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austarus · 3 years

Text

HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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azucanela · 3 years

Text

chapter iv

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

warnings: mentions of blood. violence. injuries. cursing.

word count: 2k

[series masterlist] [wattpad] [ao3]

THIS HAS TO BE A DREAM. Y/N really doesn’t want to be dealing with this right now, this is literally the last thing she wants to be dealing with right now. She has half the mind to just disappear into the shadows using Telen’s quirk, seeing as she hadn’t returned it yet.

‘Returned’ probably isn’t the best way to put it, after all he can still use his quirk but… she’s never really had a different way to explain it. But, Y/N is capable of using his quirk until she’s returned it to him, meaning his pain is hers and so is his quirk for the time being. Not that it matters right now, because she’s currently staring down Bakugou, who looks just as shocked as she does.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asks, scowling.

In response, Bakugou is rolling his eyes, allowing the door to shut behind him. “You don’t own this café,” he grumbles out.

That was actually incorrect, Y/N had bought the set of buildings on this street to make sure that the café wouldn’t go out of business, she was sentimental in that manner Meaning she technically had authorization to kick him out, something Bakugou seems to catch onto as his eyes narrow at her, “of course you do.”

Y/N scoffs, looking away from him, “only legally. I have too much respect for Rosalyn to tell her what to do with her business.” She waves him off, “they’re getting something from the back, you’ll have to wait.” Y/N finds that she’s wishing she had a little bit less respect for Rosalyn, because maybe then she would have the guts to kick Bakugou out.

Bakugou says nothing, simply eyeing Y/N as he moves to grab a bag of chips from the stand, awkwardly standing by the cash register he waited for them to return. Of course, Y/N had a feeling they wouldn’t be returning anytime soon at this point. She wouldn’t be shocked if Lily had done something to make this happen, all to torture Y/N.

Although Lorelai might consider this the perfect time to apologize, Y/N finds it her personal hell. And she’s fairly sure Bakugou has the same sentiments as she begins to tap her foot rhythmically against the floor. The space is silent aside from that, and Y/N almost wishes a stranger would come in and end her misery.

A sudden pain courses through her, and Y/N’s brows furrow as her mouth gapes open slightly, hand coming to her stomach, though her thoughts are interrupted as Bakugou snaps, “could you quit tapping your damn foot?”

And Y/N does stop, but not because he asked, instead to say, “you can always leave.” There’s a sarcastic smile on her face as she glances at him, preparing to continue tapping her foot despite the throbbing that had appeared in her leg as well.

If Y/N had to guess, something had happened to Telen. But that wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary in hero work, and given how high profile Hawks’ agency was, they had a healer on call. She had no doubt that whatever injury he’d somehow sustained, he would be fine. And yet, Y/N can’t help the frown that washes over her, a certain fear and anxiety that definitely doesn’t belong to her suddenly drowning her senses.

Y/N is about to make a phone call when she hears Bakugou, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She’s about to make some sort of witty comment in response, only to see that he’s looking outside, where the presence of paparazzi has become apparent. Though they hadn’t started their mobs yet, any trained Pro Hero was well aware when they were being followed. Despite attempts to hide, Y/N could easily see that there were several people hidden throughout the area, trying to catch pictures of the famed Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katsuki together.

They were probably hoping the pair would start arguing, maybe even get into a physical fight knowing Bakugou. Though, if that did happen, Y/N was fairly sure Lorelai would have her head.

That and the fact that the shippers on Twitter were going to love this. But Y/N certainly wasn’t, scoffing as she came to a stand, “did they follow you here?” Her tone is accusatory, she knows that. But if Y/N is honest, she has no shame being upfront about her emotions with Bakugou, not anymore.

He glares at her once more in response, placing his order down more roughly than necessary, “obviously not. If anything it was you they followed here.”

Y/N comes to a stand, inhaling deeply as she reminds herself that she and Bakugou are currently the stars of the show that is the media. Everyone who's anyone, and anybody that’s a nobody wants to bear witness to their interactions if it means advancing their career. And Y/N has no intent of further damaging her reputation, or giving the media the easy way out.

Though she wouldn’t mind putting an additional dent in Bakugou’s already horrid reputation, there were bigger things than that. And at the end of the day, they were stuck together for the time being, until things died down that is.

So, Y/N finds herself heading over to the counter with her items in hand– discarding them behind the register to make sure that Lily would hold onto them for her— before looking to Bakugou, “we need to leave, now.”

Bakugou is frowning, eyes falling on his order, but he simply nods as he returns his gaze to Y/N, “and how do you suppose we do that?”

While she’s grateful he elected not to argue— probably because he’s well-aware of his own dwindling reputation and wants to salvage whatever he can, like the selfish bastard he is— Y/N finds herself narrowing her eyes at him, simply turning around and gesturing for him to follow her, “come with me.”

“What, we can’t just go out the front door?”

She’s not shocked by his proposition, though Y/N is also aware that Bakugou isn’t a fool. He may be impulsive at times, and extremely confrontational to a fault, but he was not an idiot. Even if he seemed to be just some annoying brute.

Y/N glances back at Bakugou, looking to him incredulously, “the moment we step outside, we will be bombarded with questions.” A bitter laugh escapes her, “and we both know how you’ll probably respond to that.”

“Oh so this is my fault?” He asks, taking a few steps closer.

Bringing a hand to her temple, Y/N looks up to him, “we don’t have time for this.” Comes her response, “either you come with me, or I leave without you.”

With that, Y/N turns on her heel, hand shoved into her pocket as she pulls out a set of keys and begins to flip through them in search of the right one. She can feel Bakugou’s eyes on her as she finally finds the right key, the one that leads to the hallway behind the second staff door. Most people don't have access because if you take a wrong turn you’ll end up in the studio apartment of the owners. But, if you continue down the hallway, there’s an exit into the alleyway that Y/N intended to take.

Finally, she pushes the door open. Y/N doesn’t bother to look back as she steps inside the hallway, dimly lit, in fact some of the lights are even flickering. But she can see the bright red ‘EXIT’ sign not too far away.

Y/N doesn’t hear the door click shut, and with a sigh she turns back to see Bakugou had planted his foot in the door, kicking it open while his hands remained shoved into his pockets. Wordlessly, he stepped inside, and Y/N simply returned her gaze to the exit.

Until another spike of pain coursed through her. Her steps falter, though Y/N manages to catch herself on the wall, hand planted firmly there as she inhales deeply.

To be fair, the average person would’ve passed out from the pain by now, and Y/N didn’t have her hero suit to help cushion the blows of pain nor was she necessarily prepared for sudden pain— she wasn’t in battle. Though her pain tolerance is high enough that it's manageable.

Bakugou seems to notice, no— he definitely notices. Looking to her pensively as he pauses behind her, Y/N doesn’t want to meet his eyes as she huffs, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go.”

He says nothing, and Y/N is grateful as they continue down the hall.

It’s a short walk to the actual exit, but Y/N’s head is pounding so she doesn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until Bakugou’s arm comes to stop her. She bumps into it, frowning as she looks up to him ready to speak in protest, to yell at him for touching her— though there's no skin to skin contact so she doesn’t really have much to worry about yet.

Until she realizes blood is coming from under the door. Evidently, she had a lot to worry about.

Y/N looks up to Bakugou, offering him a nod that he returns. A silent communication between the pair which brings Bakugou to press his separate hand against the door, brows drawing together before he rapidly pushes the door open and the pair steps out into the alley.

And there lies the body of Pro Hero Telen. Y/N recognizes him instantly, and it makes sense given how badly her body is throbbing with pain.

Her mouth gapes open, but Y/N is no fool as her back meets Bakugou’s, each of them surveying the area for the hero’s attacker.

But there’s no one to be found.

Y/N looks back to Bakugou, who simply nods, prompting Y/N to drop to her knees despite the blood that begins to seep through her clothes. Eyes falling on Telen as a hand comes to his chest. Nobody has ever died while Y/N was using their power, and if Y/N had to guess, Telen was still alive. There was no need for her to check for a pulse, simple as that.

“He’s alive. Call for backup.”

When Bakugou doesn’t reply, Y/N turns, and she can see the explosions sparking in his palms but there are no enemies nearby. But Y/N recognizes the look on his face, the frustration, the anger. But he’s not angry with anyone other than himself right now.

“Bakugou.” She repeats, an attempt to pull him out of his thoughts. They don’t have time to be distracted right now. While the attacker clearly isn’t around right now, there was a possibility he’d return. Not that Y/N was too worried, if they had any sense of bloodlust, she’d notice them.

He inhales sharply, simply nodding stiffly once more before pulling out his phone. But all Bakugou can think about is the fact that the Stain Copycat was here, and they’d targeted a member of Hawks’ Agency. The Number 2 Hero. Which meant whoever it was, they were getting bolder, and even worse, two of the best upcoming Pro Heroes were just next door and they hadn’t even noticed.

Even if the new Hero Killer had failed to finish the job, it didn’t matter. This would be a sign to all. A bad one. A message even. It felt as though this copycat was mocking him with every move.

The only thing that Y/N can think about, is how dark this alley is, how easy it should’ve been for Telen to escape from his attacker. Which can only mean one of two things, the perpetrator had done something to prevent Telen from escaping into the shadows. Or, it was someone he trusted enough that he hadn’t felt the need to. Not until it was too late, that is.

This was a problem. A big problem.

note: short but eventful chapter? and look at me go, updating on an actual schedule thats a first!

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hirikka · 4 years

Text

space that’s in between every page

Geralt has learned many things about Jaskier over the years: He is loud and annoying, loyal and stubborn; he has a knack for getting into trouble and for talking his way out of it; he has never been afraid of Geralt (even when he probably should have been), and he is married to a viscount. That last piece of information ends up being the most troublesome.

Or, five times that Geralt thought that Jaskier was married to Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, and the time he (finally) realized they were the same person.

(read on AO3)

Geralt is not sure when he first heard the name Julian Alfred Pankratz. Jaskier talks about so many people that it is difficult to keep track. And that is putting aside the fact that for the first few months (or perhaps years) of knowing the bard, he tuned out most of what the man said. It hardly seemed important at the time, when he was sure that Jaskier would lose interest and flit away at any moment.

By the time he realizes that Jaskier is not planning to leave any time soon, he’s also missed any window where it is reasonable to ask who the people he mentions are. Most of them are fairly easy to figure out, once Geralt is paying attention. Classmates from Oxenfurt are frequently mentioned, and he almost never talks about any family members.

It’s Julian, though, who comes up the most. Not that often really, in the grand scheme of things, but he’s usually mentioned at least once a season. His relationship to Jaskier is the least obvious; at first, Geralt assumes that he is some sort of patron for Jaskier’s music, but that doesn’t quite seem right. It takes almost two years for him to figure it out; after all, Jaskier doesn’t act like a married man. But Geralt is sure that is what is happening, the only explanation that makes sense: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, is Jaskier’s husband.

“No taste for the arts,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath. “Completely absurd.”

“We can leave,” Geralt murmurs. He can get the information later, stop by to speak to the lord at some point when there isn’t a party happening. He would prefer that, to be honest, even if it would slow them down. He hates fancy parties like this, and Jaskier’s tendency to sulk for several hours when nobles don’t appreciate his music is a good excuse to leave and come back later.

Jaskier looks at Geralt and huffs. “No, you need the information. I can put my ego aside.”

“Hm.” Geralt isn’t sure where that leaves them.

The guard shifts, placing a hand on his sword as a reminder that Jaskier is not invited.

“Look for Julian Alfred Pankratz—” Jaskier says, turning his attention back to the guard “—Viscount de Lettenhove.”

The guard looks dubious for a moment, but he does check the list of invited guests, and after a moment, he gives a nod and steps out of their way.

Geralt follows Jaskier, trying to focus on the information he needs to get and not the unpleasant emotions that tend to well up every time Julian is mentioned.

iii

Geralt plants his feet, stalling the guards who are trying to move him away from the gathered crowd, and turns his attention to the man who had hired him—he had seemed at least somewhat sympathetic. “Please, get word to Jaskier. The bard. Let him know that—”

One of the guards shoves him forward, and he stumbles against the ropes tying him again.

“Wait.” The command is clear in the man's tone. The guards come to a stop as a tall man with dark hair steps through the crowd.

“Sir?” One of the guards holding Geralt asks.

“What’s going on here?” the man asks. He looks like a noble, wearing fine clothes and with the air of someone used to getting their way.

“The witcher was found sneaking into the city. Armed.”

“I was hired for a job,” Geralt growls. “How am I supposed to hunt without swords?”

The man looks at Geralt now. “Are you Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt nods.

“Let him go,” the man instructs. The guards hesitate for a moment, but at a glare, they hastily release Geralt and reluctantly leave, fading into the crowd.

“Thank you,” Geralt says, rubbing at his wrists.

“Not to worry. I heard you mention Jaskier, and I knew I had to step in.”

“You know Jaskier?”

“I’m Ferrant de Lettenhove. Julian’s my cousin,” Ferrant says.

Geralt manages to keep his face impassive. He sincerely hopes that word of this doesn’t make it back to Julian—he can’t imagine the man being happy to have his spouse traveling with a witcher; no need for it to become worse by mentioning that he was almost arrested.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Ferrant asks. “So that you can conclude your job in the city?”

“It’s alright,” Geralt grunts. “Don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Not to worry.” Ferrant offers a small smile. “I’m the royal instigator; there are very few people with the authority to cause me trouble.”

Geralt hates the idea of being indebted to Julian, but he does need to finish this job, and he’s not particularly interested in getting into more legal trouble for being armed in the city.

Geralt is used to Jaskier wearing jewelry; the bard is like a magpie, constantly picking up new shiny trinkets to wear. This ring seems different, though. It is larger and more ornate, and a symbol on it indicates that it is a sigil ring. He’s fairly certain that Jaskier didn’t have it the year before, and now he seems to wear it every day.

“Where’d you get that ring?” Geralt asks.

“Hm?” Jaskier looks up from his lute, meeting Geralt’s gaze.

“The ring.” Geralt waves his hand towards the ring glittering in the firelight.

“It’s a Lettenhove family heirloom,” Jaskier says.

“Oh.” Geralt feels his heart sink. He’s never known Jaskier to wear a wedding band or anything else connecting him to his husband. He wonders what this means, if it suggests that they have gotten closer over the previous winter. “That’s nice.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. Jaskier, used to him, just smiles and returns to practicing his lute.

Whatever the ring suggests, it isn’t that Jaskier is going to be more committed. More loyal to his husband. He still flirts just as much, still beds whatever pretty stranger catches his fancy.

Geralt cannot stop thinking about it and finds his gaze drawn to the ring at inopportune moments. This obvious reminder that Jaskier is bound to another, that no matter how far he might be willing to wander with Geralt, he is always going to return to someone else.

Geralt feels pleasantly light from the wine he’s drunk; it had been flowing freely at the festival they are attending, and the townsfolk were in a good enough mood between the holiday and Geralt’s successful hunt that they had been welcoming to Geralt. He’s found a spot on the outskirts of the town square and is leaning against a wall, watching Jaskier dance through the crowd of locals. He is bright and joyful, and Geralt feels warm and pleased.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says. He’s standing in front of Geralt now, still catching his breath and smiling so very wide. “Come and dance with him.”

“I don’t dance,” Geralt says without any of his usual heat.

“I’ll lead,” Jaskier says, taking his hand, and Geralt allows it, letting Jaskier pull him close and start leading him through the steps of the dance. Geralt thinks that he would allow Jaskier anything, and the thought does not scare him the way it once did.

“See? It’s not that hard,” Jaskier murmurs.

He is so very close, one hand clasping Geralt’s and the other resting on his shoulder. Geralt can feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart from where they are pressed together, and his senses are overwhelmed by Jaskier’s lavender and mint scent.

Jaskier sways in, somehow impossibly moving closer, and his eyes dart down to Geralt’s lips before returning to meet the witcher’s gaze. For a moment, Geralt thinks that he ought to finally give in, to let himself want and have. Then, Jaskier’s hand in his shifts and Geralt feels the touch of metal, and all at once, he remembers why he has never allowed himself to respond to Jaskier’s flirting. He steps back hastily, wrenching his hand away.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s face is clouded in confusion, but Geralt’s eyes are drawn down to the signet ring on Jaskier’s hand. He turns and flees back to the inn, ignoring Jaskier’s confused call behind him.

He cannot acknowledge this want, no matter how much his heart aches. Jaskier would only ever be able to see Geralt as a dalliance, a flight of fancy; he cannot truly be Geralt’s, not in the way Geralt wishes him to be. Not when he is married. And Geralt knows himself, knows he is not strong enough to take that step, knowing that it would not mean the same thing to Jaskier that it would to him. It is better to keep Jaskier’s friendship and companionship. It has to be.

Geralt turns to Jaskier. It’s not the time for jokes, not when he feels like he’s been stabbed, but he understands what Jaskier is trying to do. He turns, intending to tell Jaskier to let him be, but then the light catches on Jaskier’s ring. On the ring that Julian gave to him, and suddenly Geralt’s own hurt is boiling over.

Julian knows that Jaskier will return to him, that no matter how far the bard wanders, he will come home, and Geralt is hit with a wave of jealousy. He craves that assurance—the certainty that someone will always come back. He thought he had that with Yennefer, but he lost her through his own actions. He doesn’t know why he thought it would end any differently; witchers are not made to have connections. Yennefer wants nothing to do with him, and Jaskier has a husband to return to, and Geralt has nothing but his swords and his horse and his anger.

He has spent so long suppressing his emotions, pretending they didn’t exist. Now, he is overwhelmed with sorrow and longing that feels impossible to push aside or ignore. So he lets it out in the only way he knows how: as rage. He turns on Jaskier and unleashes his fury, takes out his hurt on the only person who has chosen to remain with him. [He spits] cruel cutting remarks designed to cause the most damage possible.

Geralt stares out over the mountains and tries to force himself not to regret what he has just done. Tries to convince himself that it is better this way—if Jaskier isn’t loyal to the man he married, then it is only a matter of time before he leaves Geralt as well; better to have it over and done with.

He fails.

Yen smirks at him over the top of her wine glass, and Geralt feels his heart sink—this conversation had been going surprisingly well. Yen had forgiven him for the djinn bond, and, although she was no longer interested in a relationship with him, she does seem excited to help with Ciri; he thinks they can become friends. He’s content with that—he can see now that their relationship did neither of them any good. This smirk, though, means trouble, and he’s not sure he’s prepared for that.

“I saw Julian the other day,” Yen says.

Geralt glares at her.

“He’s in good health, seems to be doing well.”

“Hm.”

“Would you like to know where he is?” Yen prompts.

“Why would I want to know that?” Geralt growls.

For a moment Yennefer’s smug mask of indifference falls away, but she recovers quickly. “Just thought I’d make the offer.” She drains the wine glass and stands. “See you around, Geralt.” For a moment, she almost looks concerned about something, but then she has swept out of the room.

The scent of lilac and gooseberry lingers in the air as Geralt looks down at the table and wonders why Yen would have mentioned seeing Julian but not Jaskier. Had the bard mentioned their fight to her? Had he asked Yen not to tell Geralt where he was? Or, worse, had Jaskier not been at home with his husband? Geralt had managed to ease his worry for the bard by convincing himself that Jaskier was safe at his home, not wandering the countryside getting into trouble, but perhaps he was wrong to think that. Geralt grits his teeth and pushes the thoughts aside. He can’t let himself give in to panic now—not when he has Ciri to care for.

“You saved my life!” the knight gasps up at him. Geralt has a sinking feeling.

“Hm.”

“I—” the knight starts.

“It’s fine,” Geralt cuts him off. He’s not interested in claiming any kind of reward—he has enough trouble with one child surprise.

The knight blinks at him for a moment, assessing. “I understand. There’s a contract out for this monster; let me at least show you back to the estate so that you can collect the reward.”

“Hm.” Geralt is still worried that the man might press, insist on offering something in exchange for a perceived debt, but he and Ciri do need the coin; he hasn’t wanted to take jobs when it means leaving her alone. It had only been chance that had brought him to this man and the kikimora attacking him. “Fine.”

“Good.” The man smiles at Geralt without a hint of fear, and Geralt feels off-kilter for a moment. “Will you also accept my hospitality and stay for the night? I can give you food and a bed.”

Geralt hesitates. “I’m not… traveling alone.”

“Oh? Well your companion is welcome as well,” the man says. “My name is Kaz.”

He takes the extended hand. “Geralt.”

He catches the smallest hint of shock in the Kaz’ scent, but the man doesn’t say anything, so Geralt doesn’t worry about it. He leads the way back to the road where Ciri is waiting with Roach.

The man rubs his hand across the back of his head. “My horse spooked; she’s probably smart enough to make it home on her own, but we’ll have to walk.”

Geralt nods but doesn’t say anything until they reach the road. “Fiona, this is Kaz. We’re going to stay with him for the night.”

Ciri brightens considerably at the prospect of a warm bed.

“We’re close to the Lettenhove estate,” Kaz says. “We should be there in time for dinner.”

Geralt freezes, considers throwing himself onto Roach and riding as far away as he can before they lose the light. The last thing he wants is to finally be confronted with Julian. The possibility of seeing Jaskier again is something he has longed for and dreaded, but seeing him with his husband is unthinkable.

He has Ciri to think of, though, so he doesn’t give in to his own fear. He just follows Kaz and feels his stomach sink with every step.

Kaz is greeted warmly as they approach the estate, and Geralt revises his assessment; this man clearly holds a higher rank than his clothing suggests. Geralt and Ciri keep their hoods up as they move towards the castle, but he still sees curious gazes following them.

Once they are inside, Kaz summons a servant. “We’ll set you up in a guest room. Dinner is in half an hour, so you should have time for a bath before that, if you wish to warm up.” Kaz looks down at his own muddy clothes. “I know I do. Someone will be sent to get you for dinner.”

Geralt nods and lets the servant lead him and Ciri down a different hall, presumably to the guest wing. Part of him still wants to protest, but it is overpowered by how badly he wants to see Jaskier again. He knows it will likely hurt, but it is better to know that he is safe.

The dining hall that Geralt and Ciri are led to is small and intimate, although it is still richly decorated. Kaz is already at the table, along with a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Jaskier.

“Good sir witcher!” Kaz smiles as he stands. “And Fiona. This is my wife Estera.”

“Thank you for saving my idiot husband,” Estera says.

Geralt shifts, uncomfortable with the warm reception; it’s so different from what he is used to. He wonders what Jaskier could have possibly told these people to make them so open towards him.

A servant opens the door, and Geralt is briefly grateful for the distraction before the man announces: “The Viscount de Lettenhove.” Then his heart sinks, and he tries to brace himself to see the man Jaskier married.

The servant steps aside, and Jaskier steps into the room. His clothes are suited for the cold, but still show his flair for color—bright and vibrant against the more muted colors most people wear in winter. He is alone, and the door closes behind him. So where is the viscount? Although, Geralt supposes that Jaskier would technically share the title with his husband, so perhaps Julian won’t be joining them. He isn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more concerned.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice is strangled, shocked. His scent tinges with something bitter.

Kaz glances between them, looking pleased. “I thought this was your witcher, Julek.”

“Kaz. What did you do?” Jaskier’s voice is cold, and he isn’t looking at Geralt any longer.

“He saved me from an arachas. I insisted he come collect the reward and stay for dinner. It’s nothing nefarious.”

Jaskier sighs. “I'll take my meal in my room.”

He turns and leaves. Geralt isn’t sure what is happening.

“Why is he leaving?” Kaz asks.

“You are a fool,” Estera says although she sounds fond. She leans past Kaz to look at Geralt. “You can still fix this.”

“Fix what?”

Estera snorts. “Honestly. Men. The fact that you broke his heart, witcher.”

“What?”

“If you don’t care for him, you can stay for the night and leave tomorrow and never see him again—“ she catches Geralt’s wince “—but since that isn’t what you want, you should probably go after him”

Geralt stands. “I'll be back,” he says to Ciri. He doesn’t ask about Julian, doesn’t ask about the comment about Jaskier’s broken heart. It feels vital to speak to Jaskier now, before any more time has passed.

He leaves the hall and follows Jaskier’s scent, trying not to think about why it seems to have soured or about the fact that, if Jaskier has gone to his rooms, there’s every chance that Geralt will be arriving to find Julian.

The room is easy enough to find, although it is not in the kind of grand hallway that Geralt would have expected for the viscount. He can hear Jaskier plucking at his lute—not in any tune, and Geralt is familiar enough with his habits to know he’s anxious. The room doesn't smell like anyone but Jaskier, so perhaps he and Julian don’t share chambers. At least that means he might be able to talk to Jaskier alone.

He hesitates a moment longer before he knocks on the door. He hears Jaskier sigh and the movement of fabric.

“Come in, Geralt.”

Geralt pushes the door open and steps into the room, suddenly feeling unsure of what he should do.

“I’m sorry that Kaz made you go to the formal dinner,” Jaskier says when it becomes clear that Geralt isn’t going to say anything. “If I had known, I would have stayed away.”

“Why?” Geralt asks. He doesn’t understand why Jaskier is hiding in his own home.

“Because you don’t want to see me?” Jaskier says slowly. “Your life’s one blessing and all that?”

Geralt grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“No?” Jaskier’s voice is cold. “Then why say it?”

“Because of Julian!” Geralt snaps. It’s not the whole truth, but it is as much as he can admit to.

“What?” Jaskier asks. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Geralt forces himself to take a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to explain without revealing his own feelings for Jaskier in the process. “After Yennefer, it made me think of the way Julian might feel about—”

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts, “who do you think Julian is?”

Geralt frowns at him. “Your husband.”

Jaskier is completely frozen for a moment, and then he flops back into the bed and starts giggling. “How—” he tries to get himself under control “—how long have we known each other?”

“Hm.” Geralt knows that he’s missing something, but he doesn’t know what.

Jaskier sits up after a minute, managing to get his laughter under control. “Oh my dear witcher.” Jaskier sighs, but his scent has lost the sour notes. “I suppose I never formally introduced myself, did I?”

“Hm.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove—” he sweeps into a formal bow “—at your service.”

“I… hm.” Geralt’s mind is racing, reassessing everything with this new piece of information.

Jaskier giggles again. “I can’t believe you thought I was married.”

Geralt frowns at him. It is possibly an expression that Jaskier would describe as pouting.

“I’m still not happy about what you said on the mountain,” Jaskier says, growing more serious.

“I am sorry,” Geralt says. “I shouldn’t have said it. No matter what I thought. It, hm. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Jaskier beams. “Apology accepted.” He pats Geralt on the shoulder. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” He moves to open the door.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks.

“You look like you could use food, and I would like to meet your child surprise properly.”

Geralt steps closer before he can think better of it and catches Jaskier’s arm, pulling him away from the door.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt pulls Jaskier closer and leans down to kiss him. Jaskier makes a pleased noise, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and deepening the kiss—it feels like coming home.

After a moment, Jaskier pulls back slightly and narrows his eyes. “Did you ignore my flirting for twenty years because you thought I was married?”

“Hm,” Geralt says, meaning yes.

“Gods, you are such an idiot,” Jaskier says fondly.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher fic #witcher #idiots to lovers #misunderstandings #fics #my writing #my fics

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

“let me do this for you. please.” ; aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner (criminal minds) x reader

summary: it’s left to you to help aaron with his injury. taken from this prompt list - 1781 words

a/n: this is kind of shitty trash but i wanted to add to the one hotch fic ive written

Aaron Hotchner, in all his glory, is more often than not described as strict. Maybe even grumpy.

It takes less than one conversation with the unit chief to fully understand this, sometimes all it takes is witnessing the way he walks and holds himself, and he’s become somewhat notorious for it.

However, you know more about Hotch than the average person. More than either of you care to admit. For a while you were certain he hated you, definitely didn’t trust you, despite being highly trained and told again and again by your team that that’s just how Hotch is. Emily, especially, pulled you aside to tell you she was also victim to his cold persona at the beginning.

It takes time, she’d said, but he’ll warm up to you. He won’t be able to resist.

It all changed when he appeared at your apartment door several hours after you’d been discharged from the hospital following a gnarly gunshot wound to your shoulder. He stood there, with his famous furrowed brows, straight-mouth look on his face, cradling a basket. He’d made you a ‘get well soon’ package – your favourite candy (he knew that?), some DVDs (including your favourite – he knew that?), and his favourite book (written by your favourite author). There were fluffy socks and a colouring book, too.

“I couldn’t visit you in the hospital,” He’d said, “So Jack and I made you a gift basket. He chose the colouring book.”

In your stunned silence you didn’t ask any further questions, just took the present and contemplated getting shot again in hopes he would pay another visit, maybe come inside. Maybe fall in love with you. You’re not picky.

That night you realised your unit chief doesn’t hate you and you definitely don’t hate your unit chief.

Now, almost a year later, there’s been some big changes. You’re pushing Aaron onto his bed as he grips the top of his bleeding forearm; he’s mumbling curses under his breath while pouting – yes, pouting, no matter how much he’ll deny it when you tease him about it later. It had taken you raising your voice at him to convince him to let you help at all, let alone clean the cut, so you allow his brooding.

When you sit on your heels of his bedroom floor in front of him, he instinctively opens his mouth to, once again, say something along the lines of, “You don’t have to do this,” or “I can look after myself.”

You interrupt before he can even begin.

“If you refuse to go to the hospital, refuse to let an on-site medic come to you, you’re gonna let me help you, you got that?” You snap, fuelled by worry and frustration.

On the scene he’d refused medical attention, telling the medics to focus on the victims which, fair enough, was valid. But then Rossi had tried to drive him to the hospital, to get stitched up because anyone could see the cut on his arm needed it, and he’d argued and argued to the point where Rossi shoved him into your car and said, “You take him. He’s being a child and I am too old for this.”

He kept telling you to just drop him off home and he’ll be fine, but you couldn’t do that. You have a medical background; you’ve stitched up everyone on the team at least once, excluding Hotch, and you’ll get peace of mind if you do the job and know he’s okay.

You followed him inside, he kept telling you to go home because he’s fully capable, and you kept telling him to shut up. Now you’re here.

Aaron says nothing in return – just stares into your eyes and maintains a tight, strained posture.

You recognise the look in his eyes, then. Everything clicks into place in your head and your heart hurts slightly.

“Let me do this for you. Please.”

Aaron is a leader. A protector. He always has been. He trusts his team with his life, of course he does, but he’s also stubborn. The idea of anyone, let alone the one person who’s somehow wormed their way into his life in a way he hadn’t prepared for, seeing him so vulnerable after a stupid mistake led to an even stupider injury is downright humiliating for him.

He’s embarrassed. He hoped he could sulk home, drink a little too much whiskey as he clumsily cleaned himself up, and move on like nothing happened.

But it’s you, all non-judgemental eyes and worried tone with your caring and reassuring words. You’re too good for him. You’re too good to him.

You work slowly and gently, in a very you way, and Hotch watches closely the entire time. You assume he’s watching so he can do it himself next time, can use this as an excuse for you to not do this ever again, but a part of you wonders if he still doesn’t trust you.

He sits patiently, until he realises how much blood he’s lost and starts to feel woozy. It’s very possible he has a concussion, too, along with the exhaustion from not sleeping for at least twenty four hours. His head feels like it’s swimming and his vision gets a little blurry.

You notice him swaying and stop what you’re doing to hold his biceps to steady him. His eyes almost roll, but he seems to jolt himself out of it. Aaron has this disturbing ability to act as if nothing bad is happening – for example, right now. The blood loss is alarming, he just almost passed out, but it’s like he flicks a switch in his brain that decides nah, let’s not do that.

“You okay?” You ask, voice quiet.

He nods and mumbles, “Yeah. Brain almost collapsed.”

You think that’s an attempt at a joke. You’re too concerned to laugh, even fake it, and slowly move your arms back to the med kit you’re rifling through.

“Brain dumb.” He adds.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes. Aaron surprises himself by wanting to cry at how beautiful you look.

“My name’s Aaron. You should call me it.”

You laugh quietly – the blood loss is beginning to get to him and he’s losing his professional barrier. The barrier that he lets down rarely, usually only when he’s in the comfort of his home, maybe relaxing with you and Jack. This is a special version of that, amplified by his injury.

“I’ll call you Aaron, then.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright, Aaron.”

He goes back to watching you, contentment coming off him in waves.

You’re done a few minutes later, Aaron’s cut all cleaned and stitched up. You wrap it in gauze and move the med kit aside, standing before him and sighing, hands on your hips.

“Alright. Bed time.” You say.

Aaron flops back on his bed, arms spread – it makes you giggle. It reminds you of the one time you had to bring drunk Hotch home.

“Move up, Aaron. Against your headboard.” You command.

As he moves, you grab some of the pillows he doesn’t use and place them under his legs to elevate them. You go to his ensuite and fill a glass of water, placing it on his bedside table, and look at the handsome unit chief seemingly asleep. You lean in closer to get a look at his condition – is he pale, cold, clammy?

His eyes snap open. You jump back in shock.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice is rough, he’d almost fallen asleep, and his dimples begin to show when he smiles at your surprise.

“I’ll always take care of you, Aaron.” You say instantly, trying to fluff the pillow behind his head. You don’t realise what you do to him, he thinks, or what the things you say do to him.

“Let me take care of you, too.”

You smile, ignorant to the way he’s looking at you, “You do take care of me. You take great care of the whole team, A. You’re kind of amazing at it.”

You move to tuck him in, like you’ve watched him do to Jack many times.

“I mean-“ He stops you, large hands holding your wrists, “Let me take care of you. No one else.”

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Me, Aaron, take care of you, Y/N.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I can take care of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh at the situation, the ridiculousness of how you’re going in circles, “I just told you that you take great care of me.”

He lets out a deep breath in exasperation, “Let me take care of you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounds sexual, sir.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t mean it-“ He cuts himself off, “I mean, yes, but no, at the same time.”

You open your mouth to say What?!

“I’m trying to ask you out, Y/N.”

Oh.

You’re stunned, to say the least, and speechless. There’s nothing more you’d like than to go on a date with him, but he’s… vulnerable right now. Fragile. You’re not sure he’s in the right state of mind for this conversation.

Hotch senses your hesitation before you even register it yourself. He begins to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s inappropriate-“

“Aaron.”

“Yes?” Despite the look on your face, filled with doubt, he’s still hopeful.

“I would really like to go on a date with you.” He smiles at that. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re concussed AND you’re exhausted. I can’t take what you say now as, like, gospel.”

He nod as if he understands, but the concoction of ailments he’s got going on make him incapable of truly recognising what’s going on. All he knows is that you said you’d really like to go out with him, and that’s good enough for him.

“Say this again tomorrow and I promise you I’ll make it worth your while,” You grin, now smoothing his hair away from his face as he blinks slowly at you.

“Make it worth my while, huh?” He sleepily smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice. If he wasn’t on the brink of sleep you’re sure he’d look too good for you to handle, but now he just looks adorable.

“Oh yeah. So worth it.”

“Alright then. Night night. You can kiss me on the forehead, if you feel so inclined,”

You roll your eyes and give a big sigh jokingly, “Only because you’re injured.”

You lean, give a quick peck to his forehead, and his dazed gaze follows you like a magnet.

“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #i think i hate this #im not sure

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

If you’d like to be included in any updates, please fill out my taglist form!

The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

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

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

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#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #invisible string #Bucky Barnes fluff

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excatholicatheistace · 3 years

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My Cult Story Part IV: A Spirit of Sensitivity

I'm sharing my experience and trauma from when I was in a Catholic Charismatic Cult. If you haven't read Parts I-III you can find them on my page!

TW: Spiritual Abuse, Religious Trauma

I didn't like Br. David not being on campus anymore, despite the fact that we had a bizarre relationship. There were moments of kindness and mentorship that felt deep and personal, and moments that were uncomfortable because he was so much harder on me than the others. He loved Daisy and Nathan and constantly praised them for their holiness, intelligence, and openness. He didn't really praise me.

I remember one awkward time in particular during my Freshman year. We had all gone to Mass together. After receiving the Eucharist I sang with the rest of the congregation. I thought the song was beautiful and I love to sing. So, I let myself enjoy the moment.

We went to the cafeteria after Mass and were joined by some friends of ours that weren't a part of the group. In front of everyone at dinner Br. David turned to me and said, "You shouldn't sing after receiving the Eucharist. You broke the Anointing. You should know better. We are always silent after receiving the Eucharist. Always."

"Breaking the Anointing" is a phrase used to describe a moment where someone does something against the Holy Spirit's guidance and it ruins the anointing for everyone in the room (making everyone have to pray for it again).

I could feel my face turn red with shame as he asked me to silently pray A Prayer to Take Authority. I bowed my head down in front of everyone and prayed while trying to fight back tears.

My sophomore year was miserable and lonely for many reasons.

Daisy, my best friend and biggest support, left school.

My new roommate didn't like me. I know a lot of people say things like that, but she didn't like me so much that she asked the administration to move me out of our room and refused to be in the same room as me for any amount of time.

It's a ridiculous story: I was 19, almost 3000 miles away from home, my best friend was no longer at school, religion had become toxic in my life, and I was struggling because I was in love with Nathan, but he wanted to be a priest (we were friends on and off depending on how much we could handle it emotionally and it was a lot of work. The feeling of rejection in those moments when he said he couldn't handle being friends anymore was intense).

One day I was crying. I have ADHD and sometimes get emotionally dysregulated (and that time of my life was the peak of it), but there was something comforting about laying on the ground for me and I would do it on occasion when I felt like my life was out of control. I liked the cool floor against my back and the feeling of my hair being sprawled out under my head. I know it sounds strange, but it was a grounding thing for me.

(Funny story... I hadn't laid on the floor in a long time, but my toddler lays on the floor in a heap of emotion on a regular basis. The other day I decided to lay next to her.... I have to say, it is still quite nice, lol).

That day, in our dorm room, I decided to lay on the floor to help me process my feelings. My roommate, Hannah*, walked in with me like this. I know it must have looked bizarre to see a girl laying on the floor with tears streaming across her face, but her reaction was also over the top. She panicked and told me to go straight to the adoration chapel (Catholics have chapels where you can pray in front of the Eucharist). She wouldn't let me respond, she just kept telling me to leave.

"This is something demonic. I am contacting a priest," she told me as I walked out of the room in confusion.

A priest eventually showed up and talked with me for awhile, determined I was just sad and not possessed, and left. But, my roommate said she could no longer be in the same room with me. She slept somewhere else until the administration moved me.

They ended up moving me to an isolated room in the far corner of a building that didn't house many students. It was an old motel that was now being used as student housing. They usually only put older students or Grad students down there. The entire campus and the dormitories were on top of a rather large and steep hill, and this building was at the bottom.

Each room had it's own bathroom, which was nice, and I didn't have a roommate. I really loved that part. I could sing, dance, cry, lay on the floor... do whatever, and no one would think I was demonic.

But, it was also lonely.

I prayed for The Anointing with the group in a classroom every morning and then on Saturdays they had prayer meetings.

Steve and Joe really wanted to have a healing ministry on campus. They were enamored with evangelical faith healers. They would watch videos of Kathryn Kuhlman and Benny Hinn (we even went down to Tennessee to see Benny Hinn at one point) and act star struck. They showed everyone who would watch.

They invited as many people as possible to the Saturday night meetings because they wanted to "bless" as many people as possible. They would choose 5 or 6 people to pray over others. I asked if I could also pray with people and they refused.

"You just aren't gifted. We need people who are gifted."

I didn't want to let it go. I wanted, not a Benny Hinn style healing ministry (which made me feel uncomfortable), I wanted to love people through prayer and for them to find peace and emotional healing. So, I didn't give up. I kept asking if I could pray over others and they kept telling me no.

I called Br. David, who told me, while it seems harsh, they are right.

"You have to trust them. They are anointed for this ministry. God chose them. You just aren't gifted at this time. Just go and receive the blessings. Just receive."

I always hated how he said that. He used this odd, buttery tone every time he told me to "just receive." The same one he used to tell me how I'm "so blessed."

One day, a friend of mine was crying and she asked for prayer. It wasn't at one of the meetings, we were just hanging out together in a chapel and she saw us and asked if we would pray with her. The men pulled their holy oil out and began to prepare for their usual ritual. I quickly pulled Steve aside and asked him if I could pray with them. Not by myself, I just wanted to be there for her. She was my friend and they didn't know her well, so it made sense to me.

"You just aren't gifted. You can pray for us over there. That's where you belong" he pointed to a quiet spot across the way, far from everyone else.

I began to tear up. When will I be good enough? Why am I not good enough to pray when I've been here from the beginning? Isn't it just prayer, technically anyone should be good enough, right?

"Don't cry. Please don't. Just go pray over there."

He left and I couldn't help it, I cried.

A few hours later I got a call from Br. David who told me that he heard about what happened. I started crying again, partially out of anger and partially out of embarrassment.

"You don't pray A Prayer To Take Authority enough. You have a spirit of sensitivity attached to you. I can hear it in your voice. You need deliverance from this. I've always known you are sensitive and this is why. You won't be able to receive gifts until you are delivered from this spirit. Seek out Steve and Joe. They can deliver you. You need healing. Trust me. We are anointed for this."

(To be continued)

#ex cult #ex religious #ex christian #ex catholic #exvangelical #ex pentecostal #cult survivor #cult #religious trauma #religious trauma syndrome #spiritual abuse #emotional abuse #trauma #atheist #agnostic #deconstruction #deconversion

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

Text

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

TWs/CWs: Mildly dubious consent, hatefucking, gunplay, Niragi being a bastard. Dead dove, do not eat.

Author’s Notes: I was debating on whether or not I should write the sm*t in detail. I'm normally opposed to writing scenes even with the mildest hints of noncon or dubcon in detail, but Yamane's experience with Niragi will serve as a point of comparison later, so I kept it. Hopefully it’s the right decision.

they say I don't get scared so easily / feel free to show me the roaches / and spiders that creep in your mattress

The pill bottle rattles as Yamane pours one in her palm.

It’s been five days since her arrival. Since then, she met other members of the militant faction, and while some of them aren’t as bloodthirsty as Niragi, Yamane still hasn't come to terms with the reality that she’s considered one of them now.

To Yamane’s surprise and secret relief, Saiko has calmed down, and introduced her to the other female militants. It seems that there are only three of them; four, if you count Yamane in.

One girl was called Hanako, who was a little shy, and she usually wears a gray bikini pair that doesn’t quite expose all of her skin. She was the one who took her to the storage room to get changed after getting treated by Sunohara.

“These bikinis suck,” Yamane complains to herself, sorting through the assortment of garments. “None of them fits my style,” Yamane picks up several bikini tops, and a long black wraparound.

Taking one of her daggers out, Yamane trims the straps off of the tops. The Beach confiscated her bag, so she had no access to her usual tools, but they let her keep the sewing kit she keeps in her skirt pocket. Hanako watches as Yamane sewed in the storage room, deft fingers altering the garment despite one of her arms being immobilized.

“What did you do before you came here?” Hanako asks, watching the needle as Yamane sews, obviously bored and using the seemingly mundane task to entertain herself.

“Made clothes,” Yamane replies, eyes flicking to the other girl as she went on with her task. She holds out the newly finished top: a black bikini top with a pentagram design on the chest.

“Cool,” the other girl comments, sitting a little closer to Yamane, who moves on to the long black skirt, tearing through the sides. She sheds her own skirt, cuts out the rings that decorated it, and uses it to secure the sides. She then trims some excess length from the wraparound.

“Hey, um, could you help me get dressed?” Yamane asks, and Hanako obliges.

When they’re done, Yamane looks at herself in the mirror. The twin buns on her head had gotten messy; she can’t really style them properly due to her injury. She wore her usual cropped hoodie on top of her new Beach garments, and Hanako helped her get her shoulder brace back on. She still couldn’t believe Sunohara had one lying around in her clinic. The Beach really does have a lot of resources to spare.

Yamane then slips on some platform beach sandals, and the two militants emerge from the storage room. Another of them is waiting outside.

“What was taking so long?!” this one asks, crossing her arms. She wore a hoodie with red and black stripes on top of her swimwear, her hair dyed brown and pulled back into a ponytail. “Whatever, Niragi’s looking for you. Come with me.”

“What does he want with me?” Yamane asks, but the girl doesn’t reply. Yamane follows her anyway. The men who brought her here had been lingering in her thoughts for quite some time, and she wanted to ask a few questions.

As they pass through a few rooms, Niragi comes into view with Saiko and they pull her into a room.

“You can go now, Akari,” he tells the woman with the striped hoodie.

They didn’t bother closing the door.

“We can finally pick up where we left off, mousy,” Niragi taunts, pushing Yamane down the bed and toying with the hem of her bikini top. He licks the dip between the two mounds on her chest, and Yamane takes a sharp inhale.

She looks at the man before her, and considers the conflicted feelings he draws out of her. He's loud, he's a bastard, and he takes what he wants without asking. He probably touched other girls without their consent too.

Yamane hated him.

On a normal day, Yamane would be disgusted with someone like him, and herself for enjoying this, but Niragi stirred something dark and primal within her, and the past few days had taken a toll on her judgment, so Yamane kissed him herself, desire and revulsion blending at the pit of her stomach.

Niragi’s eyes widen, but he smirks against Yamane’s lips, darting his tongue in her mouth and claiming her. The piercing on his tongue is an interesting feeling, and Yamane didn’t have any complaints. Yamane’s dark lipstick stains Niragi’s lips. In the background, Saiko gives them a knowing laugh.

“My, my, you want this, little mouse?”

Yamane is no longer in proper society; she didn’t have any reasons to pretend that she didn’t want this. It’s been a long time since she got laid anyway, and it certainly isn’t the first time she fucked someone she hated.

The first time was with a sleazy upperclassman in high school. It felt great, watching the chauvinist pig beg and writhe underneath her, but word got around, and his on-and-off girlfriend wasn’t happy.

“You could’ve just asked instead of grabbing me, bastard. It still doesn’t change the fact that I hate you.”

Niragi grins, and grabs her jaw to kiss her again. Yamane made herself pliable, but she swore not to show any sign of enjoyment. That’s one thing that she wouldn’t give Niragi.

Meanwhile, Niragi had moved on to her neck, trying to draw another reaction from her, but she stayed still. He spreads Yamane’s legs apart, running his tongue against her thigh, pauses, and runs it through her belly, up to her breasts. He pulls her bikini top up, and flicks his tongue against her hardening nipples, alternating between the two, the piercing cold against it. All he could get from her was a small shiver.

“So you’ve come to accept human nature. That was faster than expected, Yamane. I had the feeling that we’ll get along the moment I saw you kill that man. Left to our own devices, we humans will kill, pillage, and rape,” Niragi croons in her ear before sucking on that sensitive spot between her neck and ears. Yamane did her best to stifle a moan, and Saiko laughed at her attempt at staying in control.

“The circumstances forced me to kill, and you know it. You know nothing about me, Niragi.”

The militant withdraws from her, sees that there’s no longer any fear in her eyes, and gives her a questioning look. “Maybe the rumors on the tabloids are true, and she’s so used to doing this kind of thing that this doesn’t bother her anymore,” Niragi muses. Then, he leans back in and kisses Yamane’s neck again, his breath kissing the shell of her ear.

“That’s no fun at all.”

He motions Saiko to fetch his rifle, and Niragi points it at the dormouse’s face.

Now, the fear is back. Saiko got behind her and restrained her. Yamane thrashed and trembled as Niragi glided the barrel against her lips.

“Let’s see if there’s any truth to them. Open your mouth.”

Carefully, Yamane does as she’s told, sweat starting to form at her brow. Niragi slides the barrel in.

“Suck. Let’s see how good you are before I try you myself.”

Running her tongue against the barrel, Yamane maintains eye contact, the corners of her eyes wet. The gun is still warm. Enclosing her lips around the tip, Yamane takes a deep inhale, closes her eyes and starts to bob her head. Her lipstick was barely visible on the black metal.

“Here I thought you’ve already learned your lesson,” Niragi hisses, pushing the little dormouse’s skirt aside and shoving a hand in her underwear. His finger circled her clit, spreading her wetness, and Yamane couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled from her throat.

“The circumstances didn’t force you to kill. It just brought the killer out of you. You’ll kill to survive. That's our nature. That’s your nature,” he sneers, squeezing Yamane’s clit with his thumb and index finger, drawing a sharp cry from her. “Besides, didn’t you leave that little girl to hide alone? You probably did that because you know to yourself that she’s going to be a hindrance to your own survival. Did you?”

Yamane sobs at the bitter truth, the tears falling from her eyes.

“I knew it.”

Niragi withdraws his gun from her mouth, stands on the bed, and unzips his pants. He pulls his cock out of its confines, giving it a few strokes. His member was pierced too; a magic cross at the glans, and a column of pearls runs underneath the skin of his shaft.

“Bite me, I’ll blow your head off,” Niragi threatens, and Yamane nodded.

Niragi is right about one thing: Yamane will do anything to survive. That’s what she did all her life, after all. Her brain being constantly on survival mode did horrible things to her psyche.

Gliding the tip against the dormouse’s tongue, Niragi smirks, then uses his cock to slap her cheek. From behind, Saiko giggles, staining Yamane’s neck with her lipstick and her hand slipping through the waistband of Yamane’s skirt to toy with her. With a strong shove, Niragi pushes his cock down Yamane’s throat, and she chokes, struggling to accommodate him.

Soon, she finds a steady rhythm, and she encloses her lips around his shaft, sucking all the way to the tip and ending with a wet pop. The precum leaking from his tip glosses over her lips, and Niragi smiles before taking her mouth again.

“I think the tabloids were right. Isn’t that right, you little slut? You like sucking dick?”

Yamane opens her eyes, giving Niragi a deadly glare. In the corner of her eye, she sees a hooded figure by the doorway.

Last Boss is standing there, mouth pressed to a tight line, but his hood obscures his eyes. The party lights outside shine through the room, and for a brief moment, Yamane sees the intensity of the tattooed man’s gaze.

He is looking at the three of them with an expression that Yamane could only describe as envy.

Niragi sees that Yamane’s eyes are going somewhere else, and he turns to that direction.

“Last Boss! You want to join in? This little mouse is pretty nasty,” Niragi invites him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Executive meeting in ten minutes,” he said, and without another saying another word, he leaves.

“Dammit, and I wanted to savor this moment too. Well, you’ve heard him. Let’s get these off. I don’t have all night,” Niragi comments, pulling at her skirt. He flips her over, and gives her ass a hard smack.

“Ass in the air,” he commands, and Yamane obliges, more than happy to do what she can to end this encounter already. “Saiko, help me make the little mouse feel good.”

The tip of his cock glides through her wet folds, and he violently enters her.

Growling to suppress a cry, Yamane braced herself on Saiko’s lap. She hisses at the angle at which Niragi was penetrating her, his piercings rubbing against sensitive spots that she couldn’t reach with her own fingers. She couldn’t hold back anymore; it felt too good. Moans started to escape the dormouse’s lips as the militant continued to pound her from behind.

“You feel so damn good,” Niragi hisses, leaning over to nibble at her ear. He wraps a hand around her neck and pulls her closer to him, kissing her. The new position gave Saiko an opportunity to rub Yamane’s clit with her fingers again, then she kissed her, then Niragi, and she settled on suckling at the other woman’s breasts.

The bombardment of stimulation almost drove Yamane over the edge. Trying to imagine something else so she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making her cum, Yamane tries to think of other things; Kobayashi and Nakamura’s bodies dissolving in a pool of acid; Sato’s broken neck; Last Boss slicing that delinquent boy’s neck.

Last Boss.

Somehow, thinking of him only made Yamane waver. She imagines him taking her instead, those mad eyes boring through her, piercing her. Instead of fear or disgust, she felt titillation.

Yamane came with a broken cry, white spots dancing behind her eyes.

Saiko pulls her towards her chest as she loses her energy to hold herself up, petting her ruined hair. Behind her, Niragi rubs himself off and finishes on her ass with a grunt, his warm cum shooting to her lower back. He leans forward to lick her good shoulder, then her cheek, and Yamane could feel his weight leave the bed.

“Well, that was fun, mousy. See you later.”

He gets dressed, retrieves his rifle, and leaves the room.

On the bed, Saiko continues petting Yamane’s head.

“Does he really try to take every girl that comes through this place, even if it meant raping them?” Yamane finally asks, face still buried on Saiko’s lap.

“Only the ones he wants to break.”

“Did he fuck you too?”

Saiko pauses. “Yes.”

Rolling over, Yamane looks at the taller woman in the eye. “And this just happens all the time in the Beach?”

Saiko huffs and rolls her eyes, retrieving two sticks of cigarettes and a lighter from her sleeveless olive jacket. “It’s just the way it is here. Everyone is free to do what they want, and that includes crimes. If you don’t want to be a victim of one, you have to be a perpetrator yourself. Hatter tries to keep the order, but he’s falling short. I thought you’d accept it by now.”

Yamane wanted to say, “That’s the most bullshit explanation I’ve ever heard,” but exhausted, defeated, she said, “Well, Niragi can’t break what’s already broken. I’ll continue to pretend not to feel anything, or at least try.”

“Good. That’ll get him to lay off of you. Men like Niragi get off on fear. Show that he doesn’t faze you, he’ll move on to a new target.”

With a bitter laugh, the little mouse opens her mouth, and Saiko places the cigarette between her lips, lighting it.

Yamane didn’t even smoke, but she needed that.

It turns out that Saiko is right. Niragi’s escapades went on for two more nights before he finally dropped her and moved on to a new target. But it still left Yamane sore for days.

Furrowing her brows, Yamane shakes the pill bottle and pours herself another painkiller tablet. She swallows the pills, and downs a glass of water. Stepping out of her room, she descended to the lobby. There’s going to be a game tonight, and she needed to replenish her visa.

The teams are being assigned. Yamane receives her assignment, and gulps as she feels someone’s presence behind her.

“Yamaneko. You’ll come with us,” Last Boss tells her, and Yamane nods.

He shuffles away, towards Aguni and Niragi, and Yamane follows him. Feeling awkward for thinking of him while another man took her, Yamane couldn’t look at him. But of course, he didn’t need to know that.

Sitting next to him in the backseat certainly didn’t help.

Niragi drives like a demon, making her stomach churn, while Aguni sits beside him, eyeing her through the rearview mirror.

“Tonight we’ll see what you’re made of,” the chief says. Niragi grins, while Last Boss gives her a meaningful look. “Let’s see if you’re really the wildcat Last Boss thinks you are.”

“Wow, no pressure at all,” Yamane thinks to herself, exhaling slowly, doing her best to calm her frayed nerves. Still, she felt a twisted sense of pride, looking at Last Boss from the corner of her eyes. The man barely speaks, and he’s a total enigma to Yamane; no one knows his real name, but everyone knows how dangerous he is.

“If he thinks I’m like a wildcat, then he might respect me a little more than Niragi who calls me a mouse.”

He’s staring at her again, and this time, Yamane cranes her neck to stare back.

She opens her mouth to say something, but the car comes to a screeching halt. Yamane lurches forward, while the tall man stays steady in his seat.

“Out the car,” Aguni barks, and everyone steps out. Yamane eyes the venue, and even Niragi seems to stop. It was a high school; Yamane’s alma mater to be exact.

“A high school? Man, this place brings back some bad memories,” Niragi moans, brows furrowing.

“This was my high school. Fuck this place,” Yamane mumbles, putting one hand on her hip.

“No time for nostalgia, we have a game to play,” Aguni scolds them while Last Boss follows him close by. “Are you two coming or not?”

Looking at each other, Niragi and Yamane start following their chief again. The four militants pass through the laser grid, and proceed deeper into the school complex, where the directions are leading them to the field at the back of the school. While passing through the halls, Yamane sees a pile of old desks in an unused room. Among them was her old one, vandalized with words such as “Kill yourself” and “Slut”.

Turning away, Yamane focuses her attention to the game.

Each of them grab a phone from the foldable table at the far end of the field, waiting for registration to close. There are explosive collars and weapons on a separate table, with instructions to wear one collar, and take an optional weapon. There are also instructions that prohibit firearms, which made Niragi groan and put his rifle down. Aguni deposits his pistol as well.

Slipping the explosive collar around her neck, Yamane watches as her fellow militants do the same. Niragi picks up a knife, and so does Aguni, while Last Boss sticks to his katana, and Yamane checks her daggers.

This will either be a Spade game, or another Club. Yamane scans the horizon, the green grass of the field overgrown from the lack of maintenance. She looks at the number of people around, and there are more than fifteen of them in the field. The worst case scenario she can think of is a battle-royale type of game where the last one standing wins. She has no chance against Aguni, Niragi, or Last Boss. But the explosive collar didn’t make sense. The lasers could easily shoot them down if they try to leave the arena, so an explosive collar wouldn’t be necessary.

The synthetic voice chirps from their phones as the last person picks up theirs.

“Registration closed. There are currently twenty players. Difficulty: Four of Spades.”

Yamane’s eyebrows furrow as her suspicions are confirmed.

“Game: Kibasen. Rules: Players must form a group of four, with three acting as the horse, and one as a spear. If the spear is taken out, the entire group is disqualified. Clear condition: Players must eliminate the rival team. Time limit: none.”

“Cavalry battle? I’m surprised that this isn’t classified as a Clubs game.” Yamane comments. “But there are no headbands or caps around. Don’t tell me…”

“The headband is likely the spear’s head,” Aguni grunts. “Wildcat. Be the spear.”

Yamane’s heart starts to race. She can’t do this, not with her injured shoulder. She’ll put the entire team at risk. “You heard Aguni,” Niragi barks, looming over her. “Get on top.”

“Wait a minute. Chief, I think Last Boss should be the spear,” Yamane interrupts, making all three look at her.

“Are you chickening out, little mouse?” Niragi asks her, tilting his head.

“Look at me,” she says, holding her good arm out. “My arm span is short. My daggers are too short. Last Boss is our tallest man. His limbs are longer than mine, and his katana has good range. He can strike farther than I could. Putting him on top would result in a longer, deadlier spear.”

A ponderous look on his face, Niragi turns to Aguni. Yamane’s eyes flick towards Last Boss, who was smiling at her.

“Chief, what do you think?” Niragi asks.

“Last Boss, you’re the spear,” Aguni grunts. “I’ll be the one in front. Niragi, Yamane, take the sides.”

Sighing in relief, Yamane takes her position at her right, which shields her injured left shoulder. “You’re lucky, little mouse,” Niragi whispers, bumping shoulders with her as they ducked, and Last Boss climbs over them.

His cold hand presses against Yamane’s head. “Yamaneko, thank you,” Last Boss tells her, lips curling into a smile. On top of her, he reminded her of a tiger once more, predatory, ready to strike.

She still couldn’t figure him out.

Around them, strangers are forming reluctant alliances, warily eyeing other teams. Soon, all five teams are lined up.

“Wait, are we supposed to fight each other? Where is this rival team?”

As if on cue, a rumble starts from a distance, growing louder, and the synthetic voice booms through the outdoor speakers. “Game Start!”

Through the same entrance they used, teams of masked men ran through, their spears carrying naginatas.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Niragi quips, tongue flicking out of his mouth. The other units of players unaffiliated from the Beach start to run and scream, while Aguni commands them to charge forward.

One unit from the enemy team charges at a friendly team, and lops the spear’s head off. His teammates’ explosive collars go off.

Then, they come face to face with the militants’ unit.

Yamane blows away a stray lock of hair from her face. “Shit. Here we go.”

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #fanfic: dormouse #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #suguru niragi #morizono aguni #fanfiction #character study #suguru niragi x oc

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mell-bell · 4 years

Text

Fight so dirty (but your love so sweet) - Part IV

The Mandalorian x Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Words: 5436

Series Summary: You are sent to hunt down a Mandalorian, the odds aren’t exactly in your favor

Chapter: 4/8

Author’s notes: Seriously you guys are still the best I love every single one of you!!! All of your comments make my day. I bumped up the chapter count to 7 chapters now because that’s what I have outlined, but it may go up farther in the future depending on my storyline! I had a few issues writing this chapter mostly because my brain kept arguing with my thought process so hopefully, it turned out well. Also, I think I tagged everyone who asked, if not please just drop me a message! Hope you guys enjoy!!!!!

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“What about this?” You motioned to a small brown coat.

The little green child chittered softly, his ears tilting downward as he turned waddling off toward the next cart.

You sighed, quickly wishing the owner of the cart a good day before taking off after the child, who had somehow already waddled five carts down.

It had been two weeks since you won the Competition. And all was going well. The money you had won from the bounty was more than you knew what to do with.

You had put the majority of it aside for a rainy day. But the rest you decided to use to make life on the run a little more comfortable.

The Mandalorian had landed the ship on this planet a few days ago, claiming it was a good place to find mechanics and parts for the ship. With the money you had now, he wanted to update and fortify it since bounty hunters were coming after you left and right.

Just last week a ship had jumped out of hyperspace and began shooting before you even knew he was there. You had strapped yourself and the child into your seats as the Mandalorian chased the hunter down and killed him.

So, while the Mandalorian remained with the ship, you took the little one out to buy some clothes for him, the Mandalorian and yourself.

You had been in the market place for hours. You had managed to buy a few things for yourself and the Mandalorian, but when it came to the little, he disliked everything. You pointed things out and let him decide if he liked it or not. But so far he hadn’t liked anything.

He toddled around, bringing smiles to people’s faces when he reached his little hand out to greet them. He was becoming less reserved with strangers and you smiled every time his ears flicked up and he chittered happily.

He had grown since you met him five months ago and he seemed to be able to communicate more. He had even grown stronger in his powers. Training with him every day seemed to help. Even if it was just as simple as a game of catch with his favorite ball.

It was nearing dusk when the child eventually pulled on a red cape, much like your own. You turned to the woman at the cart and asked her if she could make one about his size. When she nodded you pressed the credits into her hand with a warm smile.

When you made it back to the ship, you placed the little green child on the ground and he took off toward the Mandalorian babbling happily. The man looked down, nodding back as if he understood what the child was saying.

Stepping up next to him, you sat down beside where he was working, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the ship.

“There are some helpers available for hire in the market. I was thinking of hiring a few to help you finish the ship.”

The man stood, brushing off the sand from his pants, “I can go scout them out.”

He went to walk past you, but you shot up stepping in his way, placing your hand on his beskar armor, pushing him back gently.

“You know you need to stay hidden. You can’t blend in here. I can.”

“I can do more.” His voice was deeper than normal.

Your hand patted his armor, “You’re doing enough. You can relax now.”

“I just want to protect you.” He said.

You froze and he cleared his throat, “And him.” He gestured to the little one who was chasing after a rodent looking creature.

You smiled, “I know but I need you safe and that means you need to stay in here. I’m gonna feel them out and pick up some things I bought earlier. Stay here.”

His gaze remained on you as you left the hangar, only moving when he lost sight of you.

The green child next to him cooed and he glanced down, “Stop it.” He said.

When you made it back into town you stopped to grab some other necessities. This was a nice planet. The people were kind. And there was an abundance of crops and materials for sale.

Sometimes you wished you could settle down again, in a place like this. But somehow you figured it just wasn’t in the cards for you.

You couldn’t imagine life without your Mandalorian now. He had somehow become your family. You couldn’t leave him. Even for the chance at a normal life.

After you picked up the tiny red cape and other clothes the woman had made, you stopped by the cantina to grab some food. As you sat in the back corner, enjoying your food, the table next to you began to talk in hushed whispers. Your ears strained and when you heard the word “Empire” you stiffened.

You hunched over pulling up your hood to hide your face as listened. It wasn’t much longer before they left and when they did, you threw credits on the table, before taking off out the door.

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

It was late when you arrived back at the hangar. The Mandalorian had long since stopped working because of the darkness that had fallen over the planet. You stormed up the ramp of the ship, startling the little green child who had been levitating a tool to the Mandalorian, the tool falling on the man’s head.

“You won’t believe what I just heard.”

The Mandalorian sat up fast, his helmet hitting the bottom of the ship.

You motioned, “Meet me inside.”

When he came storming through the door, the little green child in his arms, you began to tell him what you had heard.

But instead of being excited like you had expected, his body was tense.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for!” You exclaimed.

The man sighed, “I don’t know if we’re ready.”

“Something is brewing we’re gonna need help. You said it’s time to fight back. So let’s fight back.”

His voice was gruff, “What if it’s a setup?”

“What if it isn’t?” You shot back, “I think we should take the chance. We could finally get the intel we need.”

You stood and began to pace and the man looked at you worried.

You began to mumble, “We’re going to need help, maybe I could call one of my old contacts, but I don’t know if Commander Trax put a track on them. I don’t know if I want to get anybody involved in this.”

The Mandalorian stepped up, placing his hand on your shoulder, taking your comm out of your hand, “I have somebody.”

“You have friends?” You teased.

“Acquaintance.”

He quickly typed in a message and waited just a minute before it beeped back. He handed it to you.

“She’s on her way.”

“Just like that?” You questioned.

“Just like that.”

As you gathered what you needed in the carbo bay, you heard boots echoed on the ramp of the ship. You weren’t expecting anyone to arrive so fast, so when a strange woman entered the cargo bay, your blaster was out and aimed at her head.

In your defense, she attacked first.

Having the higher ground, you managed to knock her down quickly, flinging her blaster out of the ship. With a grunt, she swung out her leg trying to knock your feet out from beneath you. But as her leg rose, you grabbed it, flipping her over and pinning her to the ground.

You had been sparring more and more with the Mandalorian every morning to strengthen yourself. And it was working.

You smiled as you held her down as she struggled.

The Mandalorian stepped out from the main room, his head swiveling between the two of you.

He sighed, before walking over to you. Kicking your side lightly, you looked up at him before your gaze swung back to the woman beneath you.

“This is your friend isn’t it?”

“Acquaintance.” They both said at the same time.

You stood, holding out a hand to help her up.

The woman took it, pulling herself up.

Looking you up and down she smiled, “I like this one.”

Your eyes narrowed as you held out your hand. She took it.

“I’m Cara.”

The Mandalorian sighed.

The woman stretched as she walked around the ship, looking at the supplies you had been pulling out, “So what am I helping with?”

“I’m going to infiltrate an Empire gala.”

The Mandalorian’s head swiveled to yours fast, “That is not what we decided.”

“It’s the only possible option. You definitely can’t go. Pretty sure she can’t go either. So it’s on me.” You shrugged.

“But you just-”

You held up your hand, cutting him off, “I’ll be fine. I’m back in fighting shape. I won the Competition. I’m doing fine.”

“You’re barely fully healed, you need to give your body a break.”

“This is only an intel mission, there shouldn’t even be any fighting.” You argued back.

Cara tsked, “Hey no parental fighting in front of the child.”

The green child babbled as he walked up to the warrior woman, who bent down to say hello.

“I’ll do as I damn well please.” You said glaring at the Mandalorian, “I’m going.”

“Fine.” He turned on his heel and stalked off the ship.

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

You tugged nervously at your clothes as you peered out of the alley at the building across the street.

Your hands shook as you made sure your panic button was in place and hidden. You sighed, balling your hands tight. He had gotten into your head. You knew it was just because he was worried. But you couldn’t infiltrate this Gala feeling insecure.

You took a deep breath running through the plan in your head one more time.

Stepping out from the alley, you lifted your head high as you weaved in and out of the townspeople. One guard stood at the entrance, but you could tell that there were others hidden amongst the normal citizens, their clothes just a little too expensive, their gazes following you as you strode up to the door.

Up close, you could see through the stained glass window. Dozens of people, drowning in glittering jewels and beautiful dresses and suits. You knew your outfit would help you fit in, but you hoped, your lack of knowledge of high society affairs wouldn’t make you stand out too much.

You walked up to the door your steps hesitating slightly as your heart started beating, unsure if you were prepared for this, not paying attention until the guard at the door barked at you.

Eyes wide you stepped up to him and you were about to walk in when the man stopped you, his arm outstretched.

You panicked, not knowing what he was expecting when a voice sounded behind you.

“They’re with me.”

You nodded at the guard, before turning to the man now beside you, “Thank you.”

The man before you was impeccably dressed. And though he had a smile on his face, his eyes were cold.

“No, thank you. You look like the most interesting person here.” He looked you up and down, “What is your connection to the Empire? Your father?”

As you made it past the foyer and into the ballroom, your eyes grew wide at the strands of lights, the soft music playing, and the abundance of people. Turning back to the man beside you, you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Sorry, yes. He was murdered by the rebellion.”

He nodded solemnly, motioning for you to continue following him, weaving the two of you farther into the room.

“Ah, don’t worry they will all be eradicated one day soon.” He waved his hand absent-mindedly as his other grabbed two drinks off of one of the waiter's trays, handing one to you.

You hid your grimace behind your glass, “And you are?”

“Oh, I am Governor Moff Gideon, at your service. Well... former Governor according to those rebel scums who took down our Empire.”

You swallowed heavily your eyes wide and you stopped yourself from taking an instinctive step back.

“I take it you know of me.” The smile that graced his face was twisted.

You bowed your head slightly trying to hide the fear crossing your face, “Of course, I am so sorry to impose, I will leave you alone.”

“No please.” He motioned, “Join me.”

As he led you deeper into the room, you glanced one more time behind you losing sight of the entrance, hoping that your Mandalorian was still keeping an eye on you.

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

The Mandalorian laid perched on the roof across the street, his macrobinoculars following your every move.

“Everything will be fine, you don’t have to keep such a close eye.” Cara drawled, she was stretched out beside him, resting back against the wall, her eyes closed.

“Something might go wrong.” He mumbled, watching as you made your way inside the building. His eyes focusing in on the man at your side.

“You mean something might happen to your precious crewmember.” She goaded.

“What?” He growled.

She chuckled, her legs bouncing restlessly, “Oh, nothing. Just wondering when that’s going to become a thing.”

“Nothing’s going on.” He snapped.

“Sure. But you might want to make a move before someone else does.”

He stiffened as he saw you continue to walk through the room, the man who had been beside you when you entered still at your side. He watched as you stopped, holding out your hand to people in front of you.

He whistled to get Cara’s attention and held out his binoculars to her.

“Who is that?”

She took them with a roll of her eyes, putting the binoculars up to her eyes, “Ah, old governor Gideon. That man is a piece of work. Killed more people than he saved. He’s the one that’s been gathering Empire supporters.”

The Mandalorian pushed to get up, but Cara kicked out, knocking him back down.

“Stop, if you rush in there there’s a better chance of everything going to shit. Stay here and watch. It’ll be fine.”

He ripped the binoculars from her hands and looked through them once again, more tense than usual.

As the minutes passed, he began to relax. You seemed calm as you maneuvered your way through the ballroom. However, when he recognized a familiar face walk past the window, his heart stopped. He jumped up and was down onto the street before Cara could even move an inch.

Before he reached the front door, Cara tackled him, shoving him into the alley adjacent to the building.

“Are you insane?” She hissed.

He pointed toward the ballroom, “Fennec Shand is in there.”

“The assassin?” Cara sounded impressed.

“We need to abort.” He started forward again, but she pushed him back against the wall.

Voices echoed down the alley as two imperial guards walked past where they were hidden. The two held their breaths, sighing in relief when they continued past clueless of what lurked in the shadows.

Cara turned back to the Mandalorian.

“No,” She growled, “We wait for the signal.”

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

It wasn’t easy getting away from the former Governor. You weren’t sure why he had put his sights on you.

He introduced you to many people and you mentally tried to keep track of them all. Names were flying in one ear and out the other. Most were wealthy citizens from across the galaxy. People who figured putting their stock in the Empire would help them make more money.

But they weren’t important in the long run.

The people you had to pay attention to were the Imperial generals and the ever rarer rebels turned Imperials.

Every so often you would peek a glance out the window, knowing that your Mandalorian was watching. But you were here alone, even if he was just a step away.

The first time somebody asked you why you hated the rebels, you froze. Before you could stop yourself the words spilled from your mouth tasting like poison on your tongue. As you spewed obscenities about the rebellion and how wonderful it would be to reinstate the Empire to its glory, the wealthy men and women fervently nodded in agreement.

A few even asked if you were available for hire for they needed reliable people to work for them. With a feigned smile, you just waved your hand saying you already had employment that paid well.

As the music swelled and the former Governor finally turned his attention from you, you managed to slip away, weaving in and out of the men and women, catching pieces of conversations here and there.

“Did you hear how he died? Apparently, his building collapsed on him.”

“Well, I heard he was murdered by a Mandalorian.”

Your heart pounded as you slipped into a side hallway, the music and loud conversations fading away to nothing.

You leaned against the wall for a second longer than necessary to pull yourself together.

Pulling out a tiny device, you placed it on the wall near the ground before you continued down the hallway.

You walked down the hall nonchalantly, waiting for a guard to make his appearance. When you rounded the corner, you came face to face with one.

The guard startled, reaching out, grabbing onto you, “Excuse me. No one is allowed back here.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You turned, allowing him to walk you back to the door you had slipped through.

When you reached the door, you turned to look down to see the guard standing next to the device you had placed on the wall. With a smile, you pressed the button on the remote in your hand. The device beeped rapidly, and before he could move, an electric shock shooting out from the device hitting the guard where he stood.

He fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Peering around making sure that no one had heard, you took off down the hallway. When you finally reached the locked door at the end of the hall you dropped to your knees. Pulling out your kit and began picking the lock.

“Come on. Come on.” You mumbled to yourself.

“Hey!”

A guard at the end of the hall started running towards you and you quickly pushed the panic button the Mandalorian had slipped you earlier.

You stood, putting your hands up and smiled. The guard’s brows furrowed as he made his way down the hall, his blaster aimed at you. And then the world exploded.

You dropped to the ground, the wall at the far end of the hall blowing out. The guard flying.

Quickly getting back up you went back to working on the door.

With a trained ear, you listened as your friends made their appearance.

“I am looking for someone.” His voice was loud as he shouted over the frenzied screaming of the elite.

You smiled as the handle finally gave way under your hand and you slipped through the door.

Closing the door slowly and quietly, you turned around and quickly scanned the room. You only had a few minutes. You looked under the desk, in the cabinets, between the couch cushions. For a hidden hatch beneath the carpet. It wasn’t until you made it to the bookshelf when you finally saw a button poking out slightly behind one of the books.

Smiling, you pushed it and a hidden compartment popped out, a folder of papers there. You grabbed them, closing the compartment quietly. Just as you took a step toward the door, the handle turned and you froze. Just before the door opened you stepped to hide behind the bookshelf.

A mirror on the back wall allowed you to watch as the Governor walked into the room, a woman following closely behind him.

“Sir, that was the Mandalorian I encountered on Tatooine.”

“I figured as much.” He fumed.

“I can go kill –“

“Later. We need to get the paperwork to the Supreme.” You clutched the papers tighter to your chest.

You listened as he walked toward the bookshelf, just a foot away from you.

When you heard the compartment click open, you squeezed yourself tighter against the wall. His hand slammed against the bookshelf, the whole thing rattling, objects collapsing to the ground.

“Nobody leaves this building! Find it!”

You breathed a sigh of relief when the man stalked out of the room and the woman began to follow. But as if she could hear your breathing, she turned, her gaze scanning the room. You could hear her footsteps grow closer to your hiding spot. You pulled yourself tighter against the wall.

You could just see her shoulder when a shout came from down the hall and the woman turned on her heel and left.

Collapsing to the ground in relief, you quickly shoved the files you had stolen beneath your clothes. Rushing quietly toward the door, you opened it slightly, slipping out into the hall. Your head swung left and right, not sure which way. Taking off toward the left, you rounded the corner, coming face to face with the backs of four Stormtroopers. Your eyes went wide as you slowly backed up.

“Hey! You!”

You turned around feigning surprise.

A Stormtrooper motioned toward you, “Let’s go. The Gala is under lockdown.”

Entering back into the main hall, you saw the Governor directing Stormtroopers to break up guests into different groups.

You were shoved into a with a bunch of other people and soon later placed alone in an empty white room.

When the door slammed open, a man walked in.

“Good evening. I’m sure you want to get out of here as soon as I do.”

You nodded, you didn’t have to feign the fear on your face.

The man droned on and on but you could barely pay attention, your ears were buzzing and the bright white light in the room seemed to drown out your vision, “Did you break into an office? Did you still paperwork? Are you a rebel sympathizer?”

You said no to all and the man nodded before getting up to leave.

He turned his brows furrowing, “Do I know you?”

You shook your head.

“Hm. You look like someone who used to work for me many years ago. But it can’t be”

You didn’t recognize him, so why were your hands shaking so hard?

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

“Thank you for walking me back to my transport.” You said tersely as Governor Moff walked beside you.

The man had been waiting for you outside the door after you had been questioned. He had apologized for making you go through questioning knowing that you couldn’t have stolen anything.

“If you ever need for anything.” He handed you his card.

You took it with a shaking hand, “I will let you know.”

You nodded at him watching as he turned walking down the street. You kept your eyes on him until you could no longer see his dusty black cape.

Taking a deep breath, you walked around the block a few more times before walking into the hangar. When you saw the Mandalorian’s ship you sighed in relief.

You climbed the lowered ramp, waving at the mechanic’s you had hired who were working on the side of the ship.

Neither the Mandalorian or Cara was back yet. While you waited for their return, you decided to change. Entering the lower level of the ship, you opened the closet to grab one of the Mandalorian’s shirts when your hand hit something hard.

Grabbing hold of it, you brought it up. A picture frame.

As you traced your finger over the face in the photo, loud footsteps above echoed through the ship.

The modulated voice yelled your name and you walked out into the cargo bay, the picture still in your hand.

“Where did you get this?”

The Mandalorian stepped up to you, gently taking it from your hand, “It was in your old house.”

“And you took it?” Your brows furrowed.

“You looked happy.”

“I’m happy now too.” You breathed as you looked from the photo to him.

Cara nudged him and his head shot towards her, glaring at her through his mask.

She turned to you, “Did you get it?”

“Mhm? Oh, yes.” You pulled out the file and passed it over to the Mandalorian. But instead of looking down at it he was looking at you.

“Do you want to get food?” He stumbled over the words.

You hesitated, looking from the tense man to the widely grinning woman beside him, “Sure... Cara?”

“No!” He barked.

You froze, your eyebrows raising.

He cleared his throat, “No, I mean she already has plans?” He turned toward the woman.

She shrugged with a chuckle, “Um, yeah I guess I do.”

You frowned but stepped up to her offering her your arm, “Stay close. Hopefully, we’ll be making a move soon.”

She nodded, saluting the two of you, before vanishing down the ramp of the ship.

You motioned nervously down the ramp, “I’ll go grab some food.”

The man nodded.

You raced down the street to the cantina, grabbing some food before hurrying back out the door. On your way out, you slammed into someone.

“Oh! So sorry.”

The man steadied you, “No worries, you look like you’re in a hurry.”

“I am! Have a good night.”

You hurried off down the road, missing the beeping fob in the man’s hand.

Something was different tonight.

When you arrived back at the ship, the Mandalorian had set up a makeshift table for the two of you.

The food was good and as you ate you tried to make small talk. However, the man only seemed to nod or shake his head.

You cleared your throat, “Are you alright?”

“Yes? Why?” He stuttered.

“You haven’t spoken in fifteen minutes.”

“I am enjoying the food.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that he hadn’t eaten anything but before you could reply, he cut you off, “Are you?”

“Yes.” You chuckled.

“Good.”

You smiled as you continued to eat, both missing the glances you were throwing each other.

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

You were hunched over the desk flipping through the plans you had stolen when you heard the door creak open behind you.

It was late at night, the only light shining from the candles littered around the room.

“You’ve been gone a while.”

The Mandalorian had left early that afternoon to scout out some new planets to bunker down on. He had been acting weird since the dinner you shared last night. You weren’t sure why.

And when he hadn’t been back after a few hours, you had almost left to find him. But with the little green child still on the ship with you, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him alone or bring him with you. Especially not on a plant infested with imperials.

You scribbled a few more things onto the paper in front of you before turning around, as the man behind you still hadn’t spoken.

Squinting through the dark you tried to make out the usual shape of his armor, but when he stepped forward you could see that he wasn’t wearing it. Or his helmet.

You spun around with a squeak, placing your back toward him.

“Hey! Sorry, I took over your room but this was the only place that had a desk.”

The man behind you remained silent and your heart was in your throat as you heard his quiet footsteps on the metal floor.

A hand reached out to your arm, grasping you gently, turning you around, the bare skin of his hand brushing along your own. But before he turned you fully, you closed your eyes hard.

You could feel his body step up close to yours, his breath warm on your face. Your heart was pounding. And you could feel that his was too.

You swallowed hard as his hand ran from your hand up your arm until it reached your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek, his hands softer than you had imagined, the warmth of his skin burning against your own.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was still gruff even without the voice modulator from his helmet. You almost melted at the sound.

You shook your head aggressively and you could hear him let out a little sigh as his fingers teased around your lips. Involuntarily, your tongue darted out to wet them accidentally brushing against his thumb.

Your face reddened and you went to take a step back, but he just followed.

“Look at me, please.”

“But...”

“No talking for once,” he said, “just- look.”

You froze unsure what to do. But after a beat, you opened your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat when you were finally face-to-face with the man you had spent almost half a year with. His hair dark unruly curls, his deep black eyes glistening in the candlelight.

You slowly raised your hand to his face running your fingers over his forehead, his cheeks, his stubble. The man smiled, and your fingers moved toward the laugh lines next to his eyes and the dimple on his cheek.

“Why?”

“I wanted you to see me.”

“I’ve always seen you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his mouth curled up into a smile.

He leaned forward toward you, so your lips were just touching, but stopped there as if he was waiting for you to make the decision.

You shot forward, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down, his mouth coming down hard on yours.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you pressed back. His lips were soft but unyielding against yours. A soft sigh tore from your mouth as he deepened the kiss, his arm coming up to wrap tightly around you, the other weaving through your hair to pull you even closer.

It was a rough kiss, but you expected nothing less from the two of you. You had been dancing around these feelings for too long.

You took a step back, him following as you both stumbled through the room your lips locked together.

The Mandalorian’s hands moved, scrambling for purchase on your body, settling on your hips yanking you flush against him. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders steadying yourself and when you ensured you wouldn’t tumble over, you raised up onto your toes wrapping your arms around his neck.

He turned you and you felt his hand reach around you trying to shut the door, but when he couldn’t reach it, he shoved you back against it, finally slamming it shut.

He pushed you flat against the door, his hands tight around your waist while your nails scratched through his hair, eliciting a deep moan from him.

You pulled your face away with a gasp and tilted your head back, your eyes snapping closed with a moan when you felt him pepper kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your hand grabbed the back of his head, and you pulled him toward you until your foreheads were touching, “You are never going to lose me.”

And once again you pulled him down until his lips met yours. This time the kiss was softer, slower. And you savored the feeling of his lips on yours.

As your hands ran through his hair, his slipped under the back of your shirt, his hands burning like fire against your skin.

You pulled away with a gasp and he pulled back his eyes searching your face. With a smile, he reached up, his fingers dancing across your cheek before he brushed a piece of hair back behind your ear.

You leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. And then his forehead. And then his dimple.

He pulled back and smiled at you. That smile was becoming your new favorite sight in the world.

And you replied with one of your own.

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

That night you found yourself sitting at the desk in the corner, while the Mandalorian slept peacefully in the bed.

Your eyes were heavy and you couldn’t seem to focus on the words in front of you. Your eyes kept slipping shut, but you couldn’t give in until you found out what they were planning for the little green child.

You flipped one more page with a sigh when you started. Sitting up straighter you flipped back to the previous page and read.

“They’re trying to clone him...”

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

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #mando #mando ff #star wars #Star Wars ff #fanfiction #my fanfic #mando fanfiction #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #x reader #the mandalorian spoilers

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weclassygirl · 4 years

Text

𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟒

Word count: +3k

Pairing: neil x reader (tenet)

Warnings: not much, some bullet wounds

Author’s note: welcome to the last part of the miniseries! idk why but i feel like this part is quite dull, the reason for that is cause i didn’t want to meddle much with the inversion here so that it stays somewhat logical to what i had in mind. hope you enjoy it nonetheless. take care love! <3

Previous part (x)

Gif credits (x)

“You don’t trust them.” you say right off the bat, your future self scoffs at you and with every passing second you begin to notice how much you're different from her. She's much more serious, you can feel that something happened to her in the future. To you.

"Of course not." she responds with a sly smirk. You tilt your head at her answer.

"Then why do you work for them?" you hear Neil ask her from beside you. You see that he’s sceptical about her even after you told him she was telling the truth.

"I didn't have a choice in that matter." she tells you, her voice soft and angry at the same time. She seems like she wants to say more but chooses not too. You feel that, she’s you after all. You decide to ask a question that’s been bugging you since the moment you laid your eyes on her.

“What happened?” your voice as quiet as a whisper. She knows what you mean and hangs her head down. She sighs and looks up at you, your own eyes staring back at you.

"I got lost on a mission once, they found me, offered me a job. I was already in the business and didn’t have anywhere to go so I thought that I wouldn’t be good for anything else… but didn't know that not all of them are good." she tells you, her voice carries through the space between you. Neil listens by your side, waiting patiently for her next words. "They started looking for the algorithm a few months ago and they circled back to that site. They knew I was there, that I had it, they just needed to know where it was exactly." she finishes with a whisper. You can see that that memory doesn’t belong to any pleasant ones. She almost feels… guilty about it. As if she was the one that gave them the algorithm on the silver platter.

"So we'll be probably expecting them there." Neil acknowledges and you briefly look in his direction.

"Yeah." she says and the tranquility fills up the air. Before any of you try to say something to fill up the silence hanging in the room you hear a knock at the door. Neil’s hand goes immediately to his gun and so does your future selves. You look towards the door and walk up to them and look through the peephole. Ives is outside.

You turn to Neil and mouth to him that he’s standing in front of the door. He urges your other version to hide and comes up to you. Neil opens the door and you look towards the living room, seeing that your future self is still there, out in the open. Before you get a chance to shield her from Ives’ sight he already points his gun at her. She does as well.

You stand between them and raise your arms up. “Don’t shoot!” you tell Ives. His grip on the gun doesn’t loosen up. His eyes sharp, trained on your other self standing behind you.

“What the hell?” he questions. Your future self tenses up at his voice, her hand gripping the gun tighter. “She’s-”

“Her. From the future.” Neil informs Ives from behind him. You step in closer and put your hand on his gun, lowering it down. He’s reluctant at first but gives in, but he does not let his guard down. You turn to your other self and nod at her to lower her gun too. She does so without questioning.

"You better have a damn good explanation for this." you turn to Ives, anger building up in his eyes. All of you sit down and explain the situation. Your future self, Tenet, the algorithm. Ives listens carefully, side glancing your future self from time to time. As you and Neil finish explaining he leans back and sighs. He runs his hand down his face and finally turns to the other you.

"So… you know what will happen." Ives states. Your other self stares at him, her features not changing. She still keeps that cold composure you've now used to seeing.

"Briefly. I just hope that I can change it so that my future, the future world doesn't end up like how it did for me." she only explains. Ives only nods and stands up from his seat.

"We'll go to the site tomorrow. Briefing at dawn, so be there." he orders and turns to leave the room.

"What about her?" you ask. "How will we explain this situation to the rest?" he turns to you from his place in front of the door.

"We don't. She probably already knows where the algorithm is so she'll be with you on the team." he only says. Neil shakes his head from beside you, all of you see that action.

"I don't think it's a good idea." you hear Neil say. "What if they touch by accident? We can't risk it."

"Then what do you propose?" Ives wonders. Neil looks between you two and sets his eyes on you.

"I'll go with (Name), you'll go with her future self. You can keep an eye on her too since you seem that you don't trust her." Ives thinks for a moment, his eyes traveling from Neil to the both of you. He sighs in defeat.

"Fine. We won't go in separate teams so find her some blue patch so that we know it's her." he says and leaves the room, your eyes following his figure.

"What if others question why she has a blue patch?" you ask suddenly. Neil only shrugs.

"We can always tell that we ran out of the red ones. Don't worry, everything's gonna be alright." he reassures you, you nod at him. Your future self watches both of you intently, a small smirk appearing on her face but quickly vanishes.

"Do you really know where it is exactly?" Neil asks her. She hums in confirmation and goes over to the couch. She spreads out on it and covers herself up with a blanket.

"You guys should rest. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow." she only tells you before she closes her eyes, her breathing slowing down as she falls asleep. Neil and you go to your rooms and do the same, you reassure him that she won't do anything that would endanger them. You see that she really means well, you know her. She's you after all.

The next day all of you get ready to leave the hotel to go to the site. It's dawn when you arrive at the spot far away from the designated place. The algorithm was spotted at the edge of Ukraine in a small abandoned village. The whole site is covered in dust, the team is wearing the red patches on their arms and you keep a blue one in your pocket to give to your other self later. Ives goes over the briefing, telling that all of you will go as one team, already expecting the enemy on the grounds.

After the meeting you go to the other tent where your other self is hidden. Neil gives her the blue patch you gave him, not risking accidentally touching. Ives joins you a few moments later.

"Ready?" he asks. You look between the two and nod, all four of you put on the masks and leave the tent to join the others. All of them already try to spot the enemy but see none. They decide to move.

After the few first steps the shots fly under your feet. All of you split into various teams and fire at the enemy. You hide behind the wall when some bullets come in your direction, Neil hides on the other side. He looks towards the field and quickly ducks as the opponent attacks. You nod at him, silently telling that you'll cover him. He moves from behind the wall and runs through the field, you peak out from your cover and shoot at the men in white gear. When the area is cleared you run up to Neil and look around.

You see others running and firing at the enemy. In the distance you see a small blue patch on a person's arm. Your future self runs alongside Ives through the field. They seem to be working with each other like a well oiled machine and it makes you wonder if she worked with Ives before. You hear an explosion in the background and briefly look behind you. One of the men threw a grenade at the building and some of its parts fell onto your team. You have an urge to go there and help them but know you have to follow the mission plan. Before you move from your spot you see people coming up from the fallen debris.

Neil and you run to the clearing, far away from the battle ground. It's quiet here, no one in sight. Both of you move slowly, aiming the guns in every direction as you step closer to the hole. As you near it you feel a piercing pain in your leg and hear Neil yelling too, feeling the pain in his arm. You fall onto the ground and aim in the direction from where the bullet came but the person responsible is already next to you, punching you even further onto the ground. Neil moves to aim his gun at him but he kicks it out of his hand and punches in the face. You try to get up and see a faint figure coming up from behind the man in white.

Your future self aiming her rifle at you.

You stare at her with wide eyes as she stands next to the man. She looks at you, the gun pointed directly at you. The man tells her to shoot and she straightens up. You close your eyes and hear a single shot. Your body is shaking but you don't feel any pain aside from the one in your leg. You look up and see the man in white dead on the ground, a bullet hole in his mask and blood covering it from the inside.

You gasp momentarily and try to stand up, she comes up to you to help you but steps back, remembering the unwritten rule. Neil comes up to you to help you lean on him, you do so for a moment before seeing Ives in the distance. He has an angry expression on his face, directed at your future self.

“Save your breath, you can scream and try to kill me later. Let’s just get this algorithm out of here before more of them come here.” she tells all of you. Ives wants to bite back but only sighs and nods. All of you lean over the whole and start to dig from every side, after a few moments you get to the metal box. You take it out and open it to see nine metal elements connected to each other. You look at each other and all go to grab the algorithm but Ives is faster.

As he stands up he holds the gun pointed at your future self. “I believe this is the time where I scream and try to kill you.” he tells her and you step in closer. “Don’t even think of taking another step (Name) or I’ll pull that trigger.” he warns you and you stay still.

“What will happen now? After we hide the algorithm.” he asks her.

She looks at him and raises her chin up. “If you give it to my past self then everything will go as it did in my future and eventually now.” she explains. She turns to you and Neil before switching her attention back to Ives. “I can’t hide the algorithm, ‘cause then they’ll know where it will be. Where it was this whole time.”

Ives seems to be thinking it over and starts splitting up the parts of the algorithm in half. He props up one on his shoulder and gives the second half to Neil. “Hide it well or I’ll hunt you down.” he orders and Neil chuckles. Ives nods at him and starts walking away to the rest of the team, already ordering them to retreat.

Your future self steps closer to the both of you. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“You’re leaving already?” you question her. She nods. “Where will you go?”

She shrugs and looks around. “My timeline. To see how it changed and probably fix it. Now that the algorithm is in safer hands, I’m positive it will be easier to fix it.” she informs the both of you. “And try and stop Tenet and get rid of all the people that try to change the time flow.”

You want to come up to her and hug her goodbye, but know that it may be too dangerous. You gasp as she is the one pulling you into a hug. You freeze at first, fearing the worst but return the hug as you see that nothing wrong happens. Both of you cling to each other for a while before pulling apart. She smiles at you and laughs, you join her, a wide smile on your face.

“Take care, alright?” she tells you, you look towards Neil and then back to her.

“I think I’ll be fine. You, well, me, seems to turn out pretty good.”

She smiles and turns to Neil briefly. They don’t say anything but it looks as if they know what they want to say to each other. Your future self begins to walk away and you follow her figure as she disappears behind the buildings.

You go back to Neil and look at the algorithm in his hands. “How long will you take it to hide it?”

“I don’t know. Few weeks? Months maybe?” he responds. They stand in the clearing not speaking up. Everyone already left, but you’re pretty sure that Ives will send some kind of chopper to pick you up. There’s one question that still lingers in the back of your head.

“Why did you choose me?” he smiles at her question. Sometimes he forgets that you don't know.

“I thought you already figured it out.” he exclaims. You tilt your head at him trying to figure out what he means. You think for a moment before acknowledging it.

“We know each other already, don’t we?” he only smiles and looks down at his feet.

“You told me to find you. To find you at the beginning.” you look at him with wide eyes and start to laugh. Somewhere, deep inside you, you knew that this wasn’t his first meeting with you. You wonder if he was testing you on that, as if the whole meeting was a test from the start. A test set by yourself.

“Did you know that my future version would get lost?” you question further. He seems confused and squints his eyes at the sun peaking through the clouds.

“That scenario never happened to me. I think she was from a different timeline, one where some things looked the same as here, but actions and consequences changed.” he explains and you nod in understanding. You step closer to him, your leg still bleeding and look at the algorithm in his arms. The metal contraptions shining in the faint light of the sun.

You hear a faint sound of the engine and see a chopper coming out from behind the building. Both of you look at each other and Neil wears a sad smile on his face.

“I need to go, Ives probably already left to hide his part of the algorithm.” he says to you. You step closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He returns the hug, clinging to you as if his life depended on it, his arm wrapped around you as the other is still bleeding. He pulls away and begins to turn into the direction of the chopper but you pull him back to you and place a soft kiss on his lips.

The kiss is delicate, as if it’s a fleeting moment between you two that almost feels like a goodbye. You deepen the kiss lightly and Neil leans in even closer, cupping your jaw lightly. Both of you pull away and smile at each other.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“In case something goes wrong and I won’t be able to do that again.” you tell him, your eyes starting to gather faint tears. The thought itself that he might not return to you freightens you. Over the last few weeks you’ve gotten closer to him. You admired him and he you. For him it was like falling in love with you all over again and each moment felt more blissful than the last.

He takes your face in his hands and this time he kisses you, but holds on a little bit longer. He pulls away and wipes a small tear that fell onto your cheek. You smile at him and let him go. He crosses the field to get to the chopper, clutching to his arm, when he enters it he gives you one last look before the door closes. Your eyes follow the chopper flying above the ground and disappearing in the distance.

You hear a honk of a car behind you and turn to see Wheeler behind the wheels. She urges you to get in so that she can take you to the airport. You limp up into the car and for the rest of the drive a faint smile doesn’t leave your lips. You feel deep inside that this is just the beginning of your connection to this hidden reality of the world. To time inversion, to Neil. After all, you did tell him to find you in the beginning, somehow you’re really glad that your future version did.

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years

Text

Celebration

Fandom: The Collector/The Collection Character: Asa Emory – the collector Relationship: Asa Emory/reader Request: Since I have seen you do some slashers, can I request Asa from The Collector? Something sweet where the reader works with him and is an alibi and then saves him when Arkin comes for him in the collection?

You knew him from your work although you didn’t know him well. Asa was a private man, reserved to his office and displays for the museum. You were tour guide with a hand in some of the office work. After all, the museum didn’t get an awful amount of funding to be able to employee more office workers. Today, you were happy. It was a sunny day, which meant people were less likely to come to the museum for an indoor activity. Your tours still ran ever 2 hours, but a smaller group had less questions and you could normally be done within an hour, leaving an hour free. You all but skipped down the halls like a school girl, your project held tightly in your arms as you stopped outside Dr Emory office. knocking three time, you waited for him. He towered over you, and had such a demanding presences that made you weak at the knees. Your crush on his was not unnoticed by your co-workers.

“Good morning.” You smile, trying your best to work through the flutters in your chest. “Its 1.30.” he stated, his eyes unreadable. “Oh, well, good afternoon. Could I steal a few minutes of your time?” You ask, nearly slapping yourself in the face for your mistake. His eyes darted to the folder in your arms and he stepped aside, allowing you to enter. This was a privilege in itself. Barely anyone was allowed within his office. But Asa seemed to tolerate you more than the others. Perhaps because you were his neighbour. Now that had truly been a happy accident. His previous neighbour was selling and you were looking for somewhere when you moved here. It just so happened that your neighbour to your left was also a co-worker. Entering his office was like entering a new world. The walls were decorated with various bugs throughout different ages in their lives. Butterfly’s, beetles and roaches but the most prominent member of his displays were spiders. Your attention was drawn to a particular specimen. Pinned in a shadow box was a blue spider. The sign under called it a Cobalt Blue Tarantula. “Wow, those markings are fascinating.” You mumble aloud, more to yourself that to the mans whos office you were in. “Truly. The Cyriopagopus lividum.. native to the borders of Thailand.” Asa speaks so fondly of the dead creature that it makes you smile slightly. There was no denying his love for his work. “Are they venomous?” You ask, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, but the venom not strong enough to kill an adult human. Although its not pleasant.” Asa walks past you to his desk and drawing you from your thoughts. “Now, you wanted something?” “Yes, I was wondering if you might help me with an exhibition.” You hold out the folder to him as you sit at the other side of his desk. He takes it and opens it, showing a sort of mood board you had put together ranging from other exhibitions to enclosures to photo life-spans of certain creatures. “an exhibition?” His eyes flick up to meet your own with curiosity. In truth, you hated how under appreciated he was at the museum and his knowledge should be put to good use. “Yes, for insects. Of course, I’d do most of the work, but I’d really apricate someone who I can fact check with and can offer some insight.” You smile sweetly, and the small smile that pulled at Asa’s lips told you that he was in.

-------------time skip ------------------

Your time spend with the entomologist was one of the most pleasant and interesting interactions you had had in a while. Walking to his office, you held your papers in your hands. You were about to knock when you heard voices inside. Pressing your ear against the door, you listened. “Dr Emory, unless you can provide an alibi for your whereabouts on Saturday evening, we will have enough to arrest you under suspicious of connection with the collector killings.” A voice spoke with authority. Your heart stopped. The collector killings had fascinated you ever since they had come to light. And Asa, well, he was a private man. If they were threatening such a thing, there must be something behind it. And you wanted to know. The two men that seemed to cloud your thoughts could be one. Your mind thought quickly as you came up with a plan. Knocking on the door, you walked in without waiting – something you never really did. Once inside, you acted like a deer in headlights. Two men sat opposite Asa’s desk in suits. “oh, sorry. Are you from the board?” You asked sincerely but you didn’t let them answer before quickly adding. “Look, Dr Emory and I are neighbours. Its perfectly reasonable for us to spend our evenings and weekends in each others company. Besides, if Tiffany told you about us, she has been having an affair with the janitor.” You could tell Asa was just as stunned as you were. One of the men smiled and stood. “You don’t need to be alarmed, miss. We are from the investigations team.” He then presented his ID badge to you. “Oh, gosh. I am so sorry.” You looked stunned, despite already knowing. “Its okay. But I am interested in what you said. Do you know where Dr Emory was on Saturday evening between 5pm and 11pm?” The man leaned back on Asa’s desk while the other twisted to fully look at you. “He was with me.” You said, talking to the two detectives. “At my house.” “with you? He said he was home alone.” The one with the strong jaw line narrowed his eyes at you. “Yes, well, its not against any policies, our director has been known to fire people for having… interpersonal relationships with colleagues. We’d agreed to keep it a secret. He would have been trying to protect me, in case this got out to the others.” You explain to them, not daring to look at Asa. You knew you were playing with fire here. But what you said wasn’t a stretch. The director had fired a member of the geology department… for sleeping with his wife in astrology. He really cared what staff did as long as they did their job. And didn’t fuck his wife. “Is this true?” He asked Asa, who gave a single nod. “And is there anyone who can corroborate this?” The detective asked you, more kindly than the others. “Not really. As I said, it was a secret so I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. Although, you can ask half the staff in this building and they’ll tell you that ive had a crush on the man since I moved here, and they know we have been spending more time together. They are so fond of teasing me for it anyway.” You manage to draw a chuckle from one as he jabbed the other detective in the shoulder which earned a smile. Apparently, there was a similar situation going on where they were. “Right, well, we’d better be on our way. We’ll be back in touch soon.” The one sitting rose to his feet, nodding to both you and Asa before he and his partner left. They left and the door had closed for a brief moment before you felt someone grab your arm and you were twisted to meet Asa. He didn’t say anything and his cheeks were slightly red, but his ears were bright red. “So, you are the collector?” You breathe, looking up at him with a small smile tugging on your lips. “What do you want?” He growled, his voice low and menacing. Oh, he wasn’t happy. “I want to know.” You breath, stepping closer to him. “You take parts, right? What do you do with them? Keep mementos? Are you making something?” His nostrils flares out, obviously angry. You understood. You had let yourself into his world, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t kill you because it would point the fingers back to him. No, it was smart to keep you close. He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching up and pinching his brow. “look, once this has blown over for you, I wont say a word. I don’t expect anything for it. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” You reassured him. “Why?” His eyes narrow at you, but you shrug. “honestly, you fascinate me.” You confess to the man, even more intrigued than before. You saw the smirk that twitched at the side of his mouth.

----------------- time skip ------------

The world of the collector was one you never dreamed you would see inside, and you loved it. It took trust to get him to let you see. First you saw the inside of the hotels lobby, then some traps, then some of the beautiful creations he made, then his prize possession. you never participated, but you provided a bit more support for him, offering help from the side lines in exchange for information and his time. If he was suspicious of you, he couldn’t deny the genuine interest in your eyes as he spoke, or how you hung on every word of his. He seemed to love how you marvelled at everything with a child-like innocents. Wide eyes and a curious mind. He kept you very close, at work and in your personal lives. It took 5 months in total for the cops to ease up off of Asa, but they still occasionally found their way to his house, watching it. He would come to yours in those situations, still keeping the façade up that you were in some kind of relationship. Not that you cared. You found that the two of you had a lot in common which made the time easily spent. Of course, his dogs loved you. When you came round to his, they were pawing at the floor to get to you but waited for their master to give them the signal to move. They really were puppies at heart. Also, sometimes you thought Asa just said they were there to spend time with you. Either way, you didn’t mind. Tonight, you were buried in a book when a harsh knock at your door made you jump but you hurried to answer it, finding a slightly wet Asa. You smiled, stepping aside and allowing him to step in. “You’d think the police budget within the millions by how much they come around.” You giggle, helping his jacket off his shoulders to hang up to dry. He hummed in response, wiping his face with a hand to try get the stray rain droplet off. “So, how was your recent game?” you asked as he followed you into the living room, where you had been reading. You collapsed back into the couch and held your book on your lap. “Uneventful. No one worthy to take.” He mused as he walked over to your book shelf and pulled out the book he had been reading last time. As he returned to your sofa to sit beside you – a show for the police outside – the book fell open to the page he had been reading. But instead of the paperclip he had been using to keep his place, it was a book mark. A novelty bookmark that you had swiped from the gift shop. It was one of those fake 3D ones, with spiders moving on green leaf’s. You raised your book over your mouth to hide your grin. “very amusing.” He soft chuckle left his lips as he placed it to the side. You giggled, moving to reposition yourself. Your sofa faced the TV which was to the right of the window. Meaning anyone who walked by outside could see in. but it was a quiet neighbourhood. Apart from the undercover police. You lay on the sofa, your legs draped over Asa’ lap which you rested your head on some pillows propped up against the arm rest. Asa rose the book without tearing his eyes away from it to allow your legs to move before lowering to rest his forearms on your knee and thighs. Despite being a bit of a play for the police, it began to feel a little more real. You would engage him in conversation through out the evening, and he would tear his attention away from the book to ask you about your day. In fact, you had started to think that Asa had missed this. With the police’s interest dwindling, so had his trips. Even your encounters in work were now limited as you had finished your exhibition. Or many it was just the part of you that had fallen so madly in love with the man that wished he wanted your company. Your eyes left the page to glance at his face. mature features with intelligent eyes. You hated how he could make your heart stop. Maybe this was fake to him, but it was so real to you. Turning your attention back to your book, you didn’t look up until the sun had fully set. Glancing at the clock, you were surprised to see it was nearly 10pm. “Gosh, I swear I’ll never get use to these changing sunsets. Every year it takes me by surprise.” You sit up, stretching as Asa chuckles. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek before lifting your legs off his lap to stand up. Asa followed, and you smiled when he marked his page with the bookmark you had gotten him. “You’re nearly finished. I told you it’s a page turner.” You nodded to the book, which he was nearly finished save for 50 pages. “Yes, all the more reason to come back.” He shot a look over his shoulder that made you smirk. Playful teasing had become something you adored in the man. It was another reason that made you doubt this was fake. They couldn’t hear what was happening, so why play around. Sliding the book back into the slot, he picked up the remote which had been forgotten on the sofa to go to the window and place it on the stand. A ploy for him to see if they were still watching the house. “I think you’re right. They get far too much funding. It could be going to the museum.” He mused as he turned back to you. Maybe they needed to see more. Or maybe you wanted more. Just to test the waters. Walking up to him, you reach up and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me?” You whisper to him, pressing your body against his own. Wide eyes met your own and you couldn’t help but giggle. “They can see through the window.” That was enough to encourage the man to duck down, pressing a kiss to your lips. he could have lightly kissed your lips and pulled away after a few moment, but he didn’t. In fact, you were sure he had forgotten all about the car outside. His arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled tight against his strong chest as his lips fought your own for dominance which you quickly surrendered. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, making you moan as reach up and place your hand on the back of his head near his neck to keep his mouth to your own. Not like he was pulling away any time soon. you felt him push you backwards and you allowed him to push you till your back hit the wall and he pinned you to it. they couldn’t see you anymore, but you didn’t care. Raising your right leg, you hooked it around his hip as his hand trailed down your side and followed the curve to your thigh, holding you in that position. He was driving you crazy, his touch was like fire as you cling to him. When he does pull back, you are left a panting mess with rosy cheek. But his tell was his red ears despite the smirk on his lips. “So, tell me, where does the line between fake and real stop?” he asks, keeping his face close to your own. “With a kiss like that.” You bite your lower lip, completely aware of how his hand had kept your leg hooked on his hip. “The police aren’t outside. They left over an hour ago.” Asa’s voice was low, barely about a whisper. “They did?” You raise your eye brows at him. A nod answers your question and you were left pondering your next move. “Good.” As leans down, sealing his lips over your own.

-----time skip ------

You were sitting in your living room, half heartedly flicking through the channel when you notice Asa’ car drive past your window. Smiling, you turn off the TV and grab your small bag. It was a Friday, which meant that Asa worked late. But it also meant you would be staying over with him. A few weeks ago, shit had really hit the fan. You really didn’t know what happened, expect that the hotel was burned to the ground, and Asa only just escaped with his life. He was badly hurt, and you were thankful that he had taken a week off for holidays. It had been holidays he was going to spend with you in his cabin up north, but plans changed. You stayed by his side during his recovery. Asa had lost nearly everything that night. His creations, his sanctuary, his dogs, his prizes. But he had been thankful to come home to you. He had extended his own holiday but you returned to work the next week. He said he had fallen while on a hike so no one questioned his cuts and bruising when he did go back. You took your bag and left your home for the evening, locking it up as you set to go to Asa. He had regained most of his energy and health back, which you were hoping he might be up for something a little more… activity related tonight. The lingerie in your bag certainly hoped so. he was already out the car and into the house as you walked up. But something caught your eye. In his living room, there was someone hiding in the corner. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognised the man. His name was Arkin. He had been the one who had escaped Asa, the one who caused his injuries. You only recognised him because Asa had pointed him out when the new came on one evening. And you highly doubted that he was here to say a friendly hello. Running around the back, you ducked under the window so as not to be seen. You ditched your bag in a bush as you made your way to the back door just as you heard heavy metal music blare through the house. You wanted to scream to Asa, but the glint you had seen in Arkins hands wasn’t enough to tell you if it was a gun or a knife. Slipping into his kitchen, you heard the music being turned off and then silence. You took a large knife from the knife block on the counter and held it as if to stab. And you were willing to. Then you slowly opened the bottom draw, which had some duct tape in it. You round the edge, only slightly pulling it off. If you were going to hurt someone, they cant make a lot of sound. You moved into the hallway which connected to the living room and dinning room. “All those insects. You’re quite the collector.” A voice, Arkins voice spoke, making you pause as you made sure no one knew you were here. “In a 200 mile radios from where we last saw each other, there are 14 licensed entomologists. You were number 12.” As Arkin spoke, you moved slowly down the hallway, looking behind you ever second in case someone else was here. “Your daddy ran a museum, didn’t he? Fucked you up real good.” His words made you feel sick. Asa never spoke of his father. His mother was held with high regard, and he said he wanted you to meet her when she was next in town. But he had shut off when you asked about his father. Arkin was right. “Turn around.” You pressed your back against the wall as you inched closer to the doorway. Tape in your left hand, the edge taped to your finger, and the knife in the other. You could see from the glass display cabinet that Asa and Arkin were standing face to face near the entrance to the dinning room. Arking had his back to you. And a gun raised at Asa’ face. Fear rushed through you as the analogy of ‘don’t bring a knife to a gun fight’ flooded your mind. “Are you here to kill me?” Asa spoke with a calmness you couldn’t fathom. “No. that would be too nice. First im gonna make sure feel everything that I felt. Then im gonna kill you.” You could hear the smugness in his voice. “So that you can never hurt anyone-“ He was cut off as Asa lunged at him. But Arkin gave a swift jab to the face, causing him to tumble back. Into a red box. Your gasp was covered as Arkin flipped the box and started slamming the lid shut again and again, growling “fuck you.” Before the lack closed. he stepped back, gasping for air. He thought he was alone. Darting into the room, you raise the knie and bought it down into his right shoulder and an angle. He instantly dropped the gun. Letting go of the knife for a moment, you grabbed the roll of tape and started wrapping it round and round his mouth. He had only just managed to let out a cry of pain as his legs gave way under him. He reached up, struggling so you grabbed the knife and pulled it from the flesh. Using the sharp, bloodstained blade, you cut the tape and he collapsed to the ground moaning. You gave him a quick kick in the face before kicked the gun that had fallen out of reach. The last thing you needed was neighbours calling the police for gunfire at the house. You raced over to the box. “Asa, its me.” You reassured him through the small walls in case he tried to attack whoever opened the box. When you pulled the lid open, he scrambled to his feet, the anger in his eyes blazing as he found his attacker on the floor. Arkin was groaning, unable to move just yet but you were sure he’d be up and about soon enough. “Your hands.” You whispered, reaching out and taking his right hand which was covered in blood from Arkin slamming the box down. Your heart broke. He had not long healed. Arkin began to come around, his eyes darting between the two of you as he realized what had happened. He looked at you with an unimaginable about of rage and anger in his eyes as he tried to scream. Asa darted forward, twisting him around and pinning him to the ground, a knee in his back and his hand pressing on the new wound. “The tape.” He commanded of you, and you immediately grabbed the duct tape which had rolled away slightly. Finding the end, you saw Asa grabbing Arkins left hand and you mirrored with his right. Bringing them forcefully behind his back, you taped them in place, then went to tape his ankles together. Once satisfied, Asa hauled the man off the ground and threw him into the box, the lid closing over with the force. Asa flipped the latch. Looking him inside. You didn’t realise you were panting and shaking until Asa was looking at you. Racing forward, you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He ask, holding him as tightly as you could. A bloody hand stroked your cheek as another rubbed your back to sooth you. “No, you got here right on time.” There was a softness to his voice that made you melt as you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m too late to be a guard dog. Ludwig or Vivaldi wouldn’t have let him get close enough to hurt you.” You shake your head as you pull back, taking his hands in your own once again to inspect the damage. But he turned his hands over and took your own. “How about we go up to the cabin this weekend?” Asa askes, his question not very well fitted for the currant moment. “huh?” Your eyes glanced to the box which was moving slightly as Arkin struggled. “Oh, we’ll take him. And, since I am out of commission right now, perhaps I can show you some tricks.” Asa smirked as your eyes light up at his words. “Yes!” You bounce on the balls of your feet. You went up on your tiptoes to kiss him, resisting every urge not to pull him upstairs to his bedroom right now. Pulling back, you dart down and pick up the gun, offering it to Asa. “I’ll go get some stuff to see to your hands. And I’ll run back and pack a quick bag and then come and pack your things. I think I should drive, though. You’ll have to give me instructions.” You rattle off, the excitement obvious in your voice. “Oh, you’ll get use to taking instruction this weekend.” Asa whispered in your ear, making you blush and bite your lip with a smirk. Arkin seemed to get a burst of energy and started flaying around in the box, which only moved slightly. “He truly is annoying, isn’t he?” you huffed, hating the moment was ruined by him. Asa simply chuckled and walked up to the box, sitting on it and stopping it from shifting. As you flitted around, gathering supplies and seeing to his hands and then packing his things, Asa watched with a soft eyes. He would be lying if he said he trusted you from the start. And even more so if he admitted there had still been a small part of him that thought you were with the police. but that doubt was well gone. And this weekend, he wanted to celebrate this strange relationship. And oh, what a celebration it would be.

#the collector #the collection #asa emory #asa emory x reader #asa x reader #the collector x reader

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faemytho · 4 years

Note

I’m not really in the hazbin hotel fandom ((I love the show don’t get me wrong I’m just not in the fandom)) but I kinda wanna see what you mean? Also I figure you’re still okay with people shipping him just either the fact that people ignore that canonical he is aroace sex repulsed or use it as a “oh we just have to fix him” trope (which fuck that trope)

Same asker that admitted to not really being in the hazbin hotel fandom but liking the show- thought it over and i actually don’t know how you could do Alstser (can’t spell bare with me) without having him as aroace sex repulsed without having him look barely anything like the original- maybe apart from that fic you made a while back

okay so, in regards to this post i made earlier about aroace romantic/sex repulsed alastor, that was a headcanon. (i said, and i quote, its canon bc i said so, but in reality ive fooled u all it was just a headcanon i even said so in the tags)

my headcanons aside, alastor IS canonically ace, as referenced by this tweet below (and hey, canon bi character!!! we love that!!)

there is also a footnote on the HH wiki that says alastor is aromantic as well, but the footnote links to a four hour stream video, and i do not actually have the patience to comb through it to see if that's true or not (or if it even came from the mouth of vivzie)

uh, yeah. here's the link to the stream, in case anyone wanted it/was curious.

canonicities aside, lets get one thing out of the way:

i am all for ignoring canon, using fandom to do whatever you want, ect ect, all power to the fans and whatnot, do what you want and be free because its fiction

which means, yes, i am 1000% okay with people shipping alastor with whoever they want! with angel, with charlie, with husk, with vaggie, with nifty, ect ect ect, i don't care, ship what you want, be free, live your best life.

my problem, though, is this: literally nobody in this fandom knows how to write an ace character. and when they do write him as "ace", its OFFENSIVE.

i cannot COUNT the amount of alastor fics ive read where he's supposedly written as asexual (and its usually even tagged in the fic tags, "asexual character"), then ends up sexually attracted to his given partner for that fic, and when they actually go to do the deed, alastor is infantilized to, well, hell and back. and by that, i mean a few things.

he either:

doesn't understand his sudden sexual attraction and/or sexual feelings

doesn't understand what's going on during the sex scene

doesn't know the proper terms for body parts and sexual processes

is HIGHLY feminized and is categorized as "submissive" while the partner becomes the "dominant" and continues on with the sex scene

not only is that fourth one misogynistic and homophobic (an entire other can of worms about how feminine sub/masculine dom in homosexual relationships enforces toxic heteronormativity, aka, the idea that one must "be the girl" and one must "be the man"), but all four of these together are aphobic when you realize, "hey, alastor is an ace character".

off my point a little bit, but ANY relationship (gay, straight, and/or otherwise) should not be using sub/dom as a model to follow - sub/dom is a BDSM kink thing; it should NOT be the normalized sex model for ANY relationship.

there's nothing wrong with kink! but doing BDSM wrong can severely hurt/mentally damage either partner if done incorrectly. normalizing it means that so many young people don't actually understand what sub/dom actually means, and even less the consequences if done wrong.

but back to my point: asexual people get infantilized. and we get infantilized often, because people think "oh, you're not interested in sex/you've never had sex, so you must not 1) know anything about it, 2) know anything about the real world and how nitty gritty it is to survive out here"

basically, ace people get treated like children. a lot.

here is a fantastic article that explains the rampant infantilization of both aro and ace people, and why it is aphobic to do that.

i highly recommend you all read the article, because it is fantastically well written and concise. here's my favorite paragraph:

"Society conditions us to believe that a lack of romantic or sexual attraction is a transitory period. This viewpoint assumes an inevitable progression from a nonsexual to sexual state of being that marks entry into adulthood. Similarly, engaging in romantic relationships is recognized as a milestone of maturity. This stereotyping results in the infantilization of all aromantic and asexual spectra people, especially those who are entirely romance and/or sex-averse. It also incorrectly characterizes asexual people as sex-negative, even though personal sex-aversion and general sex positivity are not mutually exclusive. Moreover, the idea of “being ready” to progress from friendships to romantic and sexual relations undermines the value of platonic relationships, which are integral to our community."

i'm going to move on to one more point, because i know if i don't, i'll get SO many alastor allo-pologist authors whining and screaming about how ace people can have sex too

and yes, here's the thing: asexual people can have sex, can want to have sex, can be sex positive... but that doesn't change the fact that to be not-asexual (or allosexual, if you'd like to use proper terms), you have to be sexually attracted or experience sexual attraction - WHICH IS NOT THE SAME THING AS HAVING A LIBIDO, AND ITS NOT SOMETHING ACE PEOPLE CAN DO/HAVE.

what ace people can have:

a libido

sex

sexual arousal

sex drive

kinks

a partner they're not necessarily sexually attracted to, but trust to have sex with them anyways

what ace people can't have (unless they're not actually ace and are instead allosexual):

sexual attraction to someone

wanting to have sex with a specific person because of this attraction (a partner, celebrity, people they find explicitly attractive)

still confused? don't be!

here's a post where i better explain the difference between sexual attraction vs sexual drive and what that means for ace people

to close this out, im going to attempt to summarize why im so pissed about this.

alastor is canonically asexual.

he may be sex negative, sex neutral, or sex positive; we don't know, but this is fandom and we're allowed to headcanon him however we wish - we can even headcanon him as not asexual!

which is great, yea, but when the ace character is the fan favorite...

people constantly and consistently write alastor as "ace".

which would be GREAT! if they ever did it correctly.

here's what i see most often. instead of headcanoning him as not asexual, they've heard something about how ace people can have sex anyways!

so for woke points, they slap their alastor ship/sex fics with the "asexual character" tag, and write alastor in one of two ways

uwu baby "ive never said a bad word in my life and i dont understand how the world works" asexual

allosexual, but call him ace anyways

both of those are aphobic. i have yet to come across ONE fic where alastor's asexuality (negative, neutral, or positive) is written, and labeled, CORRECTLY.

you know, it actually hurts MORE when he's written as "ace (actually allo)" than it does if people just headcanon him as not asexual.

alastor is a successful serial killer. he has spent decades in hell.

ALASTOR IS A SUCCESSFUL SERIAL KILLER. HE HAS SPENT DECADES IN HELL.

and you cowards are going to write him as inexperienced, ""innocent"", sexually uneducated?? i think the fuck NOT.

NOT ONLY THAT.

alastor lived through the roaring 20s. the flapper movement. the harlem renaissance. AND the sexual revolution of the 1920s. HE LIVED THROUGH ALL OF THAT. and you're going to act like he doesn't know what sex is?? we even KNOW he lived through all that because he says it himself, "i havent been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929", and 1929 was the end of all those movements and the beginning of the great depression - and then alastor died in 1933 after living a successful serial killer life in louisiana.

tell me again, why wouldn't alastor know what sex is or how it works? and if you can't, THEN STOP WRITING HIM LIKE THAT.

please please PLEASE educate yourself before you write an asexual character. ESPECIALLY if you're going to write them with a libido, and actually ACTING on that libido.

thank you.

sincerely, an exhausted sex positive asexual.

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin alastor #i am at my limit #asexual #asexuality #fae rants

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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

Text

EXIT WOUNDS (CYBERPUNK 2077) Ch. 2

Pairing: Takemura Goro x (female) V Rating: Mature Summary: When his plans for revenge fail, V and Takemura are left right where they once started. A dying thief and a disgraced soldier, with as much in common as they lack and an improbable bond that holds them to one another. Notes: Post-Canon, Nomad ending. Spoilers for post-game! Read on AO3 Read Ch. 1

The first awareness was that of light. Warm and bright behind his lids. The second awareness was ache. Persistent, painful and sharpened to a razor’s edge at every small movement.

Takemura begrudgingly accepted consciousness, finding the will somewhere inside him to open his eyes and look towards where the offending ray of sunshine was being allowed in.

The tent flap was being held open, just a sliver, and a pair of soft brown eyes, large and doe like in the middle of a tan-skinned face stared at him with interest. She had full round cheeks, youthfulness in every aspect of her cherub like features. The child froze as their eyes met, but slowly she smiled, a dimple in each corner of her mouth.

It was the height of spring, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and their petals scattered over the still pond in the gardens of the estate. Small pink ships, sailing endlessly on the vast sea.

Takemura was twenty-nine, three years dedicated already as an elite Arasaka soldier and known for his discipline, his dutifulness and his loyalty. When he did not pace the nearby halls, or stand at attention near Saburo-sama’s side, he was allowed to sit kneeled on a small mat on the wooden floor. His hand would remain on one hip, poised over his katana and another over his gun, his eyes sharp and his cyberware readings keenly attuned to every person who may move within the family halls.

It should have been a point of great shame for him then, that the tiny stumble of socked feet did not catch his attention until he found before him a small girl, her cherub cheeks puffed with a smile. She held up a drawing, or rather, scribbles upon paper in varying shades of black and red and tanned peach, all forming together to make a familiar silhouette.

“Taka-san, I drew you!”

In his duty, Takemeru was not to engage with others. He was meant to be as the room, as furniture or a tool left out. A knife on a table. What he was not meant to do, was speak to Saburo-sama’s three year old daughter. She was Saburo-sama’s joy, his greatest treasure, a child he doted on and who went everywhere at her father’s side.

Takemura looked to him now, for guidance, he told himself, but the look he gave Saburo-sama was more aligned with pleading.

“My daughter has presented you with a gift, Takameru. Be polite.” his master said without another glance, turning his attention back to his tablet.

Hanako waited patiently, expectantly. Takemeru found it difficult to even bring the words forth, his tongue sluggish and thick from so long hardly speaking much at all.

“Thank you, Hanako-sama. It is… lovely.”

She beamed, her smile drawing wider until a tiny dimple dotted high on her cheek. With insistence, she held it out for him and with equal amounts of hesitation, Takemeru took his hand from his blade and slipped the paper from her hands.

A voice called out a name, the sound hazy and muted on Takemeru’s ears. The girl turned, answering the call without looking back, leaving only the sway of dropped tent flap to ever prove she was there at all.

Takemeru let his eyes drift back closed, trying to recall the lines, the colors of the drawing. He had kept it, folded and safe beneath his armored vest for several days… but where did it go? What had he done with it after? It had been eighteen years since the blossoms and yet the few months he had spent alone, masterless and exiled, felt so much longer.

The tent opened again and Takemura groaned when the light flashed into his pupils.

“Morning.” a voice spoke, the man who had sewn up his shoulder and his side coming to sit near the cot Takemura was still shackled too. The man, too his wisdom, kept a good distance between them still.

“Is the pain bad? We scrounged up some MaxDoc to help take the edge off if you’re needin’ some.”

Takemura did not reply.

“Also need to change your IV. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways when it comes to saline and good ole H2O…. unless you’re feeling up to drinking some water?”

Water. The very word drew Takemura’s attention to how dry his throat was, how paperlike his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth. Water. His body pleaded to his mind. Water.

Takemura nodded, short and curt.

“Great. Hold on— “

Takemura watched the man as he moved around the tent, doing a good job still of keeping out of arm's reach. As his eyes traced his movements, he noted a change to the room.

There was a second cot set up at his other side.

In the second cot, was V.

Takemura felt a snarl build up near his teeth, a look of disgust and outrage ready to mar his features… until his eyes caught up with his emotions.

V looked terrible. Worse than terrible. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, greyish and clammy. Her breaths were short and slow, as if her own lungs were too tired to make more of an effort. Some strange band was attached around her head, monitors fixed to her temples as a nearby computer beeped and monitored large spikes and numbers that made no sense to Takemura.

The doctor caught him staring as he returned with a cup of water. Takemura sat up as best he could manage, unsurprised when the doctor called in another to stand guard with a gun in their hand while he held the cup for Takemura to drink from. He was not to be unrestrained it would seem, though his prey lay but a scant few feet away.

“Another seizure. Hit her hard. Been out as long as you now, but… well. We’ll see what happens.”

Takemura frowned, “‘What happens’?”

He cursed himself for speaking, but the words were out before he could catch himself.

“If she wakes up. Every time it seems she has one it takes longer and longer… one day I figure she just won’t.”

V had succeeded in removing the relic, had rid herself of her demon and in doing so had thought to free herself from impending doom… and it had all been for nothing. Saburo was dead. Hanako was dead… and V was still going to die.

Takemura refused food when offered and drank only a little, the pain of his wounds a welcome distraction for the turmoil in his chest.

He never would have thought nomads would have such tech available to them, but in the large tent there was enough equipment and cases to fill a small clinic. This man is what Takemura could only imagine was their version of a ripperdoc, but he didn’t have to worry about the man trying to invoke his sympathies towards V for long. A young woman entered the tent and the ripperdoc gave her a respectful nod.

“She good, Tom?” the woman asked and Tom nodded, “Okay. Take a breather.”

She shrugged toward the tent entrance. Tom frowned, but he didn’t argue, getting up and exiting the tent and offering Takemura a quick view of the guards outside. They were still present. Not a good tactical advantage.

The woman set her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him with dark brown eyes. She has no visible cyberware to speak of, but it was common for Nomads to reject enhancement, at least in his limited experience.

Takemura, despite his feelings, spoke politely enough.

“I am Takemura Goro. If V has not already informed you.”

The woman looked a bit taken back by his easy words, but after a moment that surprise resumed an expression of suspicion.

“She did. Now you wanna tell me how you found us? And who else knows where we are?”

Takemura frowned, “It is considered extremely rude not to introduce oneself. Even to enemies.”

The woman’s face flushed red down to her neck and her teeth set against the inside of her cheek. She had a short-temper, but also a position of authority and respect given how the ripperdoc had so easily relented to her requests. She was a leader, but a potentially weak one, Takemura set that information aside for later.

“You attack my people and you wanna school me on manners, Corpo?”

“...You have someone I want.” Takemura stated, a simple reasoning for why the young Nomads he encountered were threatened.

“Too god damn bad. Now who else knows where we are?”

Takemura fell silent again, a sigh held back in his throat. V stirred slightly on the cot nearby, drawing both of their attention to the other woman as she flinched and jerked slightly in sleep. The monitors sped for only a moment and then slowed again, whatever neurological event passing quickly.

The Nomad woman’s expression had broken apart quickly from one of stubbornness and annoyance to worry… colored with affection and familial concern. She cared for V. She cared for V very strongly. That would complicate any attempts of persuasion or negotiation, but then again, Takemura had not considered those to be strong tactics to begin with.

The woman looked down at her boots and then, curtly spoke, “I’m Panam Palmer.”

“It is good to meet you, Palmer-san.” Takemeru said, but his words were filled with polite detachment that would make it quite evident even to Panam that they were simply a platitude.

“How did you find us?”

“Simple reconnaissance. I visited towns. Spoke to people. It was difficult for several weeks, but then…” Takemura paused.

“Then?”

“You and your people became lazy.”

Panam sucked in her cheek again, but controlled her emotions.

“Are there others coming?”

“No.”

“Wow… I mean, wow. Didn’t expect you to just offer that one up.”

“I have no reason to lie. My purpose is simple. You and your people are responsible for the death of one I held in utmost regard and respect. I am duty bound to end the life of the one who commanded it.”

Silence followed the end of his words, the steady beeping of the monitor filling the room. Suddenly then, Panam scoffed out a laugh and Takemura jerked his head up to glare at the young woman, forgetting himself.

“Jesus christ… you Corpo’s are really crazy, you know that? You’re ‘duty bound’? By who? You aren’t Arasaka. You aren’t anything. You come here and try to kill my sister because of some deluded belief you owe a buncha criminals and psychopaths? Who don’t want you?”

With each word her volume increased, the look of revulsion so prominent on her features that even if she had chosen not to mince her words, her distaste would have been clear. Negotiation it would seem, was not a viable option.

Takemura felt her words, but only in that they stoked a growing tension edging through his limbs and fueled a gnawing want to snap this crude woman’s neck. He let his anger stream out from his chest and into his hands, clenching them a bit tighter to try and relieve some of the pressure his growing anger exuded.

“This is what is gonna happen,” Panam began, her voice having grown colder, “We’re gonna dump you out on the sand with a quart of motor oil and a pistol and take bets on whether you shoot yourself before or after the thirst makes you crazy enough to drink it.”

The image was certainly— vivid. The sadism of such a statement catching Takemura slightly off guard.

“Wow. ” said a voice instantly recognized by both of them as V’s , “I mean, that is one stone cold line. I think I’ll steal that.”

---

“Shit, V— you need me to get Tom?” Panam had all but forgotten about Takemura, moving around to V’s cot to try and prevent the other woman from getting up.

“No.”

Yes. An indignant Johnny-Silverhand-induced auditory hallucination said quietly in the back of her mind. Maybe one day she’d get lucky and forget what the guy sounded like, then her head-voice would go back to just being her voice.

More importantly, she was nauseated as all fucking get out and Panam’s hand on her arm was doing a great job of making V feel a bit more grounded. She heard a faint click, the sound of someone chidingly clicking their tongue against their teeth and looked up to see Takemura had turned from them both, staring pointedly at nothing. But it was nothing away from V.

“No execution by desert, aight?” V said, lulling her head back towards Panam.

“Sure. Fine. Execution by bullet works just as well.” Panam said, shooting Takemura a dirty look that went unnoticed.

“Talkabout it later.” V said, only slightly slurring her words as she pulled the band off her head and peeled the monitors off a moment later. The computer made an alarming noise and V had a funny feeling it was becoming quickly overcrowded and overly loud for the former Arasaka bodyguard.

“Got an idea to make everyone happy.”

Takemura’s interest had been piqued. V caught him casting a look out of the corner of his eye at her.

---

What the fuck, V. Panam's voice still rang in her head, rolling around in her ears and in her skull and fueling an oncoming headache. For once, the voice didn't sound like Johnny though and maybe that was a good sign.

Of course Panam would hate the plan. But in the end, it wasn’t her choice. It wasn’t her life and although it had gone over about as well as V expected, for now, things were set. When she came back inside the tent, Tom had provided Takemura with an old t-shirt, the design on the front so faded it was barely more than a static of print.

His hair was down, which shrouded the grey near his temples and made him look somehow… younger. Less stiff. The look in his eyes though had not changed. Steel resolve and hardened granite. He had built a wall between them and V could hardly blame him for it… in the end, she hadn’t kept her end of the deal. But then again, she was still right where she was at the start. Sick, dying and Arasaka’s most wanted. So he could hardly say he kept up his either.

“Option one,” she began, “I’m dying. So honestly, killin’ me at this juncture would be a relief from what I got coming for me. It’s gonna be slow. It’s gonna be awful. I’m offering you front row seats to watchin’ my body slowly eat itself alive.”

Takemura’s eyes narrowed.

“I know what you’re thinkin’. ‘But you’re lookin’ for a cure’. We are. Which brings me to option two. We let you stick around while we look. If we find one and I get fixed up? You get your pistols at dawn or whatever. Get the satisfaction of knowing you got to kill me when I’m not already dead. Hell, not gonna lie. You killin' me after all this bullshit and then after I save my life too? That would be... well, I’ll give you a genuine fight for my life. If that’s what you want.”

V shrugged, “And you’ve already heard option three.”

“These options require me staying with this caravan for an unknown amount of time.”

“Six months, actually. Or five rather. So yeah. Five month wait..”

“How do I know they will not kill me before either of these things happen?”

V grinned.

“I asked them nicely.”

“Why?”

Her smile faltered.

“Why not pick option three for yourself?” Takemura said, offering the most practical and simple solution. The one she was sure right now, if they were in reverse situations, he would take.

It was a good damn question too. And V was certain she had a good damn answer half a second ago, but now with Takemura staring at her, grey eyes shrewd and with just a flicker of uncertainty… shit, seeing him at all… it made the words sound so ridiculous.

“I told you I didn’t mean for what happened to happen. I owe you, for a lot and this is the only way it’ll… sit right. For us both, I think. You don’t seem the type that would get much satisfaction outta killing me how I am now.”

V laughed, a nervous bubble of sound as she turned her eyes away and picked at a frayed thread on the knee of her pants.

“Also...guess cause we were friends once I feel like I should give you some closure. Not somethin’ I’ve gotten much in life, but welp. Here is my chance to give some.”

“...You wish to die with some honor restored.” Takemura’s voice for once held no trace of disgust, no edge of hatred. His voice was quiet, resigned. Understanding. It was not a tone V had ever thought to hear again from the man.

“Yeah, sure... if you’ll let me.”

Neither of them met each other's eyes. Two people, staring holes into opposite sides of a tent, as if refusing to acknowledge one another would somehow make them feel less.

“It is two options, not three.”

V looked up at the remark.

“Option one is, remain to witness your death or be the cause of it should you recover. Option two is motor oil and pistol.”

V held back a smile just barely. How could someone remain this pedantic even when discussing such a morbid topic?

“I accept option one.” Takemura met her eyes, only briefly, “I am patient man. I can wait.”

“Plus it gives you time to actually heal and then say fuck it and off me in my sleep or something.”

Takemura wrinkled his nose, “I could ‘off’ you now if you’d like.”

He pulled up his arm, revealing that at some time during all this chatting and debating he had gotten out of one of the cuffs.

Takemura casually used his other hand to put his thumb back in its socket, finding it impossible to miss how V did a full body shudder at the sound.

“Hard pass.” she said, still cringing.

“I will honor my word,” Takemura said, easily making work of the other handcuff and tossing it aside. He flexed his fingers, bringing them up to begin pulling his hair out of his face. V, for some reason, felt compelled to avert her gaze. It felt weirdly intimate, like she was watching him undress. Takemura brushed his fingertips over his wrist, frowning to himself before letting his hair go, falling back around his shoulders.

“You need a scrunchie?” V asked, unable to stop the small smile from forming at the corner of her mouth. What could she say? Johnny had tried to kill her once and she forgave him. Her standards were never exactly high. And a part of her, a small hopeful part of her thought maybe there was still time to make something right before she died.

Wrong city for happy endings. Her inner voice chided in Johnny's flat tone. But they weren't in Night City anymore.

#cp 2077 #cp 2077 v #cp2077 fanfic #cp 2077 takemura x v #takemura x v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #cp2077 fanfiction

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codylabs · 4 years

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My Top 10 Ships

I’m not a very romantic sort of guy, I’m not real forgiving to departures from canon, I get easily annoyed at inconsistencies, and I don’t watch much television and movies, so in order for me to ship something, it has to be a GOOD ship. I default toward rejecting ships, so to impress ME, it must be built on logic, and evidence, it’s gotta be something I can suspend my disbelief far enough to accept. And it’s gotta have story behind it, something deep, some hefty emotional weight; if it doesn’t tickle this man’s cold reptilian heart with strong beats and excellent writing, it goes straight to the trash. I absoLUTELY will not stand for any of these weird little cute, pretty, pandering, trashy crack ships that everybody seems to be clumsily throwing characters into. Most ships are trash ships. They are not good ships.

You think your ship is good? You like your ship?

You ship it?

No you don’t.

Get out of here.

You will listen to me. I will tell you. Look at me. I’m the Captain now.

Here are the 10 good ships.

10. The Rocinante, The Expanse

A resoundingly excellent ship. Unlike most ships you see out there, this thing was actually designed with realistic space combat in mind. It’s got 6 computer-controlled gatling turrets covering every angle, it accelerates in whatever direction it’s pointing, its bridge is right in the center to put as much armor as possible between enemies and crew, overall a much better-designed vehicle than most everything you see about.

That being said, I didn’t have much connection to this ship. Its crew weren’t really interesting, the aesthetic was kinda bleak, and I basically stopped watching after the phazon showed up. And the Rocinante itself has pretty poor redundancy. Enemy bullets can literally just pass through it (as is realistic for a ship this size) so how about multiple main engines huh? Absolutely tragic oversight. And its interior looks too much like an Apple product. How are you supposed to work on it? Where are the wires and pipes??? The handholds?????

9. Ares IV M.A.V., The Martian

Almost more of a symbol than a ship. A symbol of freedom, of escape. A beautiful symbol. This is what Mark Watney spends the whole movie trying to reach, with an entire world backing him up, and an entire world trying to stop him. It’s the goal of the movie, and it just looks so beautiful when he finally reaches it and sees it sitting there in the middle of the desert, ass down, nose up; a tall, proud symbol. This ship has a special significance for me because the author of the original book really did his research on the scientific requirements and details of a Mars Ascent Vehicle, and it was actually inspired by the E.R.V. in another book, ‘A Case For Mars’, which I read when I was younger. “Makes its own methane-oxygen fuel on-site by using nuclear power to break down CO2 in the atmosphere and combining it with stored hydrogen, don’t you know.” I say as I adjust my spectacles and puff my pipe.

The M.A.V. in the movie does have a few issues, such as hallway and rooms running straight up through where the fuel tanks ought to be (instead of a lift/ladder on the exterior) and a rugged, industrial aesthetic that looks too heavy and cumbersome for a ship of its type. (And you’re seriously telling me he couldn’t have used the capsule’s RCS to literally bypass the movie’s entire climax? WHY NOT? The book never mentioned him having to drain the monopropellant!!!) But I’ll let that slide. Great movie.

8. Biggest Boy, The Greatship

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name. You know what, I think it’s actually just called the Greatship.)

So it’s a starship the size of Jupiter, empty, unmanned, perfectly mysterious, that comes gliding into the galaxy a couple million years into humanity’s future. Where did it come from? Who made it and how? Good questions. It’s powered by matter-antimatter annihilation reactions from within planet-sized internal tanks, and its engines use hydrogen and fusion exhaust as reaction mass, and its hull is made of hyperfiber, a super-strong fictional material with a 4-dimensional lattice structure, able to weather impacts by spreading them out over various dimensions where the impact occurred in a different place.

I hope that after the first few entries, you didn’t get the impression that I am somehow against futuristic, far-out, impossible technologies. Quite the opposite! I love me some hyperdrive and anti-gravity and A.I. and stuff. However! Ships must be well-designed for the technology available, and must take no creative liberties except those explicitly allowed by the difference in the setting. The laws of physics don’t disappear when the magic crystals come out, the magic crystals are merely a different tool to combat them. Engineering will always exist, should start with the tools and work outward, form follows function. Star Wars ships, for instance, are trash because they don’t mount their repulsorlift arrays consistently, they’re not aerodynamic, and their engines aren’t aligned around their center of masses.

So I like the Great Ship. Although the story is pretty far-fetched, and a lot of crazy, out-there scifi events transpire deep in the ship’s depths, the book always strictly kept its own rules in mind, and never broke those rules, no matter how outlandishly crazy things got. Thanks for comprehending something so incomprehensible, Robert Reed. You inspired me miles in my own work.

7. The Ghost, The Sea Wolf

The story may be fiction, but the Ghost was as real as ghosts can be.

Jack London did his research. No, not research, he LIVED this. The Ghost is a seal-hunting schooner much like one that he served aboard during his rollercoaster of a life, and he captured every detail of its operation, of its requirements, of its mechanics, and of the incredible toll it took on the people that lived such a life. The boat is made to feel as oppressive and claustrophobic as a prison, as if it were an extension of the monster that commanded it, directly in contrast to the expansive beauty of the sea around them. My goodness, what a beautiful book. What a moving, interesting, challenging book, with such a story! This book is one of the climaxes of fiction, and one of the inspirations for Shifting Sands, if I remember correctly. I would recommend this book to anybody. Beautiful.

6. Ferbnessa, Phineas and Ferb

Okay, so I hope we can all agree that Vanessa is nothing but bad news. But that being said, Ferb knows exactly the relationship he wants, and by golly, he goes for it. Most male characters would stutter or get nervous or lose confidence around their crush, especially if that crush is about a hundred miles out of their league or if they already had another boyfriend, but Ferb? No. Not my man Ferb. He’s slighly too much of a legend to fall for such childish pitfalls. He doesn’t posture, he doesn’t creep or flirt or try to sabotage the other men in her life, he doesn’t even speak a word, he just maintains his blank expression, cranks his own already-inhuman levels of confidence and competence up through the roof to borderline olympian levels, and continues being himself. These rare moments of Ferbly passion are some of the few open windows we get into the grandiose machinations of his mysterious mind, and he uses it to bring out the best in Vanessa as well. And in the future episode, set years down the line, wouldn’t you know it, they’re a pair.

All joking aside though, this whole ship is basically comedy. It’s a super small part of the show, it’s only in like 5 episodes, it’s a running gag, it’s hilarious. It’s great. And it fits right into the tone and the feel of the show, because P&F’s entire world really is a comedy about going for it and living your dreams. So this is just the best thing ever. It’s been about a decade since then, and I still burst out laughing at how much of a pristine picture of ideal masculinity Ferb is. Become like Ferb, boys, and you will become men.

Legendary.

Eat your heart out, Dipper.

3. Shunk, Voltron

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

Huge props to the voltron team for making a female alien character (even a romantic interest) with NO BOOBS. Do you have ANY idea how sick and tired I am of artists throwing a big ol’ pair of balonkadongs onto lobsters and snakes when almost everything in the real world besides folks and cows have either 0 or 8+ of them? Everything’s gotta be traditionally sexy and recognizably-feminine and GREAT now you just canonized all the porn! Disgusteg

but now look at Shay. She’s a rock person. She’s got silicon-based biology, she probably weighs 500 lbs and bleeds sand. She’s got enormous hands and weird knees and no nose and lumps everywhere, AND YET STILL the show plays all the tropes 100% straight with her being a fair young maiden and a sweet princess. And it works because Hunk is just this great guy who’s exactly as sweet and caring, and he’s not the most attractive of the Paladins either, so he probably lives his life looking past appearances. He doesn’t care that she’s an alien rock, he cares about her as a person, and she obviously worships him right back. Even though Shay is shown in season 1 and then never again until season 7, Hunk still avoids alternative romantic entanglements, citing ‘a rock I know’, and it just adds to his persona as this infinitely loyal teddy bear. I tip my hat to this, the single ship I know that’s 0% sexy and 100% wholesome.

And Hunk is the best Paladin. He’s just the greatest. I revere him. I salute him as he walks past. This man among men. Look at this guy. I don’t even care about any of the other ships in Voltron (I mean, the Castle of Lions is okay, but it’s outriggers are kinda spindly) but Hunk and Shay deserve each other.

4. Wendip, Gravity Falls

So Dipper’s 12/13, and Wendy’s 15. That’s a pretty giant age difference. Maybe you fans have fooled yourselves into thinking it’s not, but it is. She knows it. He knows it. His sister knows it. Your mom knows it. So halfway through the show, when he finally got around to confessing his feelings to her, she told him no. Sure they’re still friends, sure they like each other, and sure they have a lot of chemistry and they still have a movie night every Friday, but at the end of the day, he’s a smelly little midget who has to go back to California at the end of the Summer, and she’s a older girl with approximately zero romantic feelings for him. So the notion that it could work out is pretty obvious to everyone, and especially to him, pretty much hopeless. And he really did handle it all pretty poorly and immaturely too, he objectified her and stalked her and simped up a storm and sabotaged her boyfriend, so perhaps he deserved what he got. Perhaps it’s better this way.

And yet.

And yet Wendy never really got a happy ending in the show. And Dipper never got a conclusive romance either. So after everything, it’s easy to think about it how he thinks about it, by wondering how things could have been, if everything were just so slightly different, if she’d said yes or if they united again. She wishes she could be younger, he wishes he could be older. She’s more dominant, he’s more recessive. She has a lot of serious issues in her life, and could really seriously use a driven, heroic, intelligent friend to help her out, give her purpose, and steer her right. And Lord knows he could use somebody with street smarts and actual muscles to have his back now and again. They complement each other perfectly. They make up for each others’ weaknesses. They’re everything they ever wanted from another, and if you do the math, their children would be actual literal supersoldiers.

Or at least that’s the way a lot of people see it. There’s been immeasurable mountains of fanfiction and fanart from people who are just so sad that in a show full of happy endings and dreams coming true and old regrets being resolved and children growing up, that one ending would never be happy, one dream would never come to pass, one regret would stick with you forever, one child would never grow up. Maybe if you extrapolate out the story they’d end up together? Or maybe they’d find other, better partners? Maybe romance isn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things, and this is the best ending there could have been? Perhaps, perhaps not. But in any case, there’s a lot of very rich storytelling potential for the untold journey before them, and for the paths that could have been.

Stop drawing fetish art of Wendy, you insufferable heathen actual donkeys.

3. Kataang, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Now HERE’S a serious relationship. Not just a romantic ship, (though it is that,) not just some cutesy, funny thing or some ship-war fodder, (though it is cute and funny and did spawn a ship-war,) not just a matter of certainty and destiny, (though it is certain and was destined,) this is a real, TANGIBLE relationship, that these characters built together over a solid year of on-screen adventuring and fighting. They’ve helped each other through trauma, they’ve been there for each other in their darkest moments, they learned martial-arts together, they’ve fought back-to back against grown men, they’ve worked front-to-front sawing through steel girders, they’ve saved each other’s lives, he once ACTUALLY DIED and she brought him BACK. They end up respecting each other, and valuing each other in the intimate way that only true friends do.

And they’re shown working through all their imperfections and mistakes too. Aang sometimes oversteps boundaries and says stupid stuff because he’s a kid, and Katara sometimes scolds him and controls him because she’s motherly and orderly, they get jealous of each other, but none of those things drive them apart, and they deal with them, and they conquer them, and they keep a very legitimate and multi-faceted friendship going, and that’s the key to it all. The fact that this friendship becomes romance is just proof that it was a friendship of quality.

I think people tend to overlook or forget this ship because the last few episodes of the show found them in a pretty dark place, needing to deal with matters of life and death and justice in very different ways, and unlike all their other issues, we don’t really get to see them reconciling these differences before the story ends, which kind of leaves a sour taste between them. And Katara goes on a couple missions with Zuko around the same time, so now half of all people want Zutara, when in actuality, Zutara is a trash ship, which is a true science fact.

2. Serenity, Firefly

Only reason this ship isn’t #1 is because it isn’t constructed using a proper aerospace philosophy; it’s made of bulky machinery and steel beams and chunky plates, it looks more like an ocean vessel from the inside, and is WAY too big for its 6-12 person crew and light cargo capacity. Plus it doesn’t have any room for fuel and its got no wheels on its landing legs and no downward-facing windows and its reactor is just too dang SMOL and its engines are attached too flimsily. This all wouldn’t be too much of an issue if they were going for a far-future aesthetic, but if you’re trying to do something grounded and semi-contemporary, you need to lose some weight girl, I’m sorry.

But by gosh does it make up for it in heart. The entire inside of this ship was mapped out and made on set, with so many homely little decorations and touches to make every room feel like the person who inhabits it, sterile professional blue for the doc’s medbay, warm happy red for Kaylee’s engine room, all-serious-business-but-also-plastic-dinos for Wash’s cockpit... It hit me hard when this baby it crashed in the movie, and it felt almost real when River pretended to mind-meld with it. This ship has more soul in one buffer panel than most shows have in the entire cast, enough to make it seem like its own character, even in a show crowded with charming characters. I love this ship intimately, even if I would have built it differently.

1. Colonial Vessel 46.18′\, Gravity Falls

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

You didn’t think I’d leave out this one, did you? After all the fanfiction I’ve written? This is basically my ship at this point. Anyway, enough about me; the vessel beneath Crash Site Omega really is the quintessential alien ship; its perfectly cliche flying-saucer design taps into all the audience’s pre-existing fanciful notions and imaginings and disbelief-suspension, meanwhile its presentation isn’t cliche or fanciful in the slightest.

There’s not much to say about it from a technical standpoint, besides personal musings: it would need anti-gravity to stay airborne without thrusters, it would need a FTL drive to cross the distances it did, its drones would need to be made of some kind of semi-liquid to move like they do... But these sort of out-of-the-box, never-before-seen, world-expanding brain-knocks are exactly what makes this ship special. It’s an alien ship, built with technology unknown to people, forged from materials that people don’t possess, and inhabited by beings we will never meet. For all we know, this ship could be perfectly sound from an engineering standpoint, and no engineer in the audience could claim to prove it otherwise, because unlike something like the T.A.R.D.I.S., they never try and fail to explain it away with science buzzwords or canonize its details or show off some fancy glowy reactor. This ancient husk is left as a yawning pit in reason, and that’s beautiful.

Moreover, this ship is an amazingly powerful narrative tool, and a mind-blowing surprise to drop in as a setpiece during the show’s final episodes. This ship embodies everything that made the show’s mysteries special: the evidence presented so early and so consistently, the creativity in creature design, action, and worldbuilding, the yawning depths of unknowable lore, and most of all the burning, unquenched desire to know more... The imprint this ship made in the cliffs over the town has been hanging over the characters’ heads the entire series, and its hull was below their feet from day one, so when they finally revealed it, and explored it, it felt invigorating. Rewarding. This ship, and the glorious feelings and thoughts it represents, have inspired to no end, and haven’t ended yet.

Honorable mentions:

Westley and Buttercup, The Princess Bride

Ooooh man I tell you what, it was really hard trimming this down to 10 for the list, and this one just barely didn’t make the cut, and that mainly because I have a sweet spot for animation and for warrior women, and this sweetness ain’t animated, and this damsel is as distressed as they get. And they don’t have a whole lot of chemistry? I don’t know how to measure that, but I feel like there was a lot of friendship stated that was never shown? Is it sacrilege to say that about True Love? I guess I’ve never exactly had True Love, so what do I know?

The entire plot centers around his devotion to her, and her love for him, and the lengths they go to for one another. He studies fencing and wrestling and wits and tactics for years on a pirate ship as he tried to return to her, and she refused the advances and the offers of an actual prince for as long as she could, even though she thought him dead, and was ready to kill herself when she knew him to be alive and not to be hers. And just such excellent action and characters and humor and story in the entire book surrounding it. Possibly an even better movie, somehow. Happy happy happy happy. They don’t make movies like this no more, why is that? Sad.

Endurance, Interstellar

Actually a pretty realistic design, all considering. They nailed the aesthetic, and the cinematography, and the feel.

It does lose points though, firstly because the shuttlecraft require a booster stage to make it into orbit when leaving Earth, but for the rest of the movie, whenever they’re landing on planets with similar gravity and atmosphere, they can just fly away like it’s no big deal, which is a big inconsistency, both with real life, and more importantly with itself. And how did an under-equipped and struggling space program put this thing in orbit in the first place, anyway? And why don’t their ships land on their asses like proper rockets? And why not tell the crew members the full plan before leaving? See, it’s little things like that, little inconsistencies made for the sake of fitting with story beats and simplifying it for the audience’s sake, that sours this ship for me. I don’t mind creative liberties, but actual plot holes? This thing has a few plot holes, and plot holes are absolutely yucky. So although most of this ship is very yummy, the yucky parts make it all yucky.

Yucky.

Plus its heavy cargo shuttles are about the least-aerodynamic things imaginable, and that’s also yucky, and there’s porcelain tiles in the stasis bay, like what?

Couldashouldawoulda been yummy.

The Hermes, The Martian

This ship. This friggin’ ship.

A beautiful ship. A well-conceived ship. A mathematically sound and engineered ship. It had so many many good ideas behind it. So much math went into calculating its thrust and orbital dynamics for this movie, so much work went into making it fit a contemporary space aesthetic, the panels, the heat sinks, the tanks, so much PRESENTATION I could KISS IT HMWA, but taken as a whole, engineering-wise, the whole ship falls flat on its face, because it just doesn’t fit together. It doesn’t make sense. Look at all those countless modules along its length. What do they do? They don’t do anything! It’s a quarter mile long, and it’s built for only 6 people? It’s meant to carry a lander? Where does the lander dock? Why are the useful airlocks so far off the center of gravity? Why does it have a cockpit? Why is the forward airlock so looooong? Why is the entire ship so loooooong? Why is the ring spinning so slowly? It’s not hard math to figure out how fast it needs to spin! You’re telling me you did ORBITAL DYNAMICS but not the SINGLE physics 101 equation needed to figure out how fast the ring needs to spin??

Btw, let’s talk about that rotating section in the middle! Think about the rotating section! That rotating section means that the front and the back of the ship aren’t actually connected! There’s just a pair of ring-shaped slip-slidey bearings bridging the ship’s middle, slip-slidey bearings that electricity, computer signals, and water and air pipes can’t cross. Why did they design it that way?? In the book the entire ship spun, which makes so much more sense! Why does it have solar panels when it has a reactor canonically capable of 40 times their output? Why are the fuel tanks so small? Why is it always facing prograde even when canonically burning retrograde? Why? WHY? BLRRRRGGGGGRGGGRGGG

In Conclusion, Ships Are Neat

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