum of water running from the upper grates, and my own breathing. The tunnel was large enough I could get around him if I timed it just right, but I didn’t care to test my reflexes against the big fuckers. He was capable of nasty surprises, and the drain gutter was slick and unreliable.

I moved from the narrow space and took in a deep breath, then began to walk along the side of the drainage gutter where the water rolled down. It was impossible to eliminate my movement completely, but I would hear him before he heard me. I raised the camera for the night vision, but the power was getting low. I paused on the corner checking for the clear before I pulled out the dead battery and put in a fresh one.

The sound of churning water caught up to me. I didn’t pause as I quickly felt for the slot, and put in the battery before I turned to make a slow retreat. There wouldn’t be time to crawl in the gap, especially once I hit the light. I’d need to fake him out. For a moment I thought I had gained some distance, the sound of his steps quieted.

Then I heard the rapid approach of chains. “Little pig….”

I sprint the last stretch to my safety, but never made it. A strangled yelp slipped from me as the back of my collar was snared, I clutched the camera to my stomach as he lifted me off my feet and flung me to the side of the channels drain.

“Just lay there.” He stepped over me as I was trying to recover. Had to keep the camera out of the water, without it I was as good as dead! I kicked at the slick bricks, I was dead anyway if he got his hands around my throat. When I twisted my head to see where I was going, I spotted a missed tunnel that had a shattered grate. A space Chris couldn’t fit.

I kicked at his ankles, throwing myself through the open passage. Chris was still struggling to grip my shoes as I clambered inside thrashing in the shallow water until I was nearly soaked, but always making sure I was holding the camera away from the water. I didn’t stop there, I flipped over and kept going when I saw that the other side was open as well.

With a roar of outrage, Chris stalked off, to head me off. He had speed, I was severely limited as I struggled to move without knocking myself unconscious.

I cleared the other side and lunged to my feet, as I heard the water torn apart by his strides not far from my right. I hurtled over the dam and ran, relying completely on the effectiveness of the pipes and the factor that they had finished draining.

“Outer perimeter breached!” A crate flew by my head and shattered on the wall, I didn’t hesitate in my race. Couldn’t dwell on the effectiveness of his aim either, I just needed to reach that ladder. I shoved the camera into its hoister and practically dove down the ladder as the big fucker caught up to me. “Don’t you hear it?”

I glanced up at his fuck grated face, in time to cringe against the ladder when he dropped a crate. It crashed against the sides splinting in two, a piece hitting my shoulder but I barely felt it. I continued down the ladder two and three steps, until I hit the bottom and stumbled away blindly in the dark.

Another crate fell smashing against the floor, the reverberation so close and sudden I felt my head spin. I couldn’t see it until I had the NV active and took the time to give the soggy corridor a quick glance. From the ladder I could still hear Chris, snarling at my escape. I’m not sure why he didn’t pursue me, it didn’t seem impossible. I gave up and accept these matters, and struggled to understand where I was now.

I took a few breathes, wincing at the stale sewage and raw metallic scent. Not far from where I stood was another body of a patient, grotesquely bloated from being in the water for so long. My stomach turned at the soured reek disturbed by the drainage. This place just got better and better.

The heavy sounds of fresh drainage and falling water was tripled here. In the pipes hung algae or liquefied rubbish, I couldn’t discern. I only avoided it as I renewed my search, though it didn’t matter at this point, I was thoroughly soaked from my fall. I suppose the red stains in my coat had either diluted or washed out completely, and yet I was more of a mess than before. No surprise.

My path was literally straight forward, but I took it slow. I could easily get turned around or something might’ve crawled down here. I doubted it, as everything in here seemed to be in the advance stages of rot from the recent flood, but this place was full of unpleasant surprises that made you regret letting your guard down.

Much of them didn’t make any sense either. I mulled over the thought of what this place might’ve been like if they didn’t use an asylum and crazy people for the experiments.

I took note of a thick pipe overhead which followed the same route open to me. It didn’t have access through walls that had the small grated tunnels, but it gave me a direction. I followed it around a sharp corner, and above was another bloated body, the skin around his bare arms slipping off his skeleton, without the water to cushion the buoyancy. I made sure not to step directly under him, as I continued through the sewer. A few crates bobbed in the water as I moved by, a few were marked with Murkoff’s faded logo.

More left over plywood, maybe used to board up areas down here where the scientist made their last stand. Maybe a few of them came down here to shelter from the patients, but as of yet I had seen no evidence of this. The wood gave me little trouble, stiff but soggy from its prolonged aquatic existence. Above the pipe made a sharp turn and ended its path at a connecting pipe parallel with the wall. I retreated as a sharp blast of hot steam shot out. Damn pipes were now against me.

I skipped over another broken barrier of wood and boxes scattered in the drainage gutter, before finally coming to a ladder, and my escape. Given, the big fucker hadn’t beaten me here somehow and was waiting above for me to poke my head out of the warren. At least there was light above.

As I made my gradual progress up the tall ladder, I occasionally glanced up to my destination. I tried to keep my steps soft, but someone had heard me. They popped their head over the opening from above, curious to who was coming up.

I stopped debating what that might’ve been. Too normal to be Chris Walker, but all patients were insane murders at this point. A little slower I renewed my climb, unable to hear what the variant above might be planning. It was likely he couldn’t see anyone down in the dark depths, but he did hear me. He knew someone was coming.

I tightened my grip on the bars when I peered just over the edge, checking around as much as I could for the person. I was relieved to find myself alone, but I thought I heard voices echoing in the distance. Set to ease but still wary I climbed up onto the grate and kept low, I was certain they coming from somewhere….

“No. I can hear it!” There was a large grate in a tunnel to my left, that the voices echoed down. Did they mean me?

“Somebody—”

“The Walrider!” Guess not. I pulled myself up a little more as shrieks splint the calm, I hung back as a sound came to me similar to crashing water, and a low rumbling. Not rumbling, was it trickling? Or a hissing, as something caught in the air and lashed out. I winced as the howls began.

The voices intensified, as people somewhere shrieked with wild release. I couldn’t place what I was hearing, a lifting swell of agony and terror as the multitude came to a crescendo, cracks and tears of bone and flesh and crushed windpipes catching voices midway through their final throes. Somewhere, not far from where I was, people were slaughtered by something they had warned me about.

It couldn’t be. The Walrider was a myth, it couldn’t exist.

Eventually the anguished cries fell silent, as did the sounds of what had enacted its punishment.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast novelized

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xbaepsae · 5 years

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private tutor | part three (m)

“’We can take a break, if you want.’ ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body. ‘Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?’ you say. ‘Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.’”

[tutor!namjoon x reader]

genre: college!au, smut, humor, fluff-ish

word count: 5.1k

a/n: and here it is! the final, thrilling part to this series. thank you to everyone who has been super patient with me. i love and appreciate all of you <3 xoxo

part one / part two / part three

You don’t see Namjoon again for a few days.

It’s not that you’re avoiding the guy, he did give you one of the best orgasms of your life after all, but you just haven’t had the opportunity to meet with him again. After the last study session, both of your schedules haven’t matched up. When you’re in class, he’s free. When you’re free, he’s too busy reading those damn philosophy books.

The two of you exchanged phone numbers—or rather, you coerced Yoongi into giving you Namjoon’s phone number with the promise of free Starbucks for the rest of the semester because the poor boy was out of money in his school account—but every text about possible study sessions has been in vain.

So, the little pink bullet vibrator in your bedside table has been relieving much of your end-of-semester stress instead. It also doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about your tutor either. You can’t get the image of when he was staring at you while giving you head out of your mind, and it’s been driving you absolutely crazy.

You told Ara about what happened in his bedroom after the game, and your roommate was shocked at how fast it all happened. “So, it’s that kind of payment.”

Were you some kind of prostitute now? You voiced this mild concern to Ara before she assured you that you weren’t a hoe now just because your tutor gave you oral in return for a study session. If anything, you should’ve given him head as payment. “I know—and I would have if not for your interfering phone call.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t show up on time,” Ara said. “But on the real, is he really hot?”

Hot doesn’t do Kim Namjoon justice. There are no right or perfect words to describe him. You don’t know what it is about him, but everything concerning him just oozes sexuality. He knows all of the right words to make you bend to his will, as well as fiery looks that make you melt underneath his ministrations. And his mouth—that amazing, fantastic mouth—is magical. Your body becomes excited at just the thought of it.

It’s about a few days later when you get a text from him asking if you'll be free Friday afternoon. Lucky for him, the only class you have that day is chemistry, ironically enough, and you let him know this fact. Namjoon replies instantly, telling you that he’ll see you after that class.

Since meeting with Namjoon, you’ve been paying more attention in chemistry class. Things were starting to make sense—kind of, sort of—and you have an inkling feeling that you might pass. Also, in all honesty, you just really want to impress him with the new concepts you're learning. But trying to impress someone like him seems impossible.

When Friday rolls around, you cannot contain the excitement you feel. You sit in chemistry and take the most detailed notes you’ve ever taken, feeling determined to show how much you’ve improved since the first study session. Once your professor finishes her lecture, you leave class with a skip in your step and pull out your phone to send a quick text asking what time you should meet. As your typing away on your phone, not really paying attention to where you’re walking, you end up running into someone.

“Oops—I’m—” you look up, only to be met with the amused expression of your tutor. “Oh my god, Namjoon—I’m so sorry—”

Goodness, you are such a klutz. You were so focused on sending him a text, so excited to see him again, that you completely disregarded everything else. You realize that he has his arms on your shoulders, steadying you. Suddenly, embarrassment floods your body at the fact that you literally ran into him.

Shaking your head to collect yourself, you can’t help but notice that once again, Namjoon is dressed like he is some runway model—not a college student. Today, he’s wearing a plain black dress shirt tucked into lighter wash jeans. You don’t know how long you stare at him, but he coughs once, and you meet his eyes. That’s when you realize that he decided to forgo the glasses today. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“I was just about to send you a text,” you point to your phone. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“I actually sent you one too.”

Looking back at your phone, your message still in the text box, you scroll down and realize that Namjoon did send you a text just seconds ago.

12:49 PM | Namjoon: Hey. I’ll meet you outside your class today.

You look back at him, “Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“My one o’clock got canceled, and I got out of my noon class a little early,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I haven’t been in the science building since freshman year.”

“Okay, mister philosophy major.”

“Are you free to study?”

Nodding, you swallow the lump in your throat as you remember what happened during the last study session. “Definitely. I even took good notes today in class.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Give me credit for trying,” you pout, walking away from him. Namjoon catches up to you in no time, arms slightly brushing against yours as he walks beside you down the hall. You become overly aware of how fast your heart starts beating and mentally curse yourself for reacting like a total noob.

“Isn’t that something you should’ve been doing all semester?”

You give him a look, but he merely laughs as you both walk out into the sun. You lead Namjoon to your dorm, walking past stares from the student body. As the two of you walk, you make small talk with him—clearly more interaction than what you guys did last time. He talks to you about his philosophy classes, which you don’t really get, but you appreciate his passion for it. “Honestly, I don’t really like philosophy.”

“Not many people do,” he says. “But I think people like Plato and Socrates were fascinating.”

“Is philosophy on the list of graduation requirements?”

Namjoon looks down at you. “I believe at least one class is.”

You groan at the thought of sitting through an entire semester of lectures about the mind and theories. “Great.”

“I could always tutor you, again,” he says, eyes still on you.

Your body hums at the thought of spending more time with Namjoon. Immediately, you want to jump and say that you want nothing more than to continue future tutoring sessions; but you decide to tease him a little. “Hmm…we’ll see. If I pass chemistry, then maybe. Like, I don’t want to waste my time if my grade doesn’t change you know?”

“Is this a challenge?” he asks with a smirk. “I already told you that I’m confident you’ll get at least a C. Why? Doubting my skills? Did I not make you cum hard enough last time?”

He says the last bit so quietly you almost don’t catch it. The two of you are still in public, which means anyone can hear the conversation you both are having, so you’re shocked that he’s being quite bold right now. Even though you don’t want to, you redden at the mention of last time because he’s right—he did make you cum really hard—so you definitely are not doubting the sexual prowess that is Kim Namjoon.

Before you can answer him, you’ve already reached your building. Rummaging through your backpack for your ID card, you swipe the metal lock on the door and open it up. You walk inside first and tell Namjoon that your room is on the second floor.

“Also, there’s no elevator in this building,” you sigh. “At least, no working elevator—the one we did have has been broken since labor day weekend.”

“Oh?” he laughs a little, following you up the stairs.

“Yeah, I think there were too many people on the elevator at one time, so it got stuck and maintenance hasn’t bothered to fix it. But at least I only have to climb one flight of stairs—I feel bad for the people on the floors above me. I don’t even want to think about the chaos that will be having to pack for winter break.”

Making it to your room, the first door on the left, you notice that Namjoon is awfully close to you and it sends little jolts of electricity up your spine.

“Cute,” he suddenly says, and you turn to ask him what. “The decorative names are a nice touch.”

You smile, looking at yours and Ara’s name that are creatively pieced on the door of the room. “Thanks—it was actually Ara’s idea though. She’s very into this kind of stuff. You know, doing the whole college experience.”

Slipping your key into the lock, you open the room and sigh in relief when you remember that you cleaned the night before. Ara was shocked that you were cleaning, not that you’re extremely messy or anything but you do have a tendency to leave empty water bottles around the room. However, when you mentioned that Namjoon was coming over to help you study, Ara would not stop shut up about it.

“Make sure to use protection, okay?” she said to you and you almost tackled her on the spot. “Also, make sure he discards the condom—I don’t want that shit to get on the carpet. I’ve heard that it’s hard to take cum off the carpet.”

Thankfully, Ara has a packed schedule on Friday afternoons, so she will not be here to disturb your study session. You invite Namjoon to walk inside first as you lock the door.

“Well,” you start, “welcome to my humble abode.”

“Your room is bigger than I thought it would be,” he comments.

“Why? Did you think it was going to be the size of a closet?” you snort. “This room accommodates two people, so it has to be decently sized.”

When you and Ara first moved in, you two tried to set up the room as practical as possible. You both decided to forgo the whole bunk bed situation because neither of you wanted to fight for the bottom bunk, so your beds sit parallel to each other with both bedside tables in-between. At the foot of your beds are desks, and by the door stands a sink and your closets.

You put your bag down on your bed and pull Ara’s desk chair from her side of the room. Setting it next to your chair, you sit down and beckon Namjoon to follow. You pull out your notes and textbook, handing them over to your tutor to look over.

“Are those the notes you took earlier?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Namjoon examines your notes, flipping back and forth over the pages you wrote today. “Did you understand everything the professor said?”

“Surprisingly, I did,” you say. “I’ve been able to soak up more information this past week than I have almost all semester.”

“That’s good,” he says with a nod and opens your textbook up. “Did you want to start from what you learned today, or where we left off last time?”

You tell him that you want the latter and Namjoon picks up seamlessly. With pen and paper in hand, you jot down everything that he says and ask questions when you don’t understand what he’s explaining. When he gets to the chapter about stoichiometry, you admit that you never understood what the heck this was. You even make Namjoon balance a simple hydrogen and oxygen equation five times because you really don’t get it. But, to your relief, you learn that Namjoon is surprisingly patient with you.

“Can you explain that again?” you ask with a sheepish smile, watching Namjoon write the current example you two are working on again.

“Okay, so the problem asks how many grams of nitrogen are needed to produce the 38.5 g of NH2 produced in the equation: 1 N2(g) + 3 H2(g) = 2 NH2(g)?”

You watch as he writes down the goal mass and then solves the problem using mass-mass stoichiometry. Through each step, he explains slowly what he is doing and why he is doing what he is doing. By the time he comes out with the answer, you feel a little lightbulb flicker in your head. He then asks if you feel comfortable solving the problem yourself, which you honestly don’t but what’s new, and you reply with an I guess so.

Without letting you see his work, Namjoon helps you start solving the problem before forcing you to do it all by yourself. After a few painstaking minutes, you show your answer and the smile he has lets you know that you’re not a complete failure. “So, I got it correct?”

“Yeah—just make sure you put the unit of measurement in your answer, as well as the atomic letters of the chemical,” he says, and you immediately add them to your answer.

“Thank you for being so patient,” you tell him. “I’m sorry that I’m so fucking slow.”

He only shakes his head, “I’ve tutored worse—trust me.”

Namjoon continues through different lessons and before you both realize it, nearly all of the afternoon has passed by and you’re starting to get hungry. Not hungry-hungry, but hungry enough that you know your stomach will probably start making noise. You will your stomach to not growl, but your body betrays you and the sounds coming from your stomach fill the room. Almost instantly, you wrap your arms around your abdomen and you feel your face flush. “Sorry.”

Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, Namjoon checks the time. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how long we’ve been studying. I also didn’t even think about whether or not you’ve even had lunch.”

“I’m okay,” you brush him away, knowing you can hold out until dinner. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but not for food.”

Your lips part in silent surprise. Oh. Slowly, your eyes meet his and you see that same dark look; this sends your body into a frenzy. Without even touching you, Namjoon has you under his spell and you honestly never want to be released from it. “We can take a break, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body.

“Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?” you say. “Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.”

Humor laces Namjoon’s dark eyes and you swear that you’ve never seen anything sexier. “The next part of your payment?”

You’re so ready for this—anything and everything. You’ve been ready for a while now. “Of course.”

“Okay,” his voice is gentle. Namjoon brings a hand to cup your face, thumb running over your jawline before settling on your lips. He parts your mouth and you begin to suck on his finger. “Get down on your knees for me, baby girl.”

Your arousal skyrockets as you stand up and push your chair back. Falling to your knees, Namjoon’s hand never leaves your face. Looking up at him, you feel his hand moving to tangle in your hair. Suddenly, he pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue dancing with your own. You’re already getting drunk of a kiss, so imagining what's to come has your core aching.

As his lips move against your own, your fingers slide up his thighs and you can feel his muscle flexing underneath. He feels so strong underneath your hands and you can’t wait to see if he crumbles beneath you. Fingers find the belt holding his jeans together, and you begin to loosen the buckle. After, you begin to unbutton his jeans. Namjoon’s lips release yours when you lower his zipper. Shoving his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, your eyes take in his already half-hard member.

Namjoon surprises you when he brings a hand to his cock, holding it erect. “Suck my cock, baby girl.”

Your hand goes to replace his when he stops you. “What?”

“No hands,” he says, voice deep with lust, “put them behind you.”

A jolt of electricity goes up your spine and you almost let out a moan. Oh my god. You do as he says, fingers lacing together behind your back, and lower your head towards his groin. The first thing you do is extend your tongue out to lick the tip. A small smile stretches across your lips when Namjoon visibly shudders.

Then, your mouth envelops the entire head—sucking gently and tongue swirling around it. As you suck, you take more of him into your mouth. You have never been one to particularly enjoy giving head; you’ll do it without question, but it usually doesn’t do anything for you. However, you’re enjoying yourself; you want to please Namjoon and make him feel good.

Through your focused attention to his member, you can make out the few choked praises and curses that leave Namjoon’s lips. You moan appreciatively as you take him deeper into your throat. You release him for a moment to catch your breath before giving some attention to his shaft and balls. By this point, his cock as grown increasingly hard and you wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to fit inside of you.

Size has never been an issue for you; then again, you’re pretty sure he’s got the biggest package you’ve seen in real life.

“Fuck, y/n,” Namjoon moans, beginning to thrust his hips once you’ve taken all of him back into your mouth. You can feel your eyes begin to sting from the force of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your gag reflex kicks in.

Even though you’re beginning to choke, he doesn’t stop slamming his cock down your throat. In fact, he tightens the grip on your hair and speeds up his thrusting. After a few hard thrusts, he releases you. Gasping for air, you can feel saliva dribble down your chin.

Wiping your face, you glance up at Namjoon. “Was that…?”

“Wow,” he breathes, “your mouth is fucking amazing.”

Pride beams inside of you and Namjoon takes this opportunity to crash his lips onto yours. He lifts you off the floor and helps you take your clothes off. As you strip, you also help him shed whatever clothes he is wearing as well. After the two of you are completely naked, you take in Namjoon’s bare body and just groan. How could one man be so damn perfect?

“Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “No.”

He kisses you again and you become putty in his hands. Namjoon’s lips leave yours for a moment before reaching back down towards his jeans. Pulling out his wallet, you watch as he takes out a little foil packet. He tears the edge and rolls the condom onto his cock before sitting back down. “Sit on my cock.”

Usually, you’d bite back if someone ordered you around; but with Namjoon, you’ll do anything he says. But before you can straddle his lap, he brings his hand up to cup your mound. “Namjoon—”

He begins to rub your clit and you fall over, bracing yourself onto his shoulders. You moan into his neck as he slips a finger inside of you. And then another. With nails digging into his back, you grind your hips into his thrusting. Just as you’ve started building up momentum, he pulls his fingers out.

You curse, which only causes him to laugh. Unable to help yourself, you kiss him again—you really like kissing him, you realize. Wasting no more time, you hover over his lap and position yourself over him. Slowly, you sink lower. Just as your about to slip him inside of you, Namjoon stops you for a minute. Looking into his eyes, you find yourself getting lost in them. He kisses you again and begins to rub his head along your clit and down toward your slit.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your jaw.

��Namjoon,” you choke on a cry. “I—”

“Do you want my cock inside of you?” he asks, continuing to tease you.

Your hands tighten around his neck, “Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes,” you repeat, another moan releasing from your lips.

His tip swirls around your clit again. “What?”

“Oh my god, Namjoon. Yes! Put your cock inside of me—oh.”

Your head tilts back and eyes roll as you feel him push inside of you. Unadulterated moans leave your lips as he slowly stretches you. Quickly, you realize that you were right—he is big, and you feel so full you can hardly handle it. You sink lower until you’re buried to the hilt, and it feels so good you might just explode. “I just…I just need a minute.”

Breathing into the crook of Namjoon’s neck, you allow your body to get adjusted before you begin to move your hips. As you ride him, you can feel your high approaching quickly and it doesn’t help that Namjoon has decided to tease you by pinching your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You feel so good on my cock, baby girl,” he practically coos into your ears and your hips slam faster; harder. “Fuck yourself onto me—just like that.”

Who knew you’d be such a praise kink hoe? You’re living for the sweet nothings coming from his lips.

He continues to pinch and pull at your nipples and just when you think you can’t take anymore, you feel his fingers right at your clit and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You scream his name, entire body convulsing in orgasm. Throughout this, Namjoon fucks himself into you still—helping you ride the high out.

“Oh my god,” you say once you catch your breath. “That was—”

“Who said we were done?” His voice causes you to raise your eyes towards him. “We’ve only just begun.”

Your mouth parts, core tightening with desire as he lifts you up and over to your bed. Still inside you, he lays your body down and begins peppering kisses all over your skin. Suddenly, you feel him pull out; you’re about to protest until you feel his hot breath caressing your thighs. Pushing your legs apart, he presses more kisses along the inside before his mouth begins to suck on your lips.

“Namjoon,” you moan his name, legs shaking at his ministrations.

There’s just something so erotic about him eating you out post-penetration—the thought sends your head spinning. Without much, you feel your insides tightening again; you’re going to cum again and your body is so ready for the toe-curling sensation. But it stops when Namjoon releases his hold on you. “You think you deserve to cum again?”

You lift yourself up on your forearms, breathing heavily as you stare at the man before you. Is he being serious right now? “What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve earned another orgasm yet,” he says, a smirk growing along his lips. “I mean, I haven’t cum yet…so why do you deserve more than one?”

“I…I…” you struggle to speak. Hell, you can’t even think right now.

But Namjoon doesn’t stop tormenting you. You watch as his hand returns to your cunt, fingers moving slowly along your wetness. A moan leaves your lips, and it only seems to make his smirk wider. “Tell me why, y/n?”

Your head falls back a bit when you feel that tightness building again. As his fingers continue to move, your hips match their rhythm. “I’m so…close.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod feverishly. “Oh god…yeah.”

“You want to cum again?” he asks.

As Namjoon’s fingers move along your slit, rubbing delicious circles around your swollen clit, your hips move feverishly to match his pace. Clutching the bedsheets in-between your hands, you cry as your high comes. But as your body shakes, you feel him enter you again.

He fucks you hard—cock buried deep inside of you—and it feels so fucking good you swear you might actually pass out. Namjoon thrusts relentlessly, and another wave of pleasure crash over you as he hits your g-spot repeatedly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you feel completely spent. How many times have you come undone today?

You’re pretty sure that you can’t manage another orgasm, you’re already feeling sensitivity-overload; so instead, you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back. “I want you to cum.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hair in a sweaty mess on top of you. God, he looks so good.

You nod. “Yeah…where do you want to cum? I’ll let you choose.”

Namjoon grunts at your words, hips picking up their pace. “Can I cum on your tits?”

Your body shakes at his request, and all you can do is nod. He continues to thrust a few more times, hips moving a little sloppier each with each thrust, before he pulls out and removes his condom. Strings of milky white hit your chest as he mutters fuck over and over again, painting your breast; however, the real sight to behold is Namjoon and the way his eyes are shut in pure ecstasy.

Sitting up, you pull him closer and mold your lips against his. As you both kiss in post-coital bliss, you realize that you can get used to this.

***

a few weeks later...

Namjoon paces up and down the empty hallway.

His loafers echo in the closed space, while outside there is a totally different picture. Mother nature has decided to be lovely as usual and snow—the first of the season. Although the snow is nice and all, he can’t but feel nervous as his eyes continuously return to the same wooden door; the door that leads to you. Well, to your chemistry class specifically. You’re in there taking your chemistry final right now, and it’s nearing the end of the three-hour exam session.

Shouldn’t you be done already? For the last hour, Namjoon has watched as other students have filed out of the room with their exams in hand. As each individual walked out, he searched for your face in vain. And as the minutes continue to tick by, Namjoon grows more worried.

He doesn’t doubt your preparedness—you two have done more than enough studying. Namjoon licks his lower lip at the memory of every study session you’ve both had, since they’ve all ended with the both of you in each other’s beds. Although the sex has gotten better and better every time, that isn't the only good thing that's happened. In the last few weeks, he has actually taught you a lot about chemistry too.

“What if I forget everything?” you asked yesterday, the both of you tucked in his bed.

Namjoon laughed, “You won’t forget.”

“I can’t even remember what mass is, and that is supposed to be the basic of all basic information.”

“It’s property of a physical body and a measure of its resistance to acceleration when a net force is applied, y/n.”

When he first met you, he said something about guaranteeing that you’d make a C on the final, but he was quite positive that you’d actually do better than that. You were able to soak up a semester’s worth of chemistry in a few weeks; if that isn’t impressive, Namjoon doesn’t know what is. And this is coming from someone who aces all of their finals.

From what he can remember about the chemistry final is that it’s about one hundred questions, and it's all multiple choice. There are different versions of the final, but all of the questions are the same—just in a different order to prevent cheating. And since the test is multiple choice, students get their scores immediately after. You both practiced more than enough old final questions, and you did well on all of them, so he was confident in your skills.

Now, he doesn't know what to think.

Just as Namjoon is about to worry himself sick, the door creaks open and you walk out. Immediately, you make eye contact with him and offer a small smile. He quickly scans your face and assumes the worst. “Oh god, did you not pass?”

“Sorry I took so long,” you avoid his question as you walk closer to him, “those one hundred questions took everything out of me.”

“Y/n, what did you get on the final?” Namjoon takes your face in his hands, searching your eyes for an answer. “Baby, I swear I really thought I prepared you well. I’m so s—”

Suddenly, you laugh. You laugh so hard your entire body shakes. Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown another head. He asks you what’s wrong, but you can’t even answer. “You’re so funny, Joon.”

“Why are you laughing?”

You smile. “I’m laughing because you’re getting so worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks, incredulously. “I’m worried that you didn’t pass. That’s not nothing.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

Namjoon frowns for a moment and you unfold your exam and reveal the front page to him. He blinks a few times to make sure the red letter is actually there. Slowly, a smile builds on his face and he lifts you off the ground. You laugh into his shoulder as he spins you around in circles.

As your feet meet the ground again, the smile can’t be wiped off your face. “I can’t believe I actually got a one hundred!”

“Did the professor think you cheated or something?” Namjoon jokes and you almost punch his shoulder.

“No, I just explained that you tutored me. That was all she needed to know.”

“I guess we both win, huh?”

“Win?” you ask, confused as to what he’s talking about.

Namjoon nods. “Yeah—you got the grade, and got my payments.”

You mock laugh, “Ha. Ha. I think you've gotten one too many payments from me, don’t you think?”

He takes that chance to pull your body close, so that you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. Namjoon looks down at you with a smirk, enjoying the way you squirm in his hold. Over the last few weeks, you’ve gotten a lot more confident in his presence and he loved it. However, he still enjoys messing with your anyway. “I think you enjoyed giving me all those payments.”

“Who said?”

“Your body,” he smiles.

“My body tends to betray my mind,” you say, fighting your own smile.

Namjoon’s hands move from your waist to cup your ass. Your eyebrows raise at his action, but you don’t object and that’s all the confirmation he needs to lean down for a kiss.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #bangtan bookclub #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts fic #namjoon fic #rm fic #bts humor #smut #humor #fluff #rm #namjoon #private tutor #xbaepsae

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Undone, Chapter 25 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Hello, beautiful people!! Thanks for your patience with the slow updates. Previous chapters are here. Much love and gratitude to the wonderful @jimvssherlock and guardian angel @missdandee for beta reading.

Summary: Relationships are work. But sometimes fun work.

TW: References to past emotional abuse & PTSD

***

“Hey!” Courtney sets a couple of bags on the counter, fruits and veggies procured from the Farmer’s Market, and smiles brightly at Bianca.

“Hi,” Bianca smiles back, stirring a pot on the stove.

“What’cha making?”

“Applesauce.”

“People actually do that?” Courtney asks. She begins to put away the groceries. “I thought that was just a thing in like, movies about women in Vermont.”

Bianca lifts an eyebrow.

“Really, applesauce throws you? Doesn’t your dad ferment soybeans to make his own tofu?” she asks.

“Yeah, but he’s crazy,” Courtney laughs.

“Fair enough, but you’re a vegan. How do you not know the most basic thing to do with an apple?”

“The most basic thing to do with an apple is to eat it raw. The next most basic thing is to juice it. You’re actually cooking it, on a stove. That’s not basic at all.” Courtney leans against the door frame.

“Juicing requires equipment that you have to take apart to clean,” Biana counters. “This is a pot and 3 ingredients.”

“That’s why I have the juice guy do it,” she answers, grinning.

“Well, by that logic, I could just buy a jar of applesauce.”

“Exactly!” Courtney exclaims. “I’m so glad you see my point.”

Bianca reaches out and grabs her, pulling her close.

“Why are you arguing with me?” She chases Courtney’s mouth with her lips, letting out a little frustrated groan when Courtney evades her kiss.

“I’m not arguing. I’m engaging in lively discourse,” Courtney teases. She stops moving, allowing Bianca to capture her mouth, sliding her hands into her hair. Bianca’s lips trail down her jaw to her neck, nipping softly at her skin.

“You’re a pain,” Bianca murmurs against her neck, dimples deep in her cheeks.

“I know,” Courtney smiles to herself, tilting her head to give her better access. After a few moments, she adds, “So...tell me about this allegedly simple recipe.”

Bianca pulls away, all business, and gestures to the stove. “Okay. So, you’ve put apples, peeled and cut up-”

“Ugh, I’m already exhausted!” Courtney moans dramatically.

“-Into the pot, with some water. A generous splash of orange juice. Or you can steal the rest of your girlfriend’s fancy fresh-squeezed artisanal tangerine juice.”

“How very dare you!” Courtney feigns offense.

“And then…” Bianca pauses to kiss her on the cheek. “...You add a fuck ton of cinnamon. Which I was about to do. Wanna grab it for me?”

“Sure.” Courtney turns and walks to the pantry as Bianca gives the saucepan a stir. “Okay, I feel like you just compulsively re-arranged this spice shelf and now it’s a mess again.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bianca asks.

“Babe, I’m sorry, it’s just that sometimes when I need something, I don’t have a lot of...Thyme.” Courtney holds up a small jar, a delighted smile on her face.

“You look way too proud of that one,” Bianca says, shaking her head and trying not to laugh.

Courtney blinks, giving her sad puppy eyes, picking up another jar, and asks, “Are you trying to say that you don’t want to...Dill with me anymore?”

Bianca can’t help laughing, and strides over to her, pressing her against the open cabinet, attacking her with more kisses.

“You’re ridiculous, and I fucking love you so much,” she whispers.

“Well…” Courtney sighs against her. “That’s ‘cause we’re Mint to be…”

“Oh my god.” Bianca releases her, still laughing. “Just give me the fucking cinnamon, you dweeb.”

***

Bianca jolts awake, startled, to the sound of the smoke detector wailing, dogs howling frantically along with it. She races down the hall to the kitchen to find the back door and all the windows thrown open, a blackened pan smoking in the sink, full of the charred remains of...Bianca can’t even tell.

Courtney’s standing on a chair, trying to reset the smoke detector.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” Courtney finds the button and presses it, then looks down at Bianca sheepishly. “I, uh...had a bit of a mishap.”

“You don’t say!” Bianca laughs, rubbing her eyes.

“How do you feel about going out for dinner?”

“You read my mind.” Bianca meets her hopeful grin and flashes her dimples.

***

“BABYYYY!” Adore cries, racing over to Courtney and attacking her with hugs and kisses. She’s just come in from the smoking patio, utterly delighted to see her recently absent friend at the bar. “Omigod, we haven’t hung out in so long!”

“I missed you too,” Courtney says. She can see Bianca’s shoulders tense, and so she pushes Adore gently. When her friend doesn’t take the hint, she adds, “How many have you had, anyway?”

“Enough!” she giggles.

As Adore continues to pepper kisses all over Courtney’s face, Bianca clears her throat uncomfortably. It’s been awhile since she’s had to confront this embarrassing jealousy she has over their relationship, although Courtney pulling away from Adore slightly and putting a hand on her arm does help a little. Adore seems to catch on too, as she looks up finally, grinning at her.

“Whatsa matter, B, you want some sugar too?”

“That’s not exactly what I was-” Bianca is cut off by Adore wrapping her into a hug and placing a wet kiss on her forehead. “Lovely, thank you.”

“Listen, you can’t blame her for missing you,” says Sasha, bumping her hip against Courtney’s. “We all did. It’s been a minute.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Courtney says.

“It’s my fault,” Bianca says, hoping to diffuse the tension, knowing that the blame for Courtney’s absence falls squarely on her shoulders. “I’m very high maintenance.”

“You are not,” Courtney turns to Bianca, smiling from ear to ear and reaching for her hand.

“Mmm, I kinda believe her, since she’s got a full face of makeup and blowout on a Friday night...here,” Shea comments, gesturing around at the casual bar surroundings.

“Yep, that’s fair,” Bianca chuckles, nodding. She catches Shea’s dark eyes and shrinks a little. In spite of how nice Shea’s been to her, she can sense the disapproval. Very fair indeed.

“Well...whatever,” Courtney says, leaning on Bianca’s shoulder, fingers laced together.

Although her expression remains unchanged, Bianca’s heart soars. Simply the feeling of Courtney’s body against hers, the way she clasps Bianca’s hand between hers, gently trapping her fingers, all of it is exactly what Bianca’s been longing for. She knows that she’ll most likely have an uphill battle with Courtney’s friends, given their history; she’s not stupid. If she were them, she’d be telling Courtney to fucking run. She kisses Courtney’s temple, breathing her in.

“I’m gonna head to the bar. You want anything?” Bianca picks up her handbag. It’s probably necessary for Courtney to have a few minutes alone with her friends. They obviously need to clear the air, and everyone is too polite to do it in front of her.

“Whatever you’re having,” Courtney says with a shrug.

“I’m drinking ginger ale. You’re not the one who can’t drink,” Bianca reminds her quietly.

“Why can’t you drink, B?” Adore drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“Antibiotics,” she answers quickly. “I had an ear infection.”

“Ear infection, huh? That’s what they’re calling gonorrhea these days?” Adore snickers, and for the first time all night, Pearl laughs with her, seemingly roused from her general sleepy daze.

‘Sorry,’ Courtney mouths silently.

“Listen,” Adore continues, gesturing to Courtney. “If you want her to put out, get her a tequila.”

“Shut up, cunt,” Courtney laughs.

Bianca squeezes Courtney’s hand as she wheedles, “Let me buy you a drink. We can pretend we’re a normal couple...who met in a bar.”

“Fine,” Courtney gives in, suppressing a grin. “Um...vodka soda, I guess?”

“You got it.” Bianca presses a soft kiss to her cheek and heads to the bar, Adore on her heels.

“So…” Shea begins, the second they’re out of earshot. “This is new.”

“Yup.” Courtney shifts, trying not to look or sound defensive. These are her friends. They’re just looking out for her. And given the history, their concern is valid - even if it’s wrong. Probably.

“Look,” Sasha says. “We’re not judging you, I-”

“Speak for yourself! I’m fully judging you. That bitch-”

“Easy…” Sasha places a gentle hand on Shea’s arm.

Shea takes a breath and continues in a softer voice. “She fucked you, and then ghosted you for how many weeks? Do you not remember how miserable you were? Then she moved in, and now you’re-”

“It’s complicated!” Courtney exclaims, then stops and sighs. Getting defensive was exactly what she was trying not to do.

Shea stares at her for a moment. Then, she slowly turns to Pearl, asking, “ You got weed, right?”

“Duh.”

“I need a minute. See ya in a few.” Shea kisses Sasha and pulls Pearl towards the patio.

Courtney looks down at her hands. She wants to explain, especially to Sasha, who’s looking at her with an infuriating amount of empathy. It’s worse than Shea’s judgment.

“Are you gonna lecture me now?” Courtney asks tiredly.

“Depends. Are you happy?”

Courtney looks back up at her, a smile pulling at her mouth. “I really am. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but...god, I love her so much. I’ve never felt this way before. Never.”

“Okay.” Sasha takes a sip of her drink and then puts it down.

“That’s it?”

“Yup...for now.”

Courtney flings her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly.

“Thank you, I’ll take it.”

***

It’s been awhile since Courtney’s had any drinks and they go straight to her head almost immediately. One and a half later, and she’s all over Bianca on the dance floor.

“Guess what?” Courtney murmurs, sliding her arms around Bianca’s shoulders.

“What?”

“You are...so hot.”

“You’re drunk,” Bianca replies, dimples piercing her cheeks.

“So?” Courtney pulls her closer, eyeing her up and down in a way that sends shivers up Bianca’s spine. “I’m still right.”

Bianca leans forward, lips grazing the underside of Courtney’s jaw until she hears a breathy whimper. She can’t help remembering the last time they danced together, how every molecule of her body ached to kiss her, to hold her, and how instead she panicked and fled.

Tonight, she makes no such mistake, arms wrapped securely around Courtney’s waist, the press of the crowd creating a warm cocoon around them. Her light, teasing kisses growing longer and deeper and messier until the blown-out pupils in Courtney’s eyes tell her that they’re getting into the danger zone.

God damn Bob and her rules.

“Um...do you wanna go outside for some air?” Bianca whispers.

“‘Kay.”

***

Courtney leans against the railing of the patio, trying to breathe in the ocean air, clear her head a little. She still feels pleasantly fuzzy when Shea sidles up.

“Where’s your boo?”

“Bathroom.” Courtney takes another sip of her drink. So much for sobering up. She’d rather be drunk for this conversation.

“Sasha says I’m being too harsh.”

“Nahh. I know you’re looking out,” Courtney shrugs.

“You just...you can’t let people get away with treating you like shit,” Shea says.

“I know that. Do you really think I’d be with her if she didn’t have a very fucking good reason for the way she acted?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen you so...twitterpated.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know, when all those woodland creatures in Bambi fall in love and act like idiots? You’re like a starry-eyed little school girl.”

“So?” Courtney turns to her, shrugging.

“Well, I’m used to seeing you kinda...detached, I guess, even when you really like someone. It’s disconcerting.” Shea chuckles. “I figured you must just literally be getting your brains fucked out.”

“Hardly. We’re actually not...fucking. Currently. Yet.”

“Wait, are you serious?!”

Shea seems so shocked that Courtney laughs.

“Okay, don’t look so scandalized. I’m trying to be smart about it and take my time before we jump into anything. Plus she’s still dealing with getting out of a really shitty marriage, and her emotions are all over the place because she’s getting into her second tri-” Courtney stops abruptly. Even in her drunken state, she knows that this was an egregious error. It doesn’t help allay suspicion when she claps a hand over her mouth.

Shea stares at her for a moment, eyes narrowing.

“Getting into her second what?”

“Uhhh…”

“Courtney…” For some reason, Shea sounds exactly like Courtney’s mother, and it tears down the rest of her defenses. She’s not getting out of this one.

“Trimester,” Courtney admits, and she’s immediately flooded with guilt. For one thing, she’d promised not to say anything. It could severely fuck up Bianca’s life if this got back to Jared before she’s ready. And worse, she feels relieved, that finally, she’s not the only one holding the burden.

Her relief is short-lived, though, as she watches Shea, mouth hanging open. Courtney’s never seen her silent for this long, and she starts to fidget nervously.

“I shouldn’t have told you that, I really...You can’t say anything, please…oh god, I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

Shea holds up a hand and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before saying simply, “Did you say...” and then stopping.

“Yeah.”

“So like…”

“Yeah,” Courtney repeats. “But I-”

“Wait. Wait.”

Courtney shuts her mouth, waiting in terror for what she’s going to say next. Soon enough, the floodgates open.

“So now you're gonna be a fucking mother?!"

“Shhhh!” Courtney hisses, explaining quietly, “And no. She is. I'm gonna be like…”

“A stepmother?”

“No! Just like...I dunno. A helper...person. We haven’t really figured it out, but it’s definitely her baby.”

Shea shakes her head, still dumbfounded.

“Shit, man.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Courtney begs, seeing Adore heading over. “Please.” Shea gives her an incredulous look and then Courtney clarifies, “Okay, no one besides Sasha.”

“Fine.”

Courtney grips the railing, taking another deep breath. A baby. There’s a baby coming. But not just a baby. A person. A person who is gonna grow up and ask questions and get hurt and need her. For some reason, it’s never felt real before this moment. And now...she should be terrified. But instead, she just feels nervous excitement. Which is strange, because like she told Shea, it’s not her baby.

But when she catches Bianca strolling back out of the corner of her eye, a huge grin spreads across her face. It doesn’t matter, she realizes, gazing at her, heart bursting out of her chest. All that matters is that they love each other, and soon enough, a new little person is going to be here. Our little person, Courtney finally allows herself to think.

“What?” Bianca touches her face self-consciously, leaning against the railing beside Courtney. Suddenly just a little too far away for Courtney to bear.

Courtney shakes her head, not finding any words in this moment, instead taking Bianca’s hand and lifting it to her lips, placing a tender kiss against her fingers.

“What’s that for?” Bianca asks.

“No reason…” Courtney says, pulling her close. The warmth of her skin is a perfect contrast to the ocean breeze. “Let’s go back to the dance floor…”

***

“So,” Bob begins. “How are things going?”

“Um...pretty good. I think.” Bianca is careful not to oversell how she’s feeling today. Which is good. Really good. Maybe too good. And she just wants to bask in it for awhile before Bob bursts her bubble.

“Do you feel like the session you had with Courtney was productive?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, I’m not thrilled about your prescription to hold off on sex longer, but,” Bianca chuckles. “I think it was really necessary for me to hear how she felt. That thing you said, about her putting her own needs aside to be there for me-that’s something that I’ve been worried about too.”

“Have you noticed a change?”

“I think so. I’ve been trying to do more for her. Like, to let her know that I don’t need everything to be about me.”

“Such as?”

“Well...uh, we went out with her friends this weekend, which was fun. She hadn’t seen some of them since before I moved in with her. And at first, she wasn’t drinking, because I’m not, but I made sure she knew it was okay, and so then got absolutely hammered on like, two cocktails.” Bianca shakes her head, laughing. “She’s such a lightweight, it’s hilarious.”

“Sounds like she needed to blow off some steam.”

“Yeah, for sure. And like, she’d been driving into work with me every day even though her call time is usually way later than mine. So I made sure she knows that she doesn’t have to do that. Now she’s got more time to herself in the mornings.” Bianca smiles brightly.

“Bianca, I do want you to understand that, as lovely as these gestures are - and I’m not saying to stop, because it sounds like you’re really making an effort to be considerate, and that’s great - it really ultimately is Courtney’s responsibility to make sure that she’s being honest about her needs and desires,” Bob says.

“Yeah, and she is! I mean...usually, she’s like, too honest. TMI is kind of her thing.”

Bob chuckles.

“I think she was just trying to take care of me, you know? And so I’m making sure she knows that I can take care of her too. That it’s like what you said...it has to work both ways.”

“Right. But you also both have to be able to function autonomously.”

“Oh my god, you have so many rules,” Bianca whines, dropping her head into her hands.

“Look, I just don’t want you to go from one type of dysfunctional relationship to another. It would be easy to do that.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Bob laughs again, folding her hands and leveling her gaze directly at Bianca.

“In case it’s not clear, I have a lot of confidence in you, and in Courtney, and your ability to create something long-lasting and fulfilling. That is absolutely within your reach.”

Dimples appear in Bianca’s cheeks as mumbles a modest, “Thanks doc.”

Bob goes back to her pad, jotting down a note and saying, “I’m gonna send you some simple trust-building exercises that you can do together.”

“Oh good,” Bianca says, face screwed up in distaste.

***

Bianca sits on the sofa, working on some beading as the TV drones in the background; the familiar dulcet tones of the Real Housewives strangely soothing. Courtney’s on the floor, playing with the dogs. She’s made some minor progress getting them to fetch, giving them treats every time they deposit a toy into her lap. (Which is only about 5% of the time, but still an improvement from where they started.)

Lulled by the mindless repetition of her work and slightly bored by the endless circular arguments on TV, Bianca finds her attention on Courtney. There’s something a little heavy about her demeanor today, and Bianca worries that maybe she’s holding back again.

“Hey…” Bianca nudges her with a foot, and Courtney turns around to smile at her. Bianca studies the smile closely, trying to figure out what’s behind her eyes before coming to the unfortunate conclusion that she’s not a mind reader. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You seem a little...subdued.”

“Mmm…” Courtney leans her head on the back of the couch. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

Her nose wrinkles in mild embarrassment and she shakes her head.

“It’s kind of silly.”

“Try me.” Bianca carefully sets her work on the side table, giving Courtney her full attention.

“Just...what might have happened if we’d met under different circumstances. I mean...do you remember when we first met?” Courtney remembers the entire day with perfect clarity. Or at least, she thinks she does. Sometimes it feels like her memory is playing tricks on her - was that initial attraction actually mutual? Was Bianca as receptive to her flirting as it felt at the time?

“Of course.”

“What...what were you thinking? That first day?”

“Um…” Bianca takes a deep breath and lets out a dry chuckle. “Honestly? I was thinking…‘better stay far away, because this girl is bad news. She’s gonna turn your whole world upside-down.’”

Courtney nods, accepting that answer. It’s more or less what she was expecting.

“I was wrong, though.”

“You were?” This, Courtney isn’t prepared for. She looks up at Bianca questioningly.

Bianca nods, taking a beat to think about what she wants to say before replying.

“My world was already upside-down,” she admits. “You turned out to be the only part that was...right side up.”

As Courtney blinks a few times, expression as hard to read as it’s been all day, Bianca feels her stomach tighten. But then, Courtney crawls over to her, buries her face in Bianca’s lap. Bianca caresses her hair, realizing after a moment that Courtney is crying, and is overcome with tenderness for her, wishing she’d done it all differently. Praying that she can make Courtney feel as secure and loved and treasured as she deserves. Bianca tilts Courtney’s chin up, brushing her tears away with her fingers.

“I just...hate the idea of being some kind of homewrecker,” Courtney confesses, sniffling. “It’s so cheap and gross and...ugh.”

“You didn’t wreck my home,” Bianca tells her, hands cupping her face gently, delicately, as if she might break. “You are my home.”

Courtney climbs up onto the couch, flinging herself into Bianca’s arms. Bianca rocks her, holding her tight, trying to infuse her limbs with all the love and devotion she feels.

***

The zipper is literally just out of reach, Bianca realizes, huffing slightly. In spite of Courtney’s continued insistence that she looks ‘exactly the same,’ Bianca knows her body, and she knows that she’s put on weight. She may not have a visible bump yet, but she’s definitely feeling fatter and more awkward than ever. Before she can worry too much about it, though, Courtney comes up behind her.

Without being asked, Courtney slowly pulls up the zipper, catching Bianca’s eyes in the mirror and giving her an affectionate smile.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Do you think you can help me with this necklace, too?”

“Of course.” Courtney takes the necklace and fastens it, pressing a kiss to her bare neck in the process.

Bianca leans back, taking a few moments to enjoy Courtney’s arms around her before she finishes getting ready.

“You know, you’re the absolute best…” Bianca murmurs.

“Mmm, say it again.”

Bianca laughs, replying, “Nope. Sorry, one compliment a day is all you get.”

“Bummer.”

***

The whole yoga concept was Courtney’s idea. When Bianca came home from a meeting with Asia tense and full of anxiety, she sprang into action, doing a bunch of research to find the best and most relaxing poses for early pregnancy, putting together a customized program “so that you and little Keith Urban Del Rio can de-stress and get some exercise in a chill way.”

Bianca pretends to hate the idea, grumbling as Courtney sets up the living room with mats and puts on a playlist of meditation music. Courtney ignores this, powering through with a smile.

“Remember, I’m not a certified teacher-”

“Thanks, I’m well aware-”

“So make sure you tell me if anything hurts, and we’ll stop right away,” she instructs, before demonstrating the first pose.

After a few minutes, Bianca forgets to complain and just relaxes into it, following Courtney’s calm instructions, guiding her and giving her careful adjustments, being as supportive and encouraging as always. By the end, Bianca lays in the final pose, admitting with some contrition that her body feels great.

“Yay! Oh my god, I’m so good at this!” Courtney exclaims, clapping gleefully.

“Talented and so humble,” Bianca says.

“Oh yeah. I think...it’s hard to decide whether my talent or humility is the most extraordinary thing about me-”

Unable to hold back her laughter any longer, Bianca turns to her and proclaims, “You’re dumb.”

“Mmm, no, I’m actually quite gifted.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah, my intelligence is probably the only thing more remarkable than my humility and talent, to be honest,” she says, with such a thoughtful expression that Bianca bursts out laughing again.

“I’m glad you’re so self-aware.”

“Oh yeah, I am! Okay, so it goes...exceptional talent, amazing humility, genius-level intelligence, and like, profound self-awareness. Top qualities.” Courtney flutters her lashes.

“And a nice ass,” Bianca adds.

“Right...god, I’m amazing. How do you stand it?”

Bianca grins, reaching for her hand and pulling her back down to the mat for a kiss.

“I manage.”

Courtney laces their fingers together, giggling, resting a head on Bianca’s shoulder.

“Do you think this counts as nonsexual intimacy?” Courtney asks.

Bianca furrows her brow. After a beat, she asks, “You didn’t come?”

Courtney bursts out laughing, rolling over onto her back while Bianca laughs along with her, dimples deep in her cheeks. If nonsexual intimacy was the name of the game, then making Courtney laugh like this was just about the best thing she could ask for.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #courtney act #bitney #adore delano #sasha velour #shea coulee #bob the drag queen #lesbian au #fluff #angst #undone #stephanie #veronica #tw emotional abuse #concrit welcome

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chainofbeing · 4 years

Link

Having recovered from his injuries, Adam goes to Dhara Jamina in the hopes that he will learn more about the foe he is pursuing. Unaware of what truly awaits him.

Narration and Inspiration-Besides-Death : David M. Sledge

Eikal: Erik Smith

Captain Anktares: Frances Gillard

Announcement: George Pritchard

Adam Delta 5, and Sound Design: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

Follow the podcast on twitter @/chainofbeing

Email us at [email protected] for enquires and stuff

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[a deep voiced narrator speaks, the sounds of a creaking old wooden building]

It was immediately unsettling. Ghost had woken up and felt a sense of unease in their stomach but couldn't quite piece together what they were experiencing. it was only as they clunked down the hardwood stairs and persuaded the rehydration machine to actually work that they understood what was wrong. the sound of the waves had disappeared. instead of the ordinary rush of waves flinging themselves upon the scattering of unmoving and unwavering rocks there was a suffocating, deafening silence. It created a pressure in their ears which was worse than the static of thousands upon millions upon billions of water droplets falling. They had gotten used to that, they had accepted it as a daily occurrence, as anyone would do cope with monotony. They threw on their coat and swung open the lighthouse door,

[the sound of a town can be heard lightly, wind and birds too]

they could already feel the surface of their body begin to freeze. Ghost was 6-ft tall and fell into the third gender category of Malgaric. They had a great pair of glowing green eyes, their body criss-crossed with glowing lines of a similar colour in majestic patterns. Hovering around their head were decorations which adorned them as was customary for the Malgaric. Around their head silver horns hovered lightly above their temples and crescents followed their ears as they moved, bobbing up and down with each step. Their full name was "Ghost-of-Sunken-Dawn" however they found that their life was made much easier if they introduced themselves simply as Ghost. their full name is on their plaque of course, hung up by their sheriff's certificate and above their medals in service to the army.

Obviously they were not pondering their family name as they were charging down the semi frozen hill, their mind was preoccupied with the momentous task of trying to comprehend the unfathomable physics defying event that was taking place in front of them. Stood close to the edge of the cliff, puffer jacket zipped up to avoid the cold, Ghost stared deeply into the still wave and slowly began to feel a haze creep into their mind,

[the soft drone, permeated with shattering glass that plays forward and backward can be heard]

It toed the line between a physical and mental sensation, the strangely familiar haze seeped across their whole body as they felt themselves caught in the grip of something far greater and more complex than they could ever hope to understand. And as the birds cawed and the wind blew they felt a pulse travel from their stomach and ooze outwards to the rest of their body, a repeating pattern of four beats, and as the haze travelled outwards, ambling its way to their throat the pulses evolved, becoming incrementally more word-like, mutating from its true form into a shape far more cohesive with the reality around it. And as the haze enveloped Ghost completely, the pulses, now in the form of words, escaped their mouth and they spoke them out loud

“Ovig Nadal!”

and with that, Ghost was lost entirely

[the hum of a ship interior, new and clean adam now speaks]

I stand and stare into the mirror inspecting the scar on my abdomen, the diamond shape a lighter tone then the rest of my skin. I take a moment to stare at the other scars, all manner of bumps and shapes covering my body, never quite having healed properly. I follow the trail of past fights and battles, a history of my conflicts etched into my body, my gaze eventually landing on my eyes, run through with matching lines. I stare at myself

“you’re still human”

I say, my warped voice and dark eyes tell a different story. All the Arcanists and scientists of the galaxy cannot explain why I look like this, my immortality is a punishment, for what I did in Eden, for learning what I did in Eden. Whatever that was. Perhaps my aberration is part of that punishment as well. “You are more than Eden,” I tell myself.

That one I refuse to believe without any help.

I head downstairs and In the lift, an announcement pings overhead “Could operative Adam Delta 5 please make his way to the quartermaster,” I go down an extra floor and enter the Inventory, rows and rows of shelves with all manner of equipment and supplies, there’s a row of tills each with a visored quartermaster behind it.

[the sound of an office, some light talking and typing]

Waiting for me is what I imagine to be the captain of the ship, before she can introduce herself I interrupt her

“I thought hospital ships didn’t have quartermasters?” the captain, a Veatorian, looks me up and down

“I am Captain Anktares, nice to meet you.” she says, annoyed but unsurprised “Recently the council felt it necessary to..” she pauses to search for the right word “elevate, certain facilities at risk to certain threats, this ship was in the way of something or other, beyond my paygrade unfortunately,”

“It’s only been a few weeks, yet you’ve already built an inventory,”

“And a fighter craft docking station in the hangar. what can I say?” she smirks “we’re Veatorians, we get things done,”

“Careful, or you’ll start to sound like that Arestophsis Hand lot” I say half joking

she smiles tersely but says nothing and gestures to the quartermaster tills

“the council have issued you a fighter craft and a spear”

“A spear? What is this, the second dark ages?”

“It’s a very nice spear,” she reassures me. I look at her incredulously. “It’s extendable!”

[the sound of a hangar, maintenance on ships, clanging of metal, all reverberating around the space]

The fighter craft is so new it doesn't even have a name yet, the designation code is blank too. The chair screens and most surfaces are still wrapped in plastic and it hasn't been changed from the standard issue council blue and grey. I look back at the minimal storage space behind me, a bed, a few shelves of supplies and leaning against the wall, my new spear. I didn't want to admit it in front of the captain but it is a nice spear. Fully extended it reaches around 2 metres but right now it’s a nice manageable 70cm. I name the ship and the Ehedydd make its first spaceflight. It’s been a while since I’ve sat in a new ship so the lack of noise from the engine is a real surprise.

[the engine spins up and goes silent before activating and entering the widening field]

The Ehedydd was fitted with a WFC drive so the journey should only take about an hour or two. Which gives me some time to have a look at my mission brief. I hate military procedure, all the needless jargon and detail only helps to confuse things. From what I could decipher there was a recently established colony on a small planet, just big enough to be qualified as such, by the name of Dhāra jamīna. There wasn't a huge amount of space for the usual mega city to be constructed, due to most of the land being raised up to 7 miles above sea level, so instead most of the major settlements in the continent in question are towns with populations of around 30,000 each, each with their own sheriff. Also known as an administrative fucking nightmare. What had drawn my investigation here was the fact that the 7 mile tall waves that battered the cliffs holding up the small towns of Dhāra jamīna had stopped. They had not frozen, but had simply, paused. To add to this, there was a sheriff who was reported to be acting very strangely. An old Insistoris who was living there said it was similar to demonic possession but wrong, somehow. Sounds like what I’m looking for. The fact that he was still alive and hadn’t died or even transformed like Aiek Tubalcain meant he could be spoken to, and maybe, if i was lucky, he would speak back.

Dhāra jamīna is so new that it doesn't even have an Orbit to Land Transference Station, OLTraS for short, so instead I just transfer my clearance codes and go to land on a small pad at the edge of town. As I fly over the vast ocean I look into it, it’s stillness is unsettling and it amplifies the already quite strong anxiety I feel chasing after this thing.

[the sound of a town in the distance, wind and birds]

standing at the edge of the landing pad is a Vint and a Malgaric, joint mayors of the town, the name of which I've forgotten. I take me spear and affix it to my hip

“Welcome to Jalis,” the Vint says, offering both of his hands, I take them and we bow together, he has to bow his long spined neck quite a bit in order to match my level “I am Eikal, mayor of this small community”

“Joint mayor” the Malgaric reminds him, irritation apparent in his voice

[his voice is slightly robotic and gruff]

“I am Inspiration-Besides-Death, however for your ease of communication you may refer to me as Inspiration” in the dusk his blue light is just starting to illuminate the black soil grass at his feet.

“I thank you both,” I reply. Both mayors seem visibly uncomfortable speaking in Human, however I am physically incapable of speaking in Malgaric and my Vint is about 450 years outdated and I don’t want to seem like a weirdo. They lead me through the town,

[the town is quiet, some conversations can be heard through the walls of houses, somewhere someone is using a drill]

the two mayors seem intent on outpacing each other, gradually getting faster and faster until I have to start jogging in order to keep up with the two who are considerably taller than me. The people seem, understandably, anxious. They were expecting a quiet life in a new colony away from the overcrowded societies of their people. It’s late in the day so most people are resting or attending to prayers. Religion has no place in the Council of Nimonea, it's not actively discouraged, but provisions aren’t really made to preserve or protect it either, it's one of the more major issues most species within the council have. Unusually for most council towns, the houses here are 2-3 stories high most likely to make up for the lack of sprawling land on which to build. The whole town is only about a mile wide. We reach the detainment building and pause outside. Eikal turns to me “I must warn you, the manifestation is quite…disturbing,”

“I have not witnessed anything quite like this, even in my military days,” Inspiration chimes in. Eikal shoots him a look, “did you not identify my assessment to be adequate?” Inspiration looks back at him, his expression unwavering “I have said my piece,”. As they argue I look off at the edge of the island at a wave, unmoving and unwavering, like a painting.

[the ambience of a quiet office, some machines beep, overall though it is quite silent]

We enter the dimly lit building and find ourselves in an oval shaped room, the Vint draws a small tablet from within his robes and presses a few keys. The room elaborately rotates and shifts until we are face to face with the sheriff separated only by glass. They sat on a curved bench, their legs crossed. I can only tell this because the green light that covers their body pulses in beats of four, providing more illumination by which to get a sense of the room. “Why aren’t they moving?” I ask. They go to answer at the same time

“Well-”

They stare each other and Eikal takes advantage of the pause to speak before Inspiration can

“We placed them in a stasis field, for their own wellness you understand”

“Why is it so dark in there?” Eikal and Inspiration turn to each other, a mild panic on their faces

“Apologies, we misplaced our realisation-” Eikal pauses and translates in his head before trying again “We forgot the humans light requirements, allow me to attend to your needs,” with a few more key presses the whole building lights up. With my newfound visibility I see what Eikal meant by ‘for their own health’ Ghost’s fingers are scratched and worn and the entire back wall of the cell has been etched into with that symbol that has brought me so much dread. Surrounding it are adornments which trace around its edges, criss cross around each other, play off of one anothers curves and angles, all centred, but never interacting with, that symbol in the middle.

#sci-fi #podcast transcript #scifi #transcript #audiodrama #audio drama

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