#*pilot intercom voice*

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

In which everyone is all "#LetItBe🙏" while Thomas the Tank Engine and for that matter Gordon is very much all "ummm actually? actually?? #$^#& that #&@*% actually??????"

also featuring Donald's second-best spotlight-stealing scene in the fic. god help me i can't tell this engine 'no'.

[ceilidho]

prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)

-

In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.

Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds. 

The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.

Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled. 

Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short. 

From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side. 

There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight. 

Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—

Then it’s dark.

Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.

The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball. 

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart. 

“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle. 

You turn your head away. 

“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt. 

He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.

“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”

It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is. 

There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.

Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.

Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing. 

“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded. 

He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack. 

A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away. 

“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”

You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue. 

You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”

He shakes his head. “Never am.”

“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list. 

It’s all moot now anyway. 

“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”

It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.

Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly. 

The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves. 

“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.

“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you. 

You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait. 

In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from. 

There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t. 

It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning. 

Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth. 

“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).

Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”

“Anything ever like this?”

Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”

There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands. 

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move. 

It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong. 

It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent. 

It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth. 

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”

You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.

“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls. 

For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was. 

“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.

He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods. 

He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose. 

Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous. 

There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you. 

Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh. 

His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains. 

Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out. 

You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions. 

What does it mean to come back worse?

“Wha’s that, love?”

“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”

Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own. 

He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in. 

He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”

You swallow. “You know. Leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, love?” 

That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop. 

“No,” you whisper in response to his question.

Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die. 

Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you. 

His breath is hot on your skin.

You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods. 

He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating. 

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come. 

“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Open Skies [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's first time flying the Quinjet is a memorable one. Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Silly things. Mutual pining. Oral (M). (w/c 2.2k)

Tony dangled the key between his thumb and forefinger. The fob swung in front of Loki’s smirking face. “To Virginia, and back again,” Tony said. He was not in the mood for games. Loki’s eyebrows shot up. He pressed his fingers to his chest in mock-hurt before extending the cup of his palm out, fingers unfolding with a graceful flourish. “I need to learn, Stark..." he postured innocently. “The simulations only go so far. You know that.”

“And you’ll behave?” Loki rolled his eyes. “What egregious sin could I possibly commit with your garish vessel while under the watchful eye of our trustworthy Agent here?” he said, flicking a finger towards you. “Is that not why she has been chosen for this farce? To keep me in line? To make sure I don’t damage this metal substitute for masculinity?” Tony’s eyes darted in an aborted eye-roll. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, observing Loki with suspicion. “It should only take you twenty minutes- if that,” he said, tossing the fob in the air. The god caught it. Loki let you walk ahead up the ramp. The weight of his stare clung to your ass like wet paint as you made your way to the front of the craft and slid into the passenger seat. He paused, giving both headrests a squeeze as he observed the screens. You watched his profile stiffen, a swallow working his neck. For all his breezy pomposity, he was nervous. “Just like the simulator,” you said, “you’ll be fine.” Loki's face remained unchanged by your re-assurance. He cleared his throat, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater; the one with the Avengers logo that he swore the first time he saw it that he would never wear.

He manoeuvred himself into the driver’s seat. “Is he watching?” he asked quietly. You pressed the screen, making the rear camera pop up. Tony stood below the under-hang of the landing area, arms folded. “Right..." Loki said, lips pursing.

He ran his palms down the tight chinos creased to his thighs. One long finger tentatively pressed against the central screen.

In a matter of seconds, the Quinjet’s engines fired to life. Loki flinched. His fingers flexed before their length curled around the lever sitting between you. He pushed it into elevate. "Thirty-five-thousand feet..." Loki murmured to himself, pressing a series of buttons on the screen.

He reached up, pressing an intercom above his head.

"This is Loki Laufeyson, Avengers Unit, Stark Tower," he said, gazing out the huge window at the skyscrapers.

His voice made goose-bumps ripple on your skin. It massaged over the syllables like crude oil over glass, thick and utterly erotic in its uniform sincerity. “Lifting off - flightpath expected from New York City to above Richmond, Virginia. No target, no landing. Training exercise, thirty-five thousand feet. Copy?”

He released the button. Static hummed. Loki’s fingers readjusted around the lever. “Copy, Mr Laufeyson." the radio crackled. "Clear for take-off. Route mapped. Any changes, let us know.”

Loki let out a small, satisfied sigh. He shot you a weak smile. “Good?” he asked. You nodded. His hair was tied back in a messy bun, delicate strands falling around his face. It framed his cheekbones perfectly. “Try not to be too aroused by my piloting-skills, Agent,” Loki goaded, turning his attention to the thrusters. “I have been practising very hard to make it seem effortless.” He pressed several more buttons without a pause.

You and Loki had hooked up for several weeks just before his most recent mission. But whether it was clarity during the absence, or simply lack of interest; when he had come back no moves were made on either side. On your part, it was simple terror. Being with Loki in that way was unbelievable the first time that it had happened, never mind the seventh, eighth, ninth. Part of you didn’t want to push your luck. It had crossed your mind that he had actually forgotten. And if that was true, then you didn’t want to know.

The force of the ascent pushed you back into your seat, facing forwards. Out the corner of your eye you saw a grin stretch over the god’s face as the New York skyline became mere dots below. He yanked the lever a few more times into position, setting it in cruise. The beep of buttons and the hum of the engines were the only sounds. Ahead, there was nothing but open skies. “Well done, I’m very impressed,” you said with a smile, shifting to face him. The seatbelt dug into your shoulder. Without realising, you had set a hand to rest on his thigh. The two of you looked at it, eyes rising to meet. One of Loki’s brows cocked. “Agent?” he growled. “Are you trying to seduce the captain?”

You were about to deny it. But he was the god of lies, after all. In which case there was no getting around it. And even if there was – did you want to? “Yes.” you said. Loki barked a small laugh of disbelief, turning his eyes back to the wide windows. “It will take more than that, Agent.” he said, offering a small nod to the hand resting mid-way up his thigh. “Especially after giving me the cold-shoulder on my return.” Your stomach dropped. “I did no such thing-” you started, but Loki had begun to tut. It’s slow methodical click ticked over the air between you. His eyes never left the blue sky out the front of the Quinjet. “On the contrary. On my return, I came to your rooms. I left a note, and quite a suggestive one at that. I made myself quite vulnerable, actually.” You frowned. “Loki, I moved rooms like three weeks ago.” Loki pressed a finger to his forehead. “Who’s in your old one?” “Scott.” “Ah,” Loki said, grimacing. “I was wondering why he had been particularly familiar of late.” The god shot you a sheepish smile. “I may have gone into great detail about oral sex in my correspondence.” “Giving or Receiving?” “Receiving.” The two of your burst into raucous laughter.

Loki took his hands from the steering wheel, wiping a tear of mirth. “In defence of my uncouth written request, you do give the most glorious blowjobs,” he muttered, offering a tilt of his head. “And it was a very long mission. I was in desperate need of attention.” “Did you ever get it?” “No. Although in hindsight, Lang did attempt to ease my disposition.”

You and Loki exchanged a restrained smirk before bursting into laughter again. “I feel terrible,” you said, starting to feel giddy. “I thought you weren’t into me anymore, so I just…” “Gave up without a fight?” Loki said, pressing a button and shifting the stick. “Understandable. I am rather intimidating.”

Your hand began to dance up his thigh, following the rise of his insane quad muscle. You squeezed. The fingers slid inward, brushing the growing bulge in his crotch. Loki shifted in his seat, chinos rustling. “Agent…” he warned. But his eyes sparkled.

The god’s legs widened in the generous seat. Creases ran thick across his spread thighs, the outline of his cock stark against the light fabric. It stretched up to his hip by the side of the zipper. You bit your lip as he thrust gently into your cupped hand. “We shouldn’t…” you said, tracing the length of his cock with one light finger. “No,” Loki breathed. “But we will.” The click of your seatbelt and the resulting flurry of your fingers at his buttons was instant. Loki raised one arm to let you work, lowering the tight zipper and setting his cock free with a bounce into your waiting hand. “Fuck,” he choked through ragged breaths, “Agent you don’t have to-” You looked up at him, head pressed back against the rest and the veins in his throat tightening. He had that stoic, regal set upon his features, cheekbones hard and unwavering, mouth closed as he stared at your with hungry eyes. The only thing that gave him away was the sound of small puffs of air flaring in rapid succession from his nostrils. Without looking, you could tell his knuckles were white on the wheel. One of his forearms rested on the nape of your neck.

“If you don’t think I want to suck your cock, Laufeyson,” you whispered, pausing to place a kiss on the leaking tip, “then you’re even crazier than I thought.” Loki inhaled sharply as you swallowed him. The breath caught in his throat, forcing its way back through a series of stuttering breaks that made desire thrash deep in your cunt. Fingers wrapped around the base of him, you worked slowly back and forth until his manhood was slippery with spit. Your face lowered on to the bottom of Loki’s sweatshirt with every dip of your head. Sucking wet and hot as the vein that ran the length of his cock throbbed against your tongue. There it was, that sweet saltiness pearling at the cracked creases of your lips. God, how you’d missed that. The taste of him. There was nothing like it.

Loki’s placid moans filled the cockpit. It was polite, in a way. Gentlemanly, while his slender fingers grasped delicately against your hair. You lingered at the crown, running your tongue against the sensitive underside.

Loki jolted in his seat. The Quinjet took a dive, and you froze - cushioning his glory with your tongue as the god corrected the flightpath. He chuckled, hissing as you tightened the grip of the fingers around his root and began to pump in time with your mouth. “We’ve reached-uh...g-gods, Richmond,” he stammered. His fingers grasped at your hair, knees beginning to tremble. “I’m carrying out a soft turn, bringing us one hundred and sixty degrees before returning to the original..f..f-fuckk-flightpath.” Humming approval through a mouthful of his cock, you lost yourself in the warm musk of his public hair. The metal zipper caught against your chin, grazing with every deep dive of the god into your throat. But you didn’t care. Loki’s gentle whines were all you could hear over the engines, panting praises and murmurs of lustful promises that you would hold him to when this thing landed. If it landed.

“Gods-” Loki choked, punctuated with a thump as his skull fell against the headrest. "How can you do this to me, Agent?” he gasped, rubbing your back as you quickened the pace. “You’re the best…” he moaned, hips rising to meet the bob of your jaw, “you’re the b-best I’ve ever had..I- uhh...”

The god’s fingertips dragged down your back, fist clenching and unfurling. He let out a primal grumble. “I’m going to cum, darling-” he growled. “Has anything c-changed?” You shook your head, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth and pooling in a wet patch on his chinos. Swallowing all the spit you could, you pressed your lips tighter around his girth, sucking furiously. Loki flinched with pleasure; and although you couldn’t see him, you knew his eyes were rolling back. You’d bet a few more of those slutty little curls had come loose too. Loki’s bucks were quicker now. He was trying to be restrained, but still his hips shuddered against the seat trying not to fuck your mouth with all his might. The Quinjet thrashed to the side, immediately correcting.

The god’s breaths were heavy, unintelligible filth falling from his lips and slithering into your ear as you worked him. "Good girl," he gasped, palm flying to the window my his side, "oh, f-fuck yes...good girl-vakker... just like, u-uh-" His palm slid down the window with an obscene squeak.

With a curse-littered groan, both of his arms went flying up behind the headrest. He pulled it forwards, the force of his abdomen’s clench pressing against your forehead. Loki’s hot cum hit the back of your tongue, filling your mouth with the sweet tang you craved. It kept coming, spreading into every pocket of space not occupied by his meat. His groans of pleasure filled the cockpit while you swallowed - pretty little moans snaking from his throat as he rode higher than the clouds.

Your lips left the tip of his flushed member with a slurp. Loki looked at you, dazed and slut-drunk. His seed glistened at the corners of your mouth as you squeezed his cock from the base a final time. A thick ream of cum blossomed at the opening. With one finger, you scooped it off, placing it carefully on the tip of your tongue.

“How I’ve missed you,” Loki slurred before his mouth was on yours.

You could feel his tongue search your own, tasting himself on each caress, swallowing the mess that you had made of him. Breaking apart, you took a moment to appreciate just how fucked-out Loki looked. The god’s cheeks were flushed, his lips raw and pink from rough kisses; his tied-up hair was askew, one side falling down in inky tendrils across his shoulder. The sweatshirt was rumpled, and there was a spreading wet patch on those lovely cream chinos. “How long do we have?” you asked, realising that you probably didn’t look much better. Loki’s eyes flickered to the screen. “Three minutes.” he said, disappointed. As Loki nailed a perfect landing, you made a final check of yourself in the window’s reflection. His knuckles trailed gently down your bicep. “I’ll see you inside?” he asked quietly. His pupils were still bottomless pools. “At your rooms,” you smiled, fighting to contain a laugh. “Not Scott’s.” Loki nodded agreement, lips curling. “I really did wait, you know.” he said. “I know.” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The two of you disembarked and Tony was waiting for the debrief exactly where you'd left him. He seemed happy with everything, by and large. But his arms remained folded. You began to make your way into the Tower. “Laufeyson. A word.” Tony barked. Loki rolled his eyes, subtly gesturing for you to go on ahead. “How’d you like her then? State of the art?” Stark hummed, gesturing to the Quinjet. Loki raised a brow. “It was perfectly fine.” Loki said. “Not ‘the best you’ve ever had’?” Tony slipped his sunglasses down his nose. Loki’s brow furrowed. “Cameras?” “Cameras,” Tony replied, tossing Loki the key-fob. “I’ll delete my evidence if you hop on back and delete your evidence with some of that magic-bleach. Deal?” “Deal.” Loki sighed.

Tags (cont in comments) @lokischambermaid @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @marygoddessofmischief @thevillainswhore @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @buttercupcookies-blog

[sssammich]

💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed

i got you anon! sorry this took a while.

💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed for supercorp*

ask meme

THIS ABSOLUTELY RAN AWAY FROM ME IM SO SORRY

---

"your true love is an alien."

well. there's certainly a lot to unpack from that, isn't there?

let's try.

first. this short and frumpy old lady with both hands on her hips is standing in front of her desk, somehow able to bypass security and her assistant, jess, who is mysteriously absent from her desk.

second. aliens aren't real. right? (right?)

third. the concept of true love is laughable. this is the 21st century and subscribing to these silly fairytale notions of true love is a lot of bullshit. let alone the idea that there is someone even out there for lena in that capacity. nevermind that apparently the only possible candidate for such a title is someone who isn't even human.

fourth. what does this even all mean? and why is she allowing her conference call to madrid get completely derailed by this woman who looks like she's more suited for the kitchen of a small hole in the wall italian restaurant and not the middle of a fortune 500 corporate office.

(all this to say that when lena eventually looks back at her life, she'll think that this is probably not even top five of the weirdest things to happen to her. it might just barely squeak into the top ten, though.)

still, she's faced with a strange predicament at this time. like how to get this lady out of her office.

yet instead of shooing this lady out, her mouth opens to say, "what's next, are you gonna tell me that magic is also real?"

the old lady in front of her just shrugs. "true love is magic, dearie. keep up, mm?"

when she opens her mouth again, she's just about to dismiss this lady, but it doesn't even matter because as soon as she blinks, she's alone.

-

something saves her.

no wait, it's someone. someone saves her.

her helicopter is crashing, the pilot is dead and dying beside her, and they're plummeting.

until, of course, they're not.

because someone is carrying her burning helicopter down on a hellipad and yanking the door out to check on them. lena's heart is in her throat and her lungs are somewhere in her stomach and she doesn't know if she's still even alive. but this someone is definitely hovering before she's holding lena securely.

"hi," the woman says, tentative, blue eyes and blonde hair and armsarmsarms and a red cape and--

something inside of lena's heart changes-transforms-evolves.

and then she passes the fuck out.

-

when she wakes, it's to dim lighting in a hospital room, the beeping of her heartrate monitor. distantly, she hears very little outside which means she's in a much more private wing of the hospital.

she sits up a little when a nurse comes in holding a tray.

except it's not a nurse at all. but the same lady from before.

"you."

"hello, dearie."

so many questions jump at the forefront of her mind. understandable and reasonable questions like hey lady what the fuck are you doing here? how did you get in? what do you want from me? are you here to kill me? stuff like that.

except the flashes of earlier appear in her mind and she recalls blonde blue red. she gasps.

the old lady smiles. "very good, dearie. they did say you were smarter than the others."

"what do you want from me?"

"nothing."

"then what are you doing here?" she asks, her voice gaining strength, her hands balling into fists by her side.

"just consider me an invested party."

before she can voice anything, the old lady places her cup of jello and plastic spoon by her thigh.

"take care, dearie. tell her i said hello, mm?"

lena's brows furrow, questions crowding her mind as she attempts to make sense of everything but failing to do so. the last she hears is a snap of fingers and she falls into a dreamless sleep.

-

when lena next wakes, she's back in her office. a week after the failed assassination attempt on her life.

the buzz of her intercom signals jess's voice. "miss luthor, your 2pm appointment is here. would you like me to let her in."

"go ahead."

she stands by her desk and brushes at her skirt just as the door opens to reveal a beautiful and bespectacled woman with her hair pulled in a ponytail.

blonde blue red.

lena's mouth dries and her insides do a somersault. she remembers the helicopter, the hospital, the old lady. the words your true love is an alien pinballing in her head (in her heart in her heart in her heart).

"hi, miss luthor. thanks for meeting with me."

lena looks at the offered hand. strong hands that have held her before. on a burning helicopter.

"of course..." she says, waiting for the woman to fill in the blanks.

"kara. kara danvers."

"well, kara, call me lena."

it takes five eternal seconds for them to let go of each other's clasped hands.

-

lena finds out about kara bit by bit. through interviews, through professional coffee meetings, through informal coffee meetings, through casual walks around downtown and the city parks, through casual lunches and dinners and desserts.

congregating around food so she holds a fork or a burger or an ice cream cone in her hand while she fights the urge to hold kara's hand.

lena learns about who kara is. a reporter by day (who moonlights as a superhero, lena muses, but kara doesn't share that information). an avid pop music lover and movie buff. a regular buff with hard cuts of muscles. arms arms arms arms--

kara is lame. a dork. goofy. foolish. beautiful. quiet. pensive. perceptive. deep. kind. loving. oh, so loving. so very loving.

kara is a hugger. a holder. an engulfer. an overwhelmer. she is the ocean and lena is the lone driftwood that crashes against waves. lena wants to be washed ashore only for the ocean to capture her once more because the ocean can't be denied.

she doesn't want to deny kara.

"lena?"

she blinks back to her present, washing away the cloud of her thoughts. right. they're at dinner. her fork held midair just before her mouth. they are in kara's apartment.

"yes, darling?"

kara smiles at her, though there is concern in her eyes. "where'd you go just now?"

she wants to say she went to the ocean but it's true either way when she offers her best smile to kara who mirrors it easily, breezily.

"i was just thinking that your cooking has gotten better."

kara ducks her head, her smile turning shy. "thanks, lena."

lena doesn't want to deny kara.

-

briefly, distantly, lena thinks that perhaps there's an inevitability to this moment.

this moment being:

kara is standing in front of her with her button down shirt opened to the fifth button where lena sees the S emblem over kara's chest.

"i wanted to tell you. f-for so long, i just--" she stops herself and takes a deep breath. "i'm sorry, lena."

lena is quiet. her vision unable to focus on any one thing. she looks at the blonde of her hair out of its regular ponytail. at the blue of kara's eyes. at the red of the symbol atop her chest.

blonde blue red.

"you're an alien." she announces it for the first time, despite the truth have sat carefully under her tongue for months.

kara swallows, then nods. "lena-"

what did that old lady say? she can't remember right now because her brain is buzzing, her heart is thumping, and the overwhelming urge to melt into kara is all she can think about.

she propels forward, pushing up on the tips of her toes, and kisses kara.

kara's arms are around her, hands holding her, body engulfing her.

soft lips slide against hers, press upon her, permanently transforming the chemistry of her body with the way that kara is now part of her.

when they break apart, she only grins at the dazed expression on kara's face.

"you...you like me too?"

she is beaming because of course she likes kara too, likes her more than like. so she answers by kissing kara again.

-

for their first date, kara takes her to a small italian hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

"this is my favorite italian spot in the city. in the state, actually. maybe even the country!" kara exclaims, excitedly talking and gesticulating but making sure that their hands stay interlaced with one another.

when they get there, they're seated right away, a young woman seating them in the back booth.

"hi, kara. table for 2?"

kara nods and lena watches. "you come here often?" she asks.

"yeah. i hit this place up at least a couple times a month. good thing my metabolism allows me to eat as much pasta as i want. the chef in the back makes it fresh every day."

amidst drinking wine and twirling their forks in their pasta, kara is leaning closer to her, the two of them sitting adjacent to each other, their elbows grazing each other on the corner.

when they finish, kara pays, insists on it, and asks if they can stop by the kitchen to pay compliments to the chef. with hands still intertwined, kara pushes the swinging door forward, and calls for chef nina.

lena watches as kara releases her hold of lena and approaches the short and frumpy old lady who only wipes her hands on a stained white apron before opening her arms up to receive kara's hug.

over kara's shoulder, the old lady winks at lena.

and lena?

well, she just laughs and laughs, kisses kara on the lips, and hugs the old lady.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Can you do some Christmas fluff with rooster? 💕

Sure! Thank you for the request <3 Hope you like it :D

Christmas On Deck

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: You're stuck at the airport on Christmas Eve and, naturally, you meet a pilot. What's his name, again?

CW: Fluffity fluff with a smidge of angst

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you kidding me?” you groan in response to the latest flight delay announcement over the airport intercom. The gate is packed with equally irritable travellers whose flights have been postponed on account of the blizzard. You let out a weary sigh and plop down into the only available seat in your vicinity, which happens to be right next to some dude with a pornstache who’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt – even though your destination is Vermont – and Ray Bans – even though you’re indoors.

“What a nightmare,” you hear him mutter under his breath, his lip curling sideways underneath his bizarre facial hair. He’s got several scars running down the side of his face.

You eye him inconspicuously as he pulls a book out of his backpack, partly because he smells nice but mostly because you’ve got nothing better to do. When he leans back into his seat, his shoulder brushes against yours accidentally. He looks up at you apologetically.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

You give him a tight smile, wondering if he’s going to keep his sunglasses on while he reads. “It’s cool,” you respond. “It’s not your fault we’re all cramped in here.”

He chuckles, trying to squeeze his broad shoulders inward, but his arms still manage to extend beyond both sides of his seat. Finally, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs, and opens his book.

For some reason, the low rasp of his voice and the way he seems greatly unfazed by the prospect of being stuck at an airport on Christmas Eve makes you weirdly interested in striking up a conversation with him. “Is it a little bright for you?” you say cheekily, noting that he hasn’t removed his shades.

The man turns his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. He straightens his back slightly, a small smile forming underneath his ridiculous mustache that, you hate to admit, is becoming increasingly attractive with every passing minute. He lifts his hand to tap on the frame, letting the glasses slide a touch down his nose as he squints at you, studying your face. Instead of answering your question, he poses his own: “You going somewhere special for the holidays?”

“Home,” you say. If you ever get there. “You?”

He takes off his sunglasses and hooks them into the collar of his white undershirt. “Some friends are going skiing,” he says, shrugging.

You nod, not really sure where to take the conversation next, when there’s another announcement indicating that all flights have been cancelled for the rest of the night. You close your eyes in disappointment as the rest of the terminal groans in response to the news. “Great,” you say. “Christmas Eve and Christmas morning at the damn airport.”

The man watches you sympathetically for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, bummer.” His eyes scan your face for another several seconds and then he shoves his book back into his backpack and stands up. “Come on,” he says, motioning with his head for you to follow.

You furrow your eyebrows at him suspiciously, not at all eager to accompany a strange man to an unknown destination, regardless of how good-looking he may be.

He senses your hesitation and extends his hand. “It’s not far,” he says. “Promise.”

You swallow uneasily, putting your hand in his. His warm fingers curl around yours and he gently pulls you out of your seat. He doesn’t let go of your hand once you’re up, holding onto you instead while he navigates the crowd of angry passengers at the gate. He draws you out of the horde and down one of the largely empty corridors of the airport. “Where are we going?” you ask cautiously.

“Here,” he says, turning a corner into a dimly lit room with large windows exposing the flurrying snow outside.

“Wow,” you breathe, taking a step forward when he finally lets go of your hand. You walk toward the window spanning the entire wall from the floor up, watching the storm blanket the terminal, snowing in several parked planes.

Mustache walks up behind you. “It’s the observation deck,” he says, looking out onto the apron with a smile.

You glance up at him, admiring the shape of his jaw, and his neck, and his broad shoulders, and his mustache, goddamnit, and wonder if he’ll ever tell you his name because, at this point, it feels awkward to ask. You grin to yourself and then sit right down onto the carpeted floor, crossing your legs. “In that case,” you say. “Let’s observe.”

The man chuckles lightly and takes a seat next to you on the floor. He unzips his backpack and pulls out a bag of chips. “Salt and vinegar?” he offers, ripping the bag open and holding it out to you.

You laugh. “This is dinner, isn’t it?”

“This,” he says, and then pulls out a box of Ritz crackers. “And this.”

“Yes!” you exclaim, grabbing the box out of his hands.

“And, for dessert…” he adds, digging his hand back into the bag and pulling out another box.

Your jaw drops in your excitement. “Oreos!”

He nods. “I’ve got a lot of Oreos,” he says, pulling out several packages of the cookies.

“Amazing!” you say. “I hit the jackpot sitting next to you, didn’t I?”

He grins, his teeth grazing over his lip as he curls it in. “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he says.

You glance up to meet his gaze, blushing slightly.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re really fucking pretty,” he says.

You smile at him, deciding that being stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

You spend the next couple of hours eating and chatting. You find out that he’s a pilot in the Navy, that his father died when he was just a boy, and that his mother passed away when he was a teenager. He tells you about Top Gun, about his squad, about how he’s indifferent when it comes to Christmas because he doesn’t really have anybody to spend it with. He even tells you what his favorite food is. What he doesn’t tell you is his name. And he doesn’t ask for yours.

You don’t bother either; what the point? After tonight, you’ll never see him again, so there’s no sense in getting attached. It wouldn’t be the first time you spent the night with a stranger without so much as exchanging numbers. Unfortunately, besides being exceptionally cute, the guy is actually boyfriend material. He’s genuine, and funny, and considerate, and you’re finding him especially easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because both of you know that, by this time tomorrow, the stranger you’ve shared all your secrets with will be out of your life for good.

This is great. This is therapeutic. This sort of transient camaraderie is what travelling is all about. You don’t build lasting relationships with random people you meet at the bus stop, or at a train station. Why should an airport be any different?

There’s a chiming in the distance and you look down at your phone. Midnight.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

You look up at him with a small smile. “Hopefully Santa knows where to find us.”

He chuckles while you rub your hands together. “Cold?” he asks, pulling a blanket out of his backpack.

“Is there anything you don’t have in there?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I like to be prepared.” He hands you the blanket.

You unfold it and move closer to him, trying to wrap it around both your shoulders and his.

“Here,” he says, shifting to lean his back against one of the seats and spreading his feet so you could sit between his legs.

You stand up to walk around him, and then lower yourself in front of his body. His hands are on your legs the moment your knees bend, helping you down. His touch sends a shockwave through you, and you glance back to see him looking up at you lustfully. You gulp as you sit down, his hands sliding slowly up the sides of your thighs. You lick your lips, sliding backward until you feel your hips align with his, and then you slowly lean your back against his chest and pull the blanket over both of you. His arms close around yours under the fleece and he lets out a sigh. You rest your head on his shoulder and he lowers his face to press his cheek against your hair.

“This is nice,” you mutter, already warming up as his large hand closes around your arm. His thumb begins to brush your skin as he makes a soft humming sound in agreement.

…

You wake up to the hot sun radiating through the giant windows of the room. You’re lying on the ground with the man you met last night beside you under the twisted blanket, his extremely heavy arm crushing your shoulder. You don’t mind it, though; his sculpted arms kept you warm all night.

You rotate onto your back and he stirs, lifting his hand to rest it over your abdomen as he nuzzles his face against the side of your head.

“Good morning,” he whispers, his fingers gently stroking your stomach.

You smile at the ceiling, your eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the room. “Merry Christmas,” you say.

He sighs and his hot breath bathes your neck. “It is,” he murmurs, his hand tangling in the blanket as he grips your waist to pull you closer.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the very best Christmas present you’ve ever received. But, just when you’re about to turn your head and finally give your companion a kiss, a loud beep followed by an announcement indicating that flights have resumed interrupts the moment.

You exhale slowly, not bothering to conceal your disappointment, and Mustache chuckles into your ear, tickling the side of your face. “I wonder if Santa found us,” he says quietly.

You glance over at his mischievous smirk and sit up. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner of the room that you hadn’t noticed the previous night because it was too dark. Under the tree, there are an assortment of snacks – including more Oreos – that he must’ve gotten from the vending machine overnight. You giggle as you make your way toward it. There’s also a small package of travel socks, a neck pillow, and an airplane keychain. You pick it up, observing that the plane doesn’t resemble any commercial airline.

“It’s a Rhino,” he says, and you look up at him in confusion.

“It’s an airplane,” you respond with a smile, dangling the ring from your index finger.

He chuckles. “F-18,” he clarifies. “It’s the jet I fly.”

“They sell these here?” you ask, although you already know the answer.

He shakes his head and then shrugs. “Just something to remember me by,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You blink at him without responding, thinking that his name might also help. But you’ve already decided that it’s best not to know. “Thanks,” you say finally, closing your hand around the tiny plane. “I, uh, didn’t get you anything.”

He grins. “Yes, you did,” he says. “You gave me the best Christmas Eve and morning I’ve had in a very long time.”

You smile back at him. “We should do it again some time.”

He chuckles but his face falls slightly, as though he’s not optimistic about the likelihood of an encore. “Same time next year?”

You hold his gaze for a moment before the intercom blares, declaring that you have ten minutes to get to your plane. You gather the snacks, dispersing them between your carry-on bag and his, and make your way back to the gate.

The attendant calls on the back rows to start boarding and you give Mustache one last look. He squeezes your hand, and you don’t want him to let go, but he does anyway.

“I bet you have a really pretty name,” he says. It must have occurred to him also that there would be no point in knowing it.

“Have a safe flight,” you say.

He nods. “You too.”

Your mouth is taut when you give him a final smile and turn away, but before you make it past the checkpoint, you turn back to look at him again. He waves at you but you step out of the line anyway, going against the stream of bodies desperate to get onto the aircraft. He gives you a questioning look when you arrive before him. “Uh,” you start, unsure how to express what you mean to say. “Not just this flight.”

“What?” he asks.

“You’re a pilot,” you clarify. He narrows his eyes. “So, I just wanted to say, may all your flights be safe.”

He watches you solemnly as you chew on your lip. Then, you throw your hands around his neck just as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground in a passionate embrace. He kisses your neck as you sink your head into his shoulder. When he puts you down, his mouth is still trailing up the side of your face, leaving in its wake a string of delicate kisses. He brings his hands up to take you by the shoulders, resting his forehead on yours. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Bradley. It’s nice to meet you.”

You smile, watching the lower half of his face transform when you respond. “Hi, Bradley. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, his lips hovering over yours. “I knew you had a pretty name.”

You chuckle briefly, but then his hand starts gliding along your shoulder and up your neck and, suddenly, you’re not in a laughing mood. “How long are you going to be in Vermont?” you ask, closing your eyes.

“How long are you going to be in Vermont?” he responds.

You smile as his mouth connects with yours, as his fingers trace swirls into your cheek, as his tongue drifts along your bottom lip before he catches it gently between his teeth.

“You taste like Oreos and Coke,” he murmurs.

“That’s what you gave me for breakfast,” you respond against his lips.

“I’ll have to do better next time.”

You look up at him after pulling away. “I thought it was perfect.”

He nods, his eyes perusing your face as his hand slips down to grasp yours. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

You grin. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

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Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Rooster fics <3 Sorry if I've missed anyone who has asked to be tagged!

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[neonponders]

I had an intrusive thought today (wholesome Harrington parents) :

Steve’s dad is a commercial pilot, which explains why he’s gone all the time, but when he’s home during the school year, he uses his “pilot voice” to wake Steve up. Like, that smooth, tired radio voice that pilots use to talk over the flight intercom about the weather.

“Good morning Steve, it’s a quarter past the hour. I’ve knocked on your door four times now. The rain is getting progressively worse, much like your tardiness this morning. At this rate, your pancakes are cold, your first class is missed, and your mother is cancelling Puerto Vallarta this summer. God speed.”

[finnbbl]

Hyunjin X M! Reader - Dancer AU | SMAU | Chapter 5

Ch. 5 - I’m attractive? | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter I

I Story Masterlist I

Written: Yes

Smau: Yes

Word Count: 600

A/N: Apologies for such a short chapter. Better to split it up for the way this is going. I hope you’re enjoying it and would love feedback <3

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive comment ?

As the intercom started to ring, you and Hyunjin briefly glanced at each other. Throwing the other one a quick smile due to your playful banter, before turning your attention to the pilot over the speaker.

It wasn’t anything special or new, general statements that you and everyone else had heard a million times. The plane had finally landed, soon enough you were able file out of the airplane over to baggage claim. Your eyes glanced around at the scenery and different shops the Tokyo airport had to offer. You were in awh, and I guess it was pretty obvious because the familiar voice you only briefly heard earlier sounded behind you. “You ever been to Tokyo before?” Suddenly, there was a presence next to you. Turning your head, it was Hyunjin. Shaking your head, a thought had crossed your mind. “Look I have to ask uh..” Your feet brought you to a brief stop, Hyunjin only followed that. “Is it… okay for idols to be this close with backup dancers ?” One of your eyebrows perked i as you fidgeted. “I mean I don’t wanna get you in trouble-“

“Is this new to you?” His sudden question caused you to pull your head back in surprise and slight confusion. “No.. why would you think that? I’m only asking because it seems to be something I’m experiencing repetitively now..” Letting out a breathy sigh as you kicked at the air below you. The tall idol only laughed. “Actually it’s fairly normal. We always love interacting with our backup dancers.” He stated and shot you a smile. “Especially people like you.” Something about the way that he emphasized the last word and gently poked your shoulder sent your head spinning. You laughed nervously, “What is that supposed to mean?” Your head cocked to the side. He gave you a mischievous look before your conversation was interrupted. “Hey Hyunjin, stop flirting with the dancer and come get your luggage.” One of the other members of their group you knew as Lee Know, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes as Minho left. “You’ll have to ignore him.” His head shook as he gestured for you to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you where we get our stuff.”

You were pretty hesitant to follow, something hadn’t felt right you just weren’t sure why. Hyunjin reassured you that it was completely normal and quite common for idols and dancers to be friends, so you decided to let it go and take his word for it. After all, you didn’t really know anyone or anything about Japan.

You noticed how the bodyguards surrounded the eight boys as they walked. There were also bodyguards around you and the few other dancers there were. Fans crowded around you guys as you made your way there. It was hard to imagine how it was like to constantly travel like this all the time. You thought you’d suffocate just in the short walk. Time passed, and you all eventually had your luggage. Everyone was led to a few different tour buses. The idols in one, and the dancers in another. However you had failed to notice that a certain someone was waving bye to you. As you made your way onto the bus, you felt watched. Not sure if it was your anxiety or if everyone was actually eyeing you. Either way, it made you nervous. Doing the best you could to suppress and block it out.You ended up choosing a seat in a completely empty aisle. If this is how it was gonna be the entire trip, boy were you in for it.

Taglist: @silverstarburst @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz

[pianocat939]

Yandere plane company, you just chillin in your seat and then out of the blue all the flight attendants start to gift you chocolate and bouquets and gifts... because its valentine day~

I'm still sickly, but I am here for Yan plane companies again-

Tw: None honestly. Just like company breaking its own policies lol

You're on your flight to go see your long-distance beloved. The excitement to see them again the only thing you're focused on.

As you sit down at your typical economy seat you wait for the plane to takeoff. Right away, you hear the pilot's voice speak through the intercom "Happy Valentine's Day, passengers. Especially to the one sitting at D21."

Fortunately, no one was sitting beside you, but others within your row stared at you, confused. You glance away, wondering if the pilot just messed up the seat number.

Half an hour into the flight, the attendants start rolling in their refreshment and snack carts. The flight is about 4 hours long in total, so you were sure they would be walking through a few times. As the cart comes over to you, a pretty lady and man are all smiles as they ask what you want to drink.

As your cup is settled down, they give you one of those snack boxes along with some cookies and chips. Oh but they didn't stop there.

They took a heart shaped box out from the tray, and placed it on your tray as well, wheeling away before you could even ask what the chocolate was for.

Too weird.

Another hour later, another flight attendant lady hands you a big bouquet of pink and white flowers, chirping, "You look so beautiful today! I wonder what your routine is!" She's leaning a bit too close to you. As if she wants to steal a kiss on the cheek.

But then she's nudged by another attendant who comes over with a stuffed llama, his eyes forming a small glare. He puts the llama on your lap, patting it's torso. "Here, have this to keep you company. I can get you a thicker blanket if you'd like."

But just like that, one of the pilots, who rarely even show their faces during a flight, comes over. Holding a small opened box, which had a big sapphire ring in it. "This isn't an engagement, but it can be if you'd like."

The passengers watch as the poor D21 occupant struggles to keep the amount of plane staff calm as their area is overloaded with gifts.

.

.

.

How will you explain this to your beloved when you get off the plane?

(Sorry I'm so sick ah- I can't. But I'll be better soon I promise.)

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 42

First / Previous / Next

Before anyone could say anything else, there was a blinding flash of white light. The Dreadnought appeared directly in front of them, impeding their progress. Stormy fired the thrusters and tried to duck underneath.

"Get back into your seats! I'm going to link away again." Northern and Zhe dove towards their seats and bucked back up, but before Stormy could link, there was a clatter and a shudder throughout the ship. New alarms sounded throughout the ship, a kind of wailing trilling noise. It was incredibly loud.

"What's that Stormy?" Zhe clapped her hands over her large ears. "Can you turn it down any?"

"It's... It's a grapple. We've been grappled!" Stormy's rage permeated her voice. "Those were banned centuries ago! I can't believe they used a grapple on us."

"Can we do anything?" Fen asked. She looked down at her screen. There were new spots of orange on the readout where the grapple was damaging the hull.

"Our options at this point are to allow us to be taken aboard, or blow the reactor." Northern shook her head. "They've got us."

"Stormy, might as well disconnect and come up here. I don't want them doing anything to you." Fen closed her pad with a snap. She looked at Zhe and Northern. "Sorry."

Zhe shook her head. "Nothing to be sorry about, Fen. We're in this together."

Northern nodded. "Despite myself, I do find that I like you two. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. It's not your fault Fen."

Fen sighed. "Yeah, but if I wasn't a clone of the first Empress..."

"There's no way these people know that Fen. They're just after their current Empress and probably think we know something about it. I'd say just answer their questions mostly honestly." Northern ticked off points on her long fingers. "We saw her on Picaresque, we went out drinking, we partied with her and her honor guard, and in the morning we left. None off that is a lie."

Stormy walked into the Command Deck and looked around. Finding a seat, she sat down and buckled in. "The four of us is enough to operate a frigate of this size without raising too much suspicion. They shouldn't ask about whether we have an AI pilot."

Zhe's ears flicked in surprise. "Really? Only four people?"

She nodded. "It's just about the bare minimum, but it's possible. It could be explained away that we're a new merc group and haven't taken on more crew yet. These kind of ships are meant to be run lean and mean anyway."

Fen wasn't so sure, but she couldn't do anything else.

They waited.

About 30 minutes later, there was a pounding on the airlock. Fen unbuckled and went to the lock. Peering through the window she saw three armored spacesuits. She toggled the intercom. "Yes?"

"Human Imperial Navy. Open up please. We have some questions for you."

Please? That was interesting. "Why did you grapple me? You could have used your radio."

"The Admiral wishes to speak to you in person."

They did not elaborate further.

The voice of the suited person sighed. "Look. If you just open the doors, it'll go better for you. We won't even restrain you. You just open up, we bring you to the Admiral and then we let you go once she's happy with the answers."

"And if I don't open the lock?"

"Then we force it open, capture you, restrain you-" They hold up some metal zip cuffs. "-and still bring you to the Admiral. Only now, your ship is damaged and you can't leave once she's finished speaking. Your choice."

Fen cut the intercom. "Fuck." she said to nobody, and pressed the purge button. Both airlock door snapped open and there was a puff of air as the pressures equalized. Fen's ears were pained for a moment, but she swallowed and her ears popped.

The guard lifted their helmet. It was two men and a woman who looked so similar they could have been related. The woman smiled. "Thank you, really. My name is Lieutenant Shelly Cooper. What's yours?"

"I'm Captain Fenchurch Whitehorse, but please call me Fen."

"Very well, Fen. Who else is aboard?"

"The rest of my crew. They're on the Command Deck. There are four of us."

That caused Lieutenant Cooper to raise an eyebrow, "Four? That's it?"

Fen smiled awkwardly. "I wasn't able to hire anymore crew than that. Believe me when I say I've been trying." It wasn't a lie, not really. Fen found that there weren't many people who were willing to sign on to an unproven merc company, even if they were a couple years old.

The Lieutenant turned to one of the men behind her. "What did the bioscan say?"

He looked down at a pad strapped to the arm of his suit and tapped at it with a gloved hand. "She's not lying. Ship is empty except for the command deck."

"Curious." Cooper stared hard at Fen. "Have we met? Are you from Sol? You seem familiar to me."

"I don't see how. I grew up in a Gren station, far outside of Colonial space." Again, it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. Of course people in the military would know what the first Empress looked like.

"Hmm. Okay. If your crew agrees to keep the reactor powered down and be powered by an umbilical, they can stay confined to the ship and you accompany us. Deal?"

"Yes, I agree to those terms. Let me go tell my crew."

Lieutenant Cooper nods. "You have three minutes."

Fen hurries back to the command deck. "The Admiral wants to talk to me. They said you can stay here so long as you agree to be powered only by their umbilical."

Zhe stood up and crossed her arms, her tail swishing irritatedly. "It won't matter, because we're coming too."

Northern looked to Zhe and sighed, but only a little. "We can't leave you out to dry, Fen. We'll come along too. How bad can it be? Plus, if we come with you we can't suffer "an unfortunate accident" in the hangar."

Fen exhaled. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath in. "Thanks Northern, Zhe." She turned to Stormy. "You're welcome to come along, but I also know this isn't your thing. We had just hired you after all."

Stormy looked at Northern who shrugged with her eyes. "Up to you."

She runs her hands over her face. "Fuck, me. I swear Northern, you know how to pick them." Stormy stands up and smiles. "I'll come along, what the hell. Sitting on the ship was going to be boring by myself anyway."

The four of them went to the airlock, and Fen went up to Lieutenant Cooper "I spoke to my crew, and they want to accompany me."

Lieutenant Cooper throws up her hands. "Fine, I guess we'll just give you the VIP tour on the way." She gestures out towards the hangar. "Here is the hangar, where we store our smaller ships and boats, as well as the frigate of a merc captain we captured that the admiral wants to speak to and offered to let her crew stay onboard but they want to follow their captain to the ends of the galaxy."

Fen crossed her arms, but said nothing.

"Come on then. We'll find you some more chairs or something." Lieutenant Cooper turned on her heel and walked out of the hangar, without waiting for them to follow. The two guards with her looked at each other and one of them gestured for them to follow.

Not too far from the hangar, Lieutenant Cooper came upon a small conference room. She opened the door and led them inside. As they sat, a steward came by with a small cart of drinks. Fen was offered and accepted a coffee, and they went around offering beverages. Lieutenant Cooper also took a coffee, but everyone else abstained.

Cooper took a sip and looked down at the comm on her wrist. "The Admiral will be here shortly. Please be respectful. She's... lived a long life and doesn't suffer fools. If you want to make it back to your ship, answer her questions quickly and honestly."

Fen wasn't halfway through her coffee with the door chimed. Lieutenant Cooper stood. "This is where I leave you. The guards will wait outside the door and - should you be able - will escort you back to your ship." Her face was odd. She looked worried, and also like she felt bad for them. Just what kind of person was this Admiral?"

The door whooshed open and the Admiral strode in. She was about the same height as Cooper, maybe a few centimeters taller than Fen. Her hair was blond streaked with grey and she wore it clipped very short on the back and sides and a little longer in the front. She wore her hat at an angle that probably was against regulations. Her uniform was immaculate and her chest bulged with medals. She had a hard, but not unattractive face, lined with time. As she entered, she looked down at everyone sitting, and as she passed over them she stopped at Fen, and her breath caught.

"You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

Cooper saluted sharply. "Yes, Admiral."

"Dismiss the guards as well. I will not need them."

"Admiral? With all due respect-"

The Admiral turned to face Cooper and stared at her. Without saying anything at all, Fen could feel her shouting at the Lieutenant. Her gaze was withering. Cooper swallowed and saluted again. "Yes, Admiral."

The door closed behind her and the Admiral's demeanor immediately changed. She shrank down a little, looked older, less hard. She strode around the room and glanced down at the carafe of coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat at the head of the table. While everyone watched, rapt. She took a sip and placed it down on the table without a clink. She looked at Fen.

"You look like her, you know? I can see that you're different. A product of your upbringing. It's your eyes, and the way you carry yourself. I can see so much of her though. It's a little spooky."

Fen blinked. Whatever she expected, it wasn't this. "You know I'm a clone of the first Empress?"

The admiral laughed. Her voice was surprisingly musical. "Fen, I knew Melody. I was friends with her. I... I was on a different ship when she was killed. I became Empress after her."

Stormy gasped. "No. No way. She retired to Venus, and let her daughter reign. She would be over five hundred years old. You're not her."

The admiral smirked. "If you know all that, then you know that the Nanites can extend life. I can't do the Voice anymore, and it's been more than two centuries since I carried a crown and wings, but I am still me.

Northern turned and stared at Stormy. "Who is it, Stormy?"

The admiral spread her hands wide. "I am Empress Helen Raaden, First of Her Name, Ruler of Sol - Retired."

[callsign-fox]

Bail Out - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley x Fem!Reader (Pilot - Call Sign: Raven)

This was based off of an ask I received: 

untitled87858 asked: Hi! Can you write a rooster imagine where the reader is also a pilot and she gets hurt during a mission?

See Request --> Here

Written with the help from my BFF @fanficgirl429​ ! 

Thanks for all the love xoxo

-------------------------------------------------------

The engine to my F-18 purred as I moved up alongside my wingman, Rooster. He shot me a thumbs up as our teacher, Maverick, pulled up to the right of me. I nodded in his direction.

“Great job! The two of you work well together. Have you flown together before?” Maverick asked through the mic.

“Many times.”

“Unfortunately,” Rooster added and I gave him the finger.

Maverick laughed, “It’s always nice flying with someone you know. Again, great job! Let’s head back to base.“

Maverick took off leaving smoke in his wake. I turned to look at Rooster in the plane beside me.

“Nice flying, wingman.”

He quickly shook his head, “No, you’re my wingman.”

“In your dreams, Rooster,” I said, peeling off and flying in the direction Maverick had just gone.

I checked my radar on instinct, and adjusted my speed to coasting. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. If I had it my way, I’d never stop doing this.

Suddenly I heard a popping sound, and my body jerked forward. A red light started flashing and an ear piercing noise filled the cockpit.

“Shit.”

“Ugh, Raven, you lost an engine!” Rooster yelled over the intercom.

My wrist was throbbing with pain after banging it against the canopy, “Yeah, I know. Trying to restart.”

”Talk to me, Raven!”

I ignored Maverick as I continued working on the problem, flipping switches and pressing buttons to try and get the left engine restarted.

At that moment the second engine went off, causing my plane to go spiraling downward.

“Fuck!” I heard Rooster yell.

“Raven, Eject!“

I ignored Maverick once again. I knew I’d get reprimanded later if I got out of this.

“Raven!” Rooster cried.

I was trained for a situation like this to happen, I wasn’t ready to give up. My computer indicated the engines were still functioning, just not running.

Rooster screamed in my headset again, “Eject, Raven! Why aren’t you listening?!”

“Not yet!”

“Y/N!”

3,000 feet.

“I got this!”

The beeping sound continued as I plummeted toward the ground.

2,000 feet.

“Eject, Y/N!”

I flipped the switch for the left engine and I heard a noise. It was trying to start. I hit it again, and unexpectedly the left engine came roaring back to life.

“Raven, Report.”

I pulled back on the throttle and the jet started ascending.

4,000 feet, 5,000 feet, 6,000.

I leveled out, the runway straight ahead, “I’m good! I’m good,” my voice a tad more shaky than I had intended, “Left engine is back on, landing in less than 90 seconds.”

Once the landing gear came out with no issue, I knew the rest would be a piece of cake.

The jet landed gently onto the runway and I drove it into the correct spot, turning it off and opening the canopy.

“Are you okay?” one of my crew asked, pulling the ladder down for me to exit the cockpit.

I nodded and stepped down, happy for a moment to be touching the ground.

“Y/N!” Rooster yelled, stepping down from his ladder across from me. “What the hell was that?! Why the fuck were you not listening to me?”

He walked quickly towards me, pulling his helmet from his head. I had seen him angry before but never like this.

“I’m fine. Calm down,” I answered, reaching up to unhook my helmet. My wrist throbbed as I squeezed the hook together, trying to get it apart but failing. I pulled my hand down, absentmindedly rubbing my hurt wrist.

“You want me to be calm! How can I be calm after you almost killed yourself?!”

“Bradley, please stop yelling at me! I’m fine, I promise.”

“Why didn’t you bail?”

I rolled my eyes. “I had everything under control!”

It was at that moment that Rooster noticed my wrist. He took a breath and took a step towards me.

“Here. Let me help,” he said, reaching out and unhooking my helmet. He gently pulled it off my head and held onto it. “You need to get that looked at- it could be broken. What were you thinking? What you did was reckless!”

“It’s not broken, and for the last time I’m fine!” I said, grabbing my helmet out of his hand and walking away from him.

“Y/N, where are you going?!”

“Somewhere where I won’t get screamed at!”

I heard Bradley walking behind and began to move quicker. I was not in the mood to hear him yelling at me.

“I like you Y/N!”

I stopped in my tracks, my back to him.

“I’m not trying to be mean, I just…I don’t want to see you get hurt. I wouldn’t get the chance to ask you out if you did something stupid, which is clearly inevitable.”

I slowly turned on my heels to face him.

“You like me?” I asked, pointing my finger at myself.

Bradley ran his fingers through his hair, a sign that he was nervous. “Yea…I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months, but was too scared you’d turn me down, so I put it off.”

“Bradley, you fly F-18s for a living and you’re too scared to ask me out?” I laughed.

He rolled his eyes at my comment. “Okay, let’s not dwell on that part.”

“Yes,” I said.

He looked down at me, a curious expression on his face, “Yes, to what?”

I smiled, “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

[billdenbrough]

also for all my starmora posting and texting if u have had to suffer that, the thing that struck me most when leaving gotg 3 was. nebula/mantis. like. obviously starmora was always gonna murder me and it DID and also rocket being the heart of the story was gonna fuck me up and it DID but the thing that absolutely blindsided me with how much it meant to me was nebulantis, especially because of that One Scene on the flying pyramid

but every scene built up to it!! like. starlord’s “she calls me star lord when she’s mad at me” met by mantis’ grumpy little “she’s always mad at everyone”, the way mantis complains to drax about how she can’t know things if nobody tells her after nebula (and gamora, but nebula is the one that makes her mad) yells at her about the spacesuits, the “why do you criticise everything? it’s a different sound” “uh, no it isn’t. [imitates mantis] eurgh, dying, eurgh, dumbass. it’s the same sound!”

and all of that leads to that moment on the ship, when nebula shoves drax and mantis yells at her that she doesn’t have the right to push him, and nebula fires back at her about always supporting weakness. and then mantis says the thing that has haunted me since watching lmao: “fine! i don’t care! i know you have to find fault in everyone else to feel better about yourself – so find fault in me! but you don’t have the right to push him!”

and the way nebula just. stares at her. mantis saying he loves us and makes us laugh, how is that weakness? mantis saying he has sadness but he is the only of you who doesn’t hate himself. so i don’t care if he is stupid. LIKE. it just slams right into me i think bc her entire life, nebula’s value has been determined by her success. she never won against gamora, so she was tortured, pulled apart piece by piece, thanos always saying it was to help her get ‘better’. nebula who fulfils EVERY ROLE in the team—not so much emotional active support but caretaker, pilot, living weapon, ultimate defender, local robot—because that’s what she has to do to be worth keeping around. nebula, whose self-worth issues were built into her from childhood.

and here is mantis saying who cares that someone isn’t the best if they love you, if they make you laugh. who cares about strength when someone matters to you? what is strength to love? what is it?

and then, when rocket’s voice comes through the intercom and nebula stops still, swallows, says “rocket?” in that voice biting back all the emotions she doesn’t usually let herself express, and the camera pans to mantis looking at her. to mantis seeing nebula on the other side of grief, what it looks like for her to finally exhale this held breath she’s had, bc rocket was the only person she had for five years (“i’m family,” gamora says; “so is he,” nebula replies levelly), and he’s going to be okay. it’s this amazing one-two moment of two people who have been ostensibly teammates but really at odds the entire movie look at each other and really see each other, really understand what the other stands for, who they are. god!!!!

and then when drax and nebula form a little shield in front of mantis at the end when they’re all in the pit and mantis steps past them both, despite nebula’s protests. at the very end, when nebula decides to lead the city; this girl who is a weapon, laying down her arms to try give these little girls the childhood she never had. at the very end, when mantis strikes her own path—the girl who always ‘finds weakness in others and supports it’, leading her three companion beasts into the unknown universe, just to find herself.

and that last moment, when mantis says to all of them, “i love you all,” with that half beat before all, and she nods at nebula. it’s just. holy fuck. there were some real masterclasses in relationship dynamics and development in this film, but nebula & mantis were largely an undercurrent beneath the surface, but no less impactful, no less poignant for it. god. god

[oniku-niku]

Katsuki was pacing back and forth in his living room after he read the last text you sent.

What kind of news do you mean? Good news? Bad news? Fuck, were you planning to tell him you’re staying there permanently? His hands have been clammy ever since and he thought to ask you but he decided against it in case you were busy finalizing anything before leaving. 

“Katsuki, settle down. (Y/n)’s gonna get here when they get here, Honey.” his mom’s voice called out from where she was sitting on the couch. He gave a small huff before plopping down right next to her. Though she seemed calm on the outside, Katsuki could see the slight bouncing of her leg as she was reading the newspaper. 

Mitsuki Bakugou wasn’t stupid, she could tell something happened between the two of you. Her son has been calmer in the past two years than he ever has in his life. She’s noticed how he always casts a glance at his phone, a sparkle erupting from his eyes when he reads a message from you. She wanted to ask about it but chose not to because watching her son fumble while typing was kind of endearing. 

Though she didn’t talk to Katsuki about it, she did gossip with Masaru when the two were in their shared bed for the night. 

“Our Katsuki has grown up a lot, hasn’t he?” she sighed, glancing over at her husband. He let out a chuckle, removing his glasses and resting it on the bedside table.

“He sure has, I know you’ve been enjoying seeing him all flustered, but imagine what he’s going to be like when (Y/n) does come back.” and the two started giggling with each other.

“Oh lord, I hope we get a video of it. (Y/n)’s done a number on him, haven’t they.” She agreed.

“Dude what does (Y/n) mean by ‘news’?? Do they not know how rude it is to just leave someone on a cliff hanger like that?! And then we have to wait a whole day to find out the answer?! This is a sick game.” Denki whined from the other couch across from them. Him and the rest of the group were in his house just waiting around. 

“You know what can get your mind off of it?” Mitsuki laughed, looking up from the papers in her hand. Denki looked at her with hope dancing his eyes. “You kids can go do your jobs as heroes.” she stated and the way Denki’s face dropped at her answer made her stand up with a chuckle.

“Honestly, their flight is 10 hours. Instead of waiting in my house and torturing yourselves, go and find some criminals and stop eating my food!” she exclaimed before making her way to the kitchen.

“That’s cold Mrs. Katsuki’s Mom! But I mean if the city really needs me or whatever I guess I’ll go.” Denki playfully rolled his eyes before getting off the sofa. The rest of them followed suit and before they could make their way towards the door, “Yeah yeah, here are some snacks for the road! Be safe!” they all took the cookies from her hands and waved thanks before leaving. 

It was an excruciating 10 hours, not only for Katsuki with the waiting around while he got bored fighting criminals, but also for you, who’s ass was feeling numb due to sitting for so long. The little ‘ding dong’ from the pilot’s intercom rang.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we have at last reached our destination here at Air Japan, we now ask that you put on your seat belts and give us a few moments to get everyone landed safely.” and with that, the sound of everyone’s seat belts clicked into place as the plane began its descent. 

“Welcome to Tokyo International Airport, our flight attendants will help with carry-ons, all luggage can be found at baggage claim on the lower floor, thank you for flying with Air Japan.” and everyone was bumbling to get their stuff to get off the plane.

It wasn’t until you were walking through the exit tunnel that your heart started palpitating, you could feel it in your palms as you were gripping your bag. The deep breath that filled your lungs did little to help with the nervousness in your steps as you got closer to the entrance. 

What am I so worried about? I saw these guys on Katsuki’s birthday when they all flew over. Why am I nervous to see them all again now?

You made your way down a level to get the large suitcase that arrived separately before looking around for your large group of friends. You thought you should call one of them but then a flash of blond hair caught your eye. 

Through the other side of the glass wall was Katsuki, just Katsuki, staring back at you with a faint smile resting on his face. You took another deep breath before making your way towards him, but you barely got three steps outside before he threw himself onto you. His arms wrapped itself around you, pulling you into his embrace. His nose took in your scent as if it was the one thing keeping him from falling. 

“You’re here, finally.” he grumbled into your hair and that was all it took for you to wrap your arms around him too. The two of you stood there for a good minute, arms not wanting to let the other go. He reluctantly did when the sound of a honking taxi ruined the moment. 

“It’s good to be back..” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and the next inhale you took in was filled with his intoxicating cologne. 

“Come on, you must be tired, let’s get you back home.” he brought you to his car and when the passenger’s door was open, there was a gift bag resting on the seat. You made eye contact with him as he went around to the driver’s side.

“It was supposed to be the gift for you when you left. I told you I’d keep it until you came back.” he smirked before you both settled into the car. He motioned for you to take the gift out and you took no time reaching in. 

The soft fabric made contact with your fingertips before you pulled it out. In your hands rested a vermilion knitted scarf. On both ends of it were embroidered the explosion flares that matched the ones on the back of his hero mask. You couldn’t help the grin that came to your face when you saw it.

“You did this?” and you knew the answer before that question left your mouth.

“Yeah…it took a bit longer than I’d like to admit. I wanted you to have it since Canada tends to be colder than here. It killed me when I couldn’t give it to you before you left.” he explained before starting the car. 

“Well, lucky I came back when it’s starting to get cold again huh?” The smile you sent him eased his worries as the car started taking off. 

The two of you were silent for a few minutes, only the soft music playing was heard.

“So- where is everyone else? From your messages I thought everyone was coming?” you broke the silence.

“Oh, they figured you’d be exhausted from the new time adjustment so they’ll let you rest until tomorrow,” he answered.

“By the way, Izuku thought since I was the one picking you up, that you should stay with us? We have your guest bedroom all set up if you’re okay with it..” he added, his eyes not wanting to meet yours in case you rejected the offer.

“That sounds good. I really need to sleep in a familiar place tonight.” you didn’t know how tired you were until a yawn escaped you, and the soft music wasn’t helping at keeping you awake. Before you knew it, you were passed out in Katsuki’s car to the feeling of his steady driving and the passing road signs. 

When he parked, Katsuki knew he had to be gentle, let you get as much rest as you could. He went over to the passenger’s side and hooked his arms under you to carry you out. His dad opened the front door for him (he heard the car pull in and the driver’s doors shutting) and went to help bring your stuff inside. 

Katsuki brought you to the guest room and settled you down on the bed. Your unconscious self immediately wiggled further into the soft pillows as soon as he draped the blankets over you. Masaru left your bags on the floor at the end of the bed for you and the two left you alone to rest for the night.

When the next morning came around, you were disturbed from your sleep by the sound of loud yelling from the other side of the guest door.

“-Come on! It’s 1 in the afternoon! They’ve been asleep for 14 hours straight! I wanna see them!” that was Denki’s voice.

“Okay, just for that, you’ll be the last to see them. Leave my house.” Katsuki’s voice rang out. Denki laughed at his stern voice knowing he wasn’t serious. You mustered up the energy to get up, taking a moment to stretch, and going to open the door.

“(Y/N)!” Denki yelled before glomping you into a hug. You hugged back before meeting eyes with the rest of the group. Izuku was the next one to be hugged.

“I’m glad you got back alright.” Shinsou grinned before going in for his hug. One by one, everyone else got a hug too and they all let you freshen up before you met them all downstairs, meeting Mitsuki and Masaru’s hugs on the way. 

“So! What’s the big news that you wanted to tell us? I’ve been on the edge all day.” Denki asks as soon as you sit down in between Shoto and Katsuki on the big couch.

“Well, I got promoted at my firm! They want me to supervise the junior designers!” you exclaimed, but the grin on your face slowly disappeared when their faces didn’t show any excitement as you’d hoped. Bakugou could feel his heart steeling up to hear you say what he dreaded.

“Does that mean…you’ll be there permanently?” Shoto asked, the frown on his face only making his puppy eyes more heartbreaking.

“That’s the best part! They’re transferring me to their newest branch right here in Japan! I’m staying here!” and that was when they roared to life with cheers. Bakugou felt his heart settle down with joy.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT! I WAS ABOUT TO CRY!” Izuku yelled from his seat. And for the next several hours, you all spent the time talking to each other about everything that’s happened in the past two years. Katsuki couldn’t get the smile off his face, not that he wanted to in the first place.

When the evening came, you all separated ways, making sure to make plans to hang out soon to make up for lost time. 

“Want to take a walk with me?” Katsuki asked, his hand holding the scarf he made you. You nodded before going to put on your shoes. He gently wrapped the scarf around your neck before you two went to take in the November air. 

The sound of wind whistling through the autumn leaves accompanied you two for a few minutes. 

“Hey, do you mind if I read you something? I don’t think there’s a better time than now…” he trailed off, fumbling with something from his pocket. You nodded, watching him pull out a small envelope with a card inside, and you swore you could hear him taking deep breaths to calm himself. 

“Racking my brain for many days and many nights, For the right words to describe the way you make me feel. Like the fireplace warmth on a cold winter night, Like the first bite of food after starving for a meal,

Like discovering a new bloom On a long lasting plant. If I don’t say it now,  I might lose the chance.

(Y/n), I’m in love with you, I’ll say it a million times over if I must, I’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes, For me to gain back your trust.” 

His voice wavered as he read over what he wrote for you two years ago. And the two of you stopped walking as he finished. His stomach was on fire and it shows through the heavy blush on his face (He blames the cold weather).

“Did you write that?” you asked, not looking over to him, your breathing was stilled, not wanting to believe your ears.

“I did. I meant to give it to you with the scarf.” he cast his eyes down at his shoes. He prayed to anything that was holy that you still had some feelings for him, that he still had a chance to make it right, that he hadn’t lost you.

“Do you mean it?” your voice was so quiet, he almost missed the question. 

“Every word.” was his immediate answer. 

He was done being stupid. He was done denying his feelings for you. He was done with his massive ego that almost cost your friendship.

“(Y/n), if you don’t feel the same way for me anymore, I completely understand. I royally messed up and I hurt you. But if some part of you still feels the same way, please give me the chance to show you how much you mean to me.” he stumbled and walked to stand in front of you. His movement had you looking up and making contact with his red eyes that had determination written all over. 

“I just, don’t want to risk getting hurt again if this is a spur of the moment thing.” you explained to him and he was quick to shake his head.

“No, I promise you I’d sooner allow Shinsou to use his quirk on me than to ever hurt you again. It’s not a spur of the moment, I’ve waited two years for you and I’ll wait even more if you need time.” His eyes were begging you to believe him, and you’d never seen him like this before.

It tugged at your heartstrings, it nipped at your fingertips, it engulfed you whole; how much you loved him.

“One date.” you held up a finger to him to indicate your point. And his eyes lit up. His heartbeat raced.

“One date. Okay, okay good, great. Thank you!” he nodded and before he knew it, he planted a kiss on your cheek when he came in for a hug. It took the both of you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome, indicated by the blushes on your cheeks. 

Although he didn’t have a day in mind yet, Katsuki was planning to make you feel special whenever the day may be, and all the days after that. Yes, Shoto has called him whipped at least 6 times already, but he didn’t care (because, yes, he is.) There’s not a chance in hell he’s messing this up, he’s completely and hopelessly enamored of you, it’s about time he expressed it don’t you think?

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[20nugs]

Can you do a Matt fic, where the reader is terrified of flying, and on the plane Matt let’s her squeeze his hand and he whispers stuff to calm her. Just a lot of fluff and can it be where the reader and Matt are already dating pls? Like she’s flying to Boston with them to meet his parents for the first time and she’s just scared on the plane. I hope that made sense, I love your fics! <3

Flying (Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader)

summary: request!

cw: anxiety, kind of like trouble breathing due to stress?

a/n: based this off of my own experience of panic/anxiety. when this happens I have no one there for me to help because i don't tell anyone, so if the way Matt helped is inaccurate for you i apologize!

I jiggle my leg as I wait for the desk lady to call out our flight number. Matt and I are about to get on a flight to Boston from LA so I can meet his parents. I didn't tell him that it's my first time flying, and I'm panicking quietly about the fact that I'm going to be thousands of feet in the air in a metal tube with no way to escape if disaster strikes.

Matt places a gentle hand on my thigh, stilling my nervous shakes. "What's wrong baby?" He asks quietly, turning off his phone to shift his gaze to my face, his eyes scanning my expression. "Are you nervous to meet my parents? They'll love you, you don't have to worry about that."

"It's not that," I say, my voice strained as I try to calm my heartbeat that's currently moving a mile a minute.

"Then what is it?" He whispers, noticing my gaze that flicks around the room. The intercom crackles our flight number, and my heart and face drops, the moment I've been dreading for this entire time about to happen. Matt takes notice of this, and laces my fingers with his, helping me stand up. "You're afraid of the flight?" He asks, not mockingly, but curiously. "I thought you've flown before?"

I shake my head no quickly. "I haven't," I murmur. Matt squeezes my hand with his.

"I'll be with you the whole time," he tells me, slowly walking me over to our gate. "Since we're in first class, we're going to have a bed, will that make you feel any better?" I nod, my gaze on the floor as he gently pulls me along with him. We finally make through the gate and security, and start to board the plane. Matt wraps an arm around my waist. We make it to our section, and just like he said, there's beds. We put our luggage in the compartment and settle in, the sun already setting.

I hold onto Matt's hand with a death grip. I try to take deep breaths, but the room seems to be spinning and I can't seem to get a grasp onto what's going on, my breathing is shallow and everything around me deafens. My lungs falter, my ears ring and I can't keep my hands still. "Matt," I choke out. "I can't breathe."

He immediately attaches himself to me, an arm snaking around my waist. "Hey," he says, turning my head to look at him and placing my hand on his chest. "I'm here sweetheart. Try to match my breathing, okay?" I nod and feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. I match with him, our breathing in sync.

"Thank you," I murmur, hugging him.

"Anytime," he whispers, squeezing me tight. The flight attendant goes through the safety procedures and the pilot announces take off. Matt squeezes my hand, reminding me of his presence. I close my eyes, waiting for the plane to lift. I feel it take off, and realize as I open my eyes that it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. "You okay?" Matt asks, looking at me.

"Yeah," I breathe, nodding. He smiles and softly kisses me, and I melt into it, grateful for him. We lay back, and cuddle each other until we fall asleep for the remainder of the five hour long flight.

____

a/n: this was a short one! I've never flown before, but I have experienced these symptoms. If anyone ever needs someone to talk to about this, my dms are ALWAYS open!

as always, if you see any errors let me know and have an amazing night/day! love yall ☆

[cambion-companion]

Shades of Blue

I've always wanted to explore (even with my broken keyboard) how Thrawn would address someone he cares about needing comfort.

You sat with the other members of the Chimaera crew around the intercom table, your uniform doing very little to keep out the chill seeping into your tired bones. It was too early in the morning to function properly, you were sure your own face reflected the exhaustion you saw in the people sat around you. Well, all faces save for that of your commanding officer. Thrawn's face was devoid of any signs of fatigue, though his expression looked mildly bemused as his red eyes scanned his crew's slack positions.

To your left Commander Faro poured herself a generous amount of steaming caf into a white mug. The cozy smell of it filled the room with a little more life.

After a moment where the Grand Admiral allowed you all to adjust to alertness, he spoke. "I've summoned you this morning so we may continue addressing the Mynock infestation troubling supply lines."

It took everything in you to suppress a groan, the Chimaera and her crew had been trying with no success to rid the fuel chain of the wire-chewing pests. Something in your body language must have shifted enough to draw your Admiral's attention because Thrawn shifted his gaze to you. "What is your opinion?" His voice was smooth and low as it usually was, but he clasped his hands behind his back while waiting for your answer.

You had joined the Chimaera's crew several years ago and had proven to be a competent addition to the team, so much so that Grand Admiral Thrawn had specifically requested you stay on with him even after you'd been offered a position on a different Imperial Star Destroyer.

You met Thrawn's gaze with sudden alertness and confidence, straightening your posture and explaining what you thought to be the best next steps in addressing the Mynock issue. Thrawn nodded at your words, his expression unchanging though you noticed his lips lift slightly in a slight smile as you continued.

One of many things that set your commanding officer apart from all the others in the Imperial Navy was his habit of asking his crew and others who would be considered subordinates what they thought of any given circumstance. He valued the input of others, not a sentiment shared in any other circles that you knew of. This played a large part in why Thrawn's crew felt so loyal to him.

"Perhaps if all else fails we could even try sending out individual TIE fighters against the beasts?" You glanced around at your peers as you finished speaking, looking for anyone else to give their thoughts.

Lieutenant Roz, an experienced officer aboard the Chimaera, snorted a little derisively, his eyes still a little red from sleep deprivation. "And who's going to fly those fighters? I've told you several times already we don't have pilots yet available. I do speak not just to hear my own voice you know."

All eyes flicked back to your face as you flushed, your brow furrowing as you tried to recall that conversation. Lieutenant Roz had taught you many things but you were almost positive he'd never mentioned lack of TIE fighters. You doubted yourself just enough to remain in an embarrassed silence, however. Your eyes flickered over to where Thrawn stood. He didn't look pleased.

You cleared your throat a little awkwardly. "With respect Lieutenant, I don't recall such a conversation taking place."

Roz shot you a stern look. "That speaks to your own incompetence, not my own."

"That is quite enough, Lieutenant." Thrawn's voice was unchanging in its calm cadence, but there was an edge to his words that caused Roz to glance down at his hands upon the table a little bashfully.

You had retreated into yourself at Roz's last comment, your hands folding tightly on your lap as you tried to school your expression into a mask of emotionless politeness. Perhaps it was due to the early hour but his words had stung, especially as they weren't true. He hadn't actually told you anything of the sort yet just made you look like a fool in front of everyone.

Thrawn thanked you smoothly for your input and moved on to asking Commander Faro for any additional information. You hardly heard them however, your ears seemed to be ringing as you fought with your emotions, your lips pressing together as you pretended to drink from your own mug of caf in order to hide your face as you blinked rapidly.

The rest of your crewmates woke up more as the meeting went on past the hour mark and they spoke up and shared their own ideas and calculations but you remained silent. When the meeting adjourned and Thrawn dismissed you back to your stations you hadn't said a word or really looked up from the space of table occupied by your now empty cup.

You rose to stand slower than the others and packed away your papers before departing the room. You felt the Grand Admiral's eyes on your back all the way out the door, though you didn't look around to meet them.

Your feet took you automatically to the washroom where you splashed some cold water on your face, trying to shake this mood off. When you looked into the mirror even you were shocked with how sad your expression was. Definitely something you'd have to work on, being able to mask your emotions better. Especially with an Admiral as perceptive as Thrawn.

You sighed heavily and exited the washroom, taking a moment to pause in the dark hallway, peering out the window into the vast beautiful star scape.

"I value your input, Ensign."

You jumped a little at Thrawn's unexpected voice and turned to face him. His eyes seemed to be fixed very intently upon your face as he spoke. "Do not allow the blunders of others to limit your own voice."

You straightened and gave Thrawn a little smile. "Yes, sir." You sighed a little allowing vulnerability to show. "It was early and what was said probably affected me more than it should have."

Thrawn nodded slowly. "I must admit, the sleep patterns of humans is still a little foreign to me. Your bodies must rest far longer than I am used to." He paused, studying your face a moment, his hand going up to touch his chin thoughtfully. "You did bring up a point I was going to make myself."

Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "You were?"

"Indeed." A small smile touched the corner of Thrawn's eyes. "This may be the perfect opportunity to test my new TIE defenders and their maneuverability."

"But Lieutenant Roz said we don't have pilots." You couldn't help yourself from adding. "Look at that. I remembered."

Thrawn's lips twitched as though he were suppressing a smile, his eyes softening on your face. "Well done, Ensign. The matter of acquiring pilots should be an easy one to resolve." He seemed to think for a moment. "I will have you dispatch a request for three to be sent to the Chimaera posthaste."

You gave him a salute. "Yes, Grand Admiral."

"If I may add a few last words." Thrawn drew a little nearer, his tall stature causing you to tilt your chin up to see his face. "So long as you are striving to learn and improve upon yourself, that is enough for me. Do not hold yourself to an impossible standard of perfection nor allow others to influence your opinion of yourself." His eyes seemed to glow a little brighter as he placed a warm hand upon your shoulder. "And come to me first if anyone continues to be unduly impatient with you."

Your mouth was very dry as his hand rested on your shoulder, it's weight both a comfort and a little intimidating. He seemed to care a great deal about this predicament and your emotional state, it almost was as if he had his own personal experience dealing with such people.

After a moment of looking into each other's eyes, you nodded again at Thrawn, a small smile of gratitude softening your features. "Thank you."

Thrawn removed his hand and moved back to an appropriate distance, his voice was still soft and held a measure of fondness. "Dismissed, Ensign."

[illuminatedquill]

Sabine Wren

Short Cuts

Story Summary: A short series of scenes featuring Sabine Wren occurring throughout the first season of Ahsoka that help fill in the narrative gaps left by the hat man (Sabezra focused, of course).

Author's Note: I was super bored at work today and came up with some more headcanons for stuff that should have happened during Ahsoka. Enjoy.

One Last Thing Before I Go

Sabine Wren x Ryder Azadi

(Takes place near the end of Ahsoka 1x02, Toil and Trouble. Sabine visits Governor Azadi to ask for some last favors before she leaves.)

The intercom on Governor Azadi's desk chirped, signaling an incoming message from his secretary. He clicked the channel open.

"Azadi here. Go ahead," he said, scribbling away on some forms.

"There is a Sabine Wren here for you, Governor."

Ah, he thought. Decision time.

"Send her up, please," he replied.

His secretary, sounding flustered, said, "She, uh - never mind, she's already on her way to see you, sir."

Azadi sighed. "Of course she is." Formal decorum never was Sabine's style.

The doors to his office hissed open - and a Mandalorian walked in.

Azadi's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise until he recognized the familiar color scheme. Few Mandalorians painted their armor in such a vivid array of colors.

In fact, he knew only one.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Well, well," he drawled. "Don't you look spiffy."

The Mandalorian took off her helmet, revealing Sabine Wren - with a freshly shorn haircut. She had on a cocky grin and her eyes glinted with fierce determination.

Azadi felt his heart soar. Now that's the Sabine I remember, he thought.

"Still fits," she replied, showing off her armor.

"That it does," Azadi agreed. "I take it this means you're partnering up with Ahsoka again?"

"Yeah. We'll be on our way, shortly."

"Good, good." Azadi was in disbelief of Sabine's involvement when Ahsoka showed up and told him of her plans to ask for her help - until she revealed what was at stake.

Or rather, who was at stake.

"And your wound? It's not bothering you?" he asked.

Sabine reached down to her abdomen almost instinctively. "What, this? Nah, it's fine. All good to go," she said, dismissively.

Azadi snorted. "You were stabbed by a lightsaber, Sabine. Not very many people just walk that injury off."

She shrugged. "It's fine, Ryder." Her eyes flashed, dangerously. "I plan to pay it back, don't worry."

"Glad to hear it," Azadi said, firmly. "Anything else I can do for you before leaving?"

Sabine reached up and rubbed the back of her neck - a nervous gesture that sent a mysterious sharp pang of nostalgia through Azadi.

So familiar . . .

"Yeah, if that's alright with you."

"Of course. Name it."

Sabine looked at him. "First - I need someone to feed my loth-cat, Murley."

Azadi blinked. "You want - what?"

"Someone needs to feed my loth-cat. Twice a day. And probably play with him, too."

Azadi blinked again. "And . . . who do you have in mind for that?"

Sabine tapped a finger on her chin and smirked. "You could send one of those hotshot pilots you had chasing me down the speed-way the other day."

Azadi rolled his eyes. "You want me to use military resources to feed your cat."

"Yeah. If that isn't too hard for them."

"Sabine," replied Azadi, steadily, "if you're going to be annoyed, do it at me. I gave the order."

Her eyes flashed again. Azadi braced himself.

"You knew I wasn't going to show up at that ceremony. Haven't done so for years."

Azadi leaned forward, irritation creeping into his voice. "You're not the only one who misses Ezra. That ceremony is meant as a token of respect and gratitude towards everyone else who sacrificed and lost that day!"

He jabbed a finger at her. "What about them, Sabine? You forget about everyone else just because their name isn't Ezra Bridger?"

The smirk vanished in an instant. Sabine took a step backwards, rubbing at the back of her neck again in embarrassment.

Why is that so familiar to me?

Azadi took the moment to calm himself down. Way to go, old man, he thought. What a role model you are.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "I know Ezra meant a lot to you."

"No - no, you're right," she admitted. "I was being selfish."

Azadi hesitated for a moment, thinking - and decided to push forward anyway. "You were also being scared. Which isn't like you."

Sabine looked up at him. "You think I was running away."

"Yes," he confessed. "I was tired of seeing you run away from . . . everything. Life."

She was quiet for long moment, processing this. "I've been running my whole life, Ryder," Sabine said, sadly.

He studied her. "This trip with Ahsoka - are you still running?"

Sabine considered her answer for a few seconds and then spoke, confidently, "Yes. But the difference is I'm running to something now. Not away."

Running to someone, you mean, Azadi thought. I know your price. But the answer was sufficient for him.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. "I'll send one of my assistants to check on your loth-cat while you're away, Sabine. You have my word."

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Thanks, Ryder."

Azadi nodded. "Anything else?"

Sabine dug in her pockets and pulled out a hastily folded form. "Your secretary insisted I fill one of these out. It's an official request."

Azadi took and scanned the document. Smiling, he said, "Consider it done."

Sabine, in a surprisingly formal move, bowed her head. "I appreciate the help, Governor Azadi."

He blinked and bowed his head in return. "Of course, Commander Wren."

She turned to go - and paused. Rubbing the back of her neck again, he saw the embarrassed look -

And it clicked. The pang of nostalgia ran through him again, and he knew why the gesture looked so familiar to him.

Ezra used to do that. Whenever the boy was feeling flustered or unsure.

His heart ached - and not just for the lost Jedi. Oh, Sabine.

"Something else, Sabine?"

"I just - I just wanted to say thank you. For letting me stay on Lothal all these years."

For a moment, Azadi saw the young girl again, still in her teens, with the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders.

"Lothal will always be a home for you, Sabine. Wherever you go," he replied, a tear running down his face.

Sabine turned to him and smiled - a true smile, not her trademark smirk or mischievous grin; something he hadn't seen her do in years.

"I'll bring him home, Ryder," she promised. And she turned, departing with a wave.

Azadi wiped the tear from his face and looked down at the request she had given him once more:

COMMANDER WREN

REQUEST TO GOVERNOR AZADI

REGARDING THE MEMORIAL FOR THOSE FALLEN AT THE BATTLE OF LOTHAL

PLEASE REMOVE ONE NAME FROM THE MEMORIAL DUE TO ERRONEOUS SUBMISSION

NAME IS: EZRA BRIDGER

Azadi looked at the closed doorway where Sabine had left.

Softly, he said to the empty room, "Make sure you come back home, too, Sabine."

Down Time

Sabine Wren x Ezra Bridger

(Takes place during Ahsoka 1x07, Dreams and Madness. An extended version of Sabine and Ezra's conversation.)

Ezra was babbling again. Something about the Noti, their culture and their language.

Normally, Sabine would be listening with feigned interest but she just laid her head back on the weird dome that served as the nomadic crab people's domiciles/vehicles.

Her boots were propped in front of her and she just let Ezra talk.

The same thoughts kept cycling in her head, unceasingly.

Ezra's here.

He's alive. He's safe.

A small, dark voice in the corner of her mind interjected: he doesn't know what you did.

She locked down that train of thought, viciously. She would deal with that later.

For now, she just wanted to hear Ezra's voice; real, warm, and alive. Not being filtered through a holo-recording.

That alone made it all worth it. Just hearing him talk, in real time.

Sabine felt a sharp poke on her cheek. "Hellooo. Is this thing on?"

She grinned and said, "Just taking in the view, Ezra."

"Ah, yes," replied Ezra, dryly. "Peridea is famous for it's barren wastelands."

Sabine waved at the caravan surrounding them. "The locals are nice, though."

"True," Ezra admitted. "The Noti are nice. Saved my life a couple times."

Sabine stared at the open, grey sky. "Does it ever lighten up around here?"

Ezra shook his head. "Not really. Not much in the way of sun, around here." He cocked his head, thinking. "The nights are beautiful, though."

He considered it for a long moment, then admitted, "More beautiful than Lothal's nights. Hard for me to say that."

Sabine's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wow. That's saying a lot." She knew from many late nights just how beautiful the starry skies over Lothal looked.

Ezra shrugged. "At least, from what I remember. It's been a while."

Sabine winced. That last part had come out a little too casually.

"You can see a lot, at night?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah." Ezra's eyes lit up, as he said, excitedly, "You can see whole galaxies and nebulas - everything, Sabine. It's totally wizard."

She smiled at his wonder. "I'll take your word for it."

"I used to look up at the night and wonder which galaxy was home, you know," he said, his smile fading a little.

Sabine felt her own fading in response. "Did you ever figure it out?"

He shook his head. "No. I'd just choose a random one and . . . talk, I guess. Tried reaching out with the Force, to see if someone could get a message."

Ezra said, ruefully, "Didn't work, as you can see. But I still talked. Pretended it was Hera, Zeb, Kanan . . . you."

Sabine felt her heart ache. "What did you talk about?" she asked, softly.

"Just how things were going. What I experienced that day, good or bad." He paused.

"How much I missed everyone back at home," he finished. "Silly, really. But it helped."

Sabine reached over and gripped his hand. "You were missed, Ezra. You were missed so badly."

He blinked at her, tears welling up. "Really?"

"Of course," she said, firmly. Sabine could feel her own eyes begin to glaze over with unshed tears. "The whole crew split apart after you disappeared. We couldn't keep it together without you and Kanan."

His face turned sad. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she replied, quickly. "Don't even think of blaming yourself, do you hear me? It was just how it happened. We didn't hate each other or anything . . . it was just the war with the Empire and all of us had separate paths to take."

She tried to blink away the tears, remembering the aftermath of Ezra's disappearance; how quietly the Ghost crew, her family, had just . . . drifted apart.

Sabine wiped her face and looked up at the bleak sky of Peridea. "We held funerals for everyone who died during the battle, you know," she said, quietly.

"Kanan?"

Her throat became thick with emotion. "Yes."

She couldn't look at him, as she added, "And you."

Ezra was quiet for a long few moments, before saying, jokingly, "Hope mine wasn't too boring."

"I wouldn't know," Sabine replied. "I didn't go."

"Oh," was all Ezra said.

"They all believed you were dead," said Sabine. "I never believed it. I didn't want to believe it . . ."

Ezra interrupted her talk with a hug. Sabine froze, in shock, and then melted into him. She felt the strength, the love, the dedication, the surety of his care and affection for her -

All real.

All for her. What she had missed, craved so much in the past decade. It flooded into her, filling a dark hole that she had been ignoring inside of her, and the pain and relief of it made her weep.

And she sobbed into his shoulder. For Ezra, for herself, for all the years they had been apart and the damage that had been done.

"Why did you leave, you stupid idiot? Why did you leave me all alone? To fight all alone? We were supposed to finish this war together! Live and see Mandalore and Lothal revive during peace, together!"

She pounded a fist into Ezra's shoulder with each question, the tears and hurt and anger just pouring out of her, uncontrolled.

Ezra didn't say anything. He just accepted her fury, her despair, and responded the only way he knew how.

He just held her tighter. Keeping her from flying apart; keeping her whole.

When she finished, Ezra just continued talking about inconsequential things, like nothing happened.

Sabine loved him so much for that. For just accepting her and letting her be what she needed to be at that moment.

She took a moment to wipe away the snot and tears.

The dreaded voice, like a gremlin, spoke from the dark corner of her mind once more: he doesn't know what you did.

Maybe so, she retorted back at the voice. But I still have him for now.

She prayed to the Force - or whatever power ruled in this unfamiliar galaxy.

Please, just let me keep him for a while longer. Just a little while longer.

(Author's Note: I cried like a bitch writing this part.)

Someone Special

Sabine Wren x Ezra Bridger

(An extended epilogue to the Ahsoka finale 1x08, The Jedi, The Witch, and The Warlord. Sabine returns to the Noti camp after the 'Shadows in the Starlight' scene to find Huyang waiting for her with a surprise.)

"Lady Wren," called Huyang as she approached. "I have something here that might interest you."

Sabine frowned at the droid. "What is it?"

He held out a metallic box, crudely put together. Sabine peered at it closely: it looked like someone had done a rush job with welded together Imperial salvage. And all of it was built to -

Sabine's eyes widened. "It's a holo-recording."

Huyang nodded. "Indeed. I believe Master Bridger left a message for you."

Another recording. Sabine's heart raced at the thought.

Ahsoka, her master, caught up to her. "A message?" asked the older Jedi.

Sabine took the recording from Huyang's outstretched hand. "From Ezra. Do you mind if I take a listen?"

Ahsoka nodded. "Go ahead. I'll take first watch."

Huyang led the way inside one of the domes, where they could be alone. "The recording is in bad shape. If you don't mind, I'll observe to make sure it doesn't explode on you."

Sabine snorted. "Thanks, Huyang. Whatever would I do without you?"

"Explode, probably," replied Huyang, dryly.

Gingerly, Sabine set the recording down on a crate and cranked the power on. The machine sputtered and sparked - and then the lenses flared to a shimmering image.

Sabine gasped.

"Oh, dear," Huyang observed, sadly.

It was Ezra, alright. His hair wasn't quite as long; the beard not as scruffy. Younger than the current Ezra now.

But he looked hurt. A bandage, hastily applied, was wrapped around his mid-section; a dark stain was staining it, visible despite the thick gauze. His left arm was in a crude sling, made from some unknown cloth.

But it was his eyes. His eyes were the worst part. Haunted, bruised with a sadness and wariness that she didn't know he was capable of.

Ezra was hurting. Someone had hurt him.

Sabine's heart cracked at the image, but she forced herself to stay still. Her hands clenched into tight fists. "Thrawn," she hissed.

Ezra was peering at something and muttering; the audio didn't catch it until he took a few steps closer: " . . . think it's finally working. Yes!"

Despite his battered appearance, Ezra smiled and waved awkwardly with his one good hand. "Hey, Sabine. I mean - I'm assuming it's you watching this."

He took a deep breath and seemed to gather his courage for a moment, before speaking again.

"If you're watching this, Sabine, I'm probably dead."

Sabine's stomach dropped out of her. She could feel Huyang watching her, waiting.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," Ezra continued. He gestured at his injuries. "As you can see, today was a bit rough."

"It's been . . . I think three years since I came here? Wherever here is. Thought Thrawn had given up on finding me. I got sloppy."

He chuckled. "My mistake, obviously."

"I managed to scrape together enough salvage from the Chimaera; the purrgils took big chomps out of it when we came out of hyperspace. Took a while to get this holo-recorder built without the proper tools but I managed it. And today got me thinking that I should probably prepare a farewell."

"I don't know how it will happen. Most likely Thrawn. Or it could be something else. But I think it's coming. Don't know when or where. And I don't want you to come all this way without . . . without knowing."

Ezra reached up and rubbed the back of his head. She had to remind herself that Ezra was safe, he was heading back home.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead.

"In my last message, I told you I was counting on you. I don't know when you'll find this; I've given the Noti instructions to give this recording to anyone with the starbird symbol. They know what it looks like since I've been painting on all of them since I got here. I hope you like it. Not as good as yours, but I had to make do."

"If you're here now, then that means my faith in you wasn't misplaced. I hope the Empire was beaten and that Lothal was saved. You're probably home with your family in Mandalore now."

Sabine's stomach twisted; her parents, her brother. Her home. Ezra never knew.

Ezra's faced turned sad. "Please don't beat yourself up for getting here late. I don't regret a single thing - a single moment of my life. Any of it. I would do it all over again, given the chance."

With uncanny accuracy, the holographic Ezra seemed to look directly at Sabine.

"I'm doing this message now to say that I want you to lay down your burdens, Sabine. Live your life now. Be happy. Maybe . . . maybe find someone special to have in your life. You deserve it."

He paused and then said, emphatically, "Someone special like you were to me."

Her heart skipped several beats, a blush threatening to come.

Ezra turned away for a second, composing himself - and then laughed. "I think I said last time that you were like a sister to me."

Sabine snorted. As did Huyang, surprisingly.

Sheepishly, Ezra said, "You probably figured out that was a lie." Taking a deep breath he continued, "It wasn't the right word - but none of them seem to be right, when it comes to you. I just didn't want to burden you with . . . with how I felt before leaving."

He gestured in a frustrated manner. "And now I'm leaving again. But this time I don't want to leave with regrets."

Turning to look at her again, Ezra Bridger said, softly, "I love you, Sabine Wren. Always have. Always will."

"While we were on Mandalore a while back, I asked your brother for some Mandalorian phrases - and, well, here we go."

He raised his one good arm and pounded it to his chest in a formal Mandalore salute. Sabine choked back a laugh at the sight.

"My Lady Wren. It pains me that I cannot continue to stay by your side and see your song be sung. I hope that whoever you choose as your partner will do so, in my stead, and see that day when all of Mandalore acknowledge your courage, your passion, your honor, and your prowess as a true Mandalorian warrior."

Ezra's eyes were shining with tears.

"I hope, my Lady Wren, that you know that I will always cherish the time we had together, fighting side by side. That there was no other person who was your equal. And - " He stopped short, fully crying now.

Sabine was crying, too.

" - And I hope you know that I will always be grateful for the verses in your song that I could share. And that, one day, if you are ever on Lothal and the sun is shining and you feel a breeze and hear the tall fields of grass rustle, you will think of that as my song, to compliment yours."

Ezra was absolutely butchering the Mandalorian phrases, but it mattered little to Sabine. She cried at the sincerity, the love he was giving her; a final, parting gift.

He smiled, lop-sidedly, as he finally finished. Sabine felt a smile tug at her cheeks, too, despite the message's tone.

"Wow, that was easier than I thought," mused Ezra. "Should have done that much sooner."

He peered at the something - the holo-recorder, in his point of view. A beeping noise could be heard. "Ah, karrabast. I think the power's draining. Need to make this quick."

Huyang tsked. "Goodness, the language. Where did he learn that word from?"

Sabine chuckled weakly at the thought of Huyang meeting Zeb one day. His circuits would explode.

Ezra smiled and said, quietly, "Live and be happy, Sabine. I'll always be with you. I really do hope you find someone special in your life to share in all the laughter and joys and sorrows."

"I hope they know how lucky they are." He grinned and added, "I'm sure you'll be reminding them plenty."

The hologram began to fizzle. Quietly, Huyang said, "The power reserves are almost out."

Ezra raised a hand in good-bye, a sad, but loving smile playing on his face. "Good-bye, Specter-5. This is Specter-6, signing off."

The recording sputtered and died, leaving Sabine and Huyang in the dark.

After a moment, Huyang said, "I'll leave you be for the night, Lady Wren."

The droid walked out.

Sabine picked up the holo-recording gently and cradled it to her chest, feeling the tears track silently, warmly down her cheeks.

Someone special in your life.

"Yeah, I did find someone special," she choked out through the sobs. "And I'll be reminding him plenty when I get back.”

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 5: Scared Enough

Authors Note (CW: substance abuse)

Previous chapters linked in my Masterlist

Word count: 4.6k

 The chauffeur observes you all too closely, pacing outside Dami’s dressing room. You're both waiting for him to do a final line of coke before leaving for the airport. Then he flushes everything down the toilet and scrubs out the pill case.

“Are you gonna be okay for another four hours?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be lucky if this high lasts half an hour.”

“So what do you do on airplanes?”

“Drink and suffer.” He laughs at the face you make. “I deserve it, I did this to myself.” Dami keeps that smile plastered on, but it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks downward to hide it, awkwardly scuffing the end of his boot against the carpet. You sigh heavily, yearning for the right words, but being unable to find them.

“We have to leave now if we want a chance of making our flight.”

“Yeah.” Damiano essentially chain smokes all the way to the airport and refuses to eat, so you end up consuming half the pizza. He insists on carrying your bag while the valet checks his. On the walk to the gate, you trail behind Dami and tuck your hair under a beanie. Unfortunately sunglasses at night draw more attention, not less.

You make it with negative five minutes to spare; they’re already boarding business class. To avoid a disgruntled traveler filming the entitled rich couple cutting in line, you stand at the very back. The stewardess panics over the fact that first class passengers were the last to board. Damiano uses a bit of his magic to calm her and stop attracting curious glances.

“No complaints here, I promise.” He leans forward enough to just barely breach her personal space and lets his husky baritone take over. Dami has this ambiguous closed lip smile that's totally up to the eye of the beholder. Their interpretation reveals the victim’s motivations. This girl wants to fuck Dami, and you don’t blame her. In fact, she’s so taken that she can only manage a nod. 

Once out of earshot you murmur, “that poor girl.”

“What?” Damiano says under his breath.

“You know what.” He smirks and steps on to the plane. “Let's hope she doesn't fuck up some poor family’s travel itinerary while dickmatized.” Dami scoffs as he shoves your bag into the overhead compartment. 

“It’ll be fine,” he dismisses.

“Says the one without the screaming toddler and 15 hour layover.” This earns a chuckle and he gestures for you to take the window seat.

“Proximity to the bathroom is probably the best plan of action.”

“Stomach still upset?”

“I’m hoping that now it's the kind of upset that can be made better by food that way I can drink.’

“Charming. Maybe wait a bit?”

“Ah, but there's a method to this. You’ve got to start drinking preemptively, that way you’re already drunk when the time for alcohol consumption arrives.” You can tell by Dami’s delivery that he’s used this line at parties and it always landed well. When he sees your face, his confidence drifts away.

“While you're…away I’ll stop drinking, too. That way you have a sobriety buddy.”

“Mm, ‘buddy,’” he winces.

“Yes, ‘buddy.’ Until I’m confident you’re not gonna put your ass in a coma, again. And then some.” 

“Fair, that’s fair.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Damiano leans his head back against the seat and exhales heavily. The sound of the pilot's voice on the intercom makes him startle.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Out of habit you rub his leg, then realize that rubbing his arm is much more platonic, albeit awkward. You decide that the middle ground is petting his hair. The buzzcut is surprisingly soft under your fingers.

“Will you grow it out while you’re there?”

“Do you want me to?” He turns his head to look at you, eyebrow raised. Suddenly, making requests about his appearance has much more significance than it did a moment ago.

“Yes,” you answer timidly.

“Then I’ll grow it out.” It's the most tense airplane ride of your life. You’re trying to monitor how hard Damiano’s crashing, while realizing you have no actual experience with cocaine or withdrawals. What do you look for and how do you look for it without him noticing? One fact is abundantly clear, whether you catch his symptoms or not, there isn’t jack shit you can do about them. 

Soon after the plane has leveled out, he gets jumpy. A cough or the ding of the seatbelt light spook Dami so severely that he has to catch his breath. He starts craning  his neck, looking around at the rest of the plane. Eventually he leans all the way out into the aisle then snaps upright, gluing his back to the seat like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“I feel like people are filming me.”

“Lets trade seats.” While switching places, you scan the plane for phones. Everyone in first class is laying down except for one woman reading an article on her computer. There's an opaque, closed curtain between first class and business class. The pattern is gaudy, mustard yellow and cobalt blue. Realistically, the only people that could film Dami were those walking up the currently empty aisle or fatigued stewardesses who would be fired for the transgression.

“No one's filming, you’re good. They’re mostly sleeping.” A bored flight attendant infers your concern and hangs a temporary privacy curtain on two small hooks. Damiano orders a mini charcuterie board and two shots of whiskey.

“They’re still filming me,” he hisses, slouching down in his chair. The plane is dark, so you search for the bright light of a camera flash and see nothing.

“Dam, I’m positive no one is filming. If they were, they couldn’t catch anything.” The flight attendant returns with his order and a payment terminal.

“Oh, and two bottles of water please.” You reach down for your purse, but Dami bats your hands away.

“I –”

“No. Do you want anything else?”

“I’m good.” He gives you a dirty look. “I ate your dinner on the drive to the airport.” Dami lets this slide and passes her his debit card. Already knowing that the beep is gonna make him jump, you take your hand in his and whisper, “gonna be a noise. Deep breath.” Dami keeps hold of your hand, even as the stewardess passes his card back, even as he puts it back in his wallet, even as he shoves his wallet into the pocket of his hoodie. Then he leans over and presses his forehead to your temple and all you can think is thank god he’ll be in a secure facility. Because nothing short of that could keep you from throwing your morals to the wind and rechristening your once shared bed.

“It was Aimee, the girl who’s roommate I started – I first did H with.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“But I broke my promise,” his voice wavers, barely audible. “At first it was celebrating the new contract, but then I couldn’t stop. I thought I wouldn’t need any of it, once SME let up. Like I’d forced their hand and the drugs had just been a tool to get my way. I wasn’t an addict.” You push the armrest up, undo your seatbelt, and turn to hug him. “My quality of life is better, but I still needed all this shit to alter my perception so I could exist. In my mind it was strictly a causal relationship. That was fucking delusional.”

“No it wasn’t.” Damiano cries against the shoulder of your sweater and you rub his back.

“I’m so fucking scared,’ he confesses. “I thought I had control so it was like the floor disappearing out from under me. Months of rationalizations built on a lie and I was just falling and it still feels like I’m falling.”

“I’ve got you.”

“That fucking feeling is the reason I don’t go on rollercoasters and now I get to feel it all the time, how painfully ironic is that?”

“Fate has a really twisted sense of irony.”

“The world is punishing me and I deserve it.” You pull back and cup Dami’s colorless face in your hands.

“No you don’t,” you emphasize, brushing tears away with your thumbs. “Thinking you deserve pain, that's the reason it's so hard for you to quit, because you can’t bear to be alone with yourself. I love being alone with you. Dami, you are a beautiful person.” He kisses you, and really you shouldn’t have expected anything else. The responsible thing would be to pull away and gently reestablish a boundary, but you’ve been craving this so hard. Five seconds, that’s the amount of time you allow.

In those five seconds, you kiss back with equal vigor. The hands cupping Damiano’s face end up extended behind his head. With elbows out of the way, you can press your torso against his while Dami pulls you close, then closer still. His tongue has just found yours when times up. Unfortunately, you don’t have the discipline to wrench yourself away and instead pull back slowly. Damiano responds by trying to haul you into his lap, but you make a noise of dissent. There's a chaste goodbye kiss and a sexually-charged disentangling of bodies. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's uh…” Not out of my system by any measurement.

“It’s just that, um –”

“Mhm”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, no sorry I didn’t –”

“No, you go first.”

“Saying anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything, sorry.”

“Oh..okay.”

“What were you saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a second ago, you were saying something before I interrupted you.”

“Oh, I was just gonna say that…five months – well, it's almost been five months – is a lot of time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Yeah…since the breakup.”

“Since we last made lo – the breakup. Since we made the break up.”

“Also since we last made love,” you smirk. You hold eye contact, just like you’ve been all day, but this time there's heat behind it. Damiano’s eyes fall to your lips and he leans in again. You hold up a hand to stop him while grimacing. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault. I’ve been giving you mixed signals, acting like we’re still in a relationship physicality-wise while saying we have to keep our distance for now. I’m just so used to comforting you through touch and I have no idea where the line is to be honest.”

“Sometimes touch is the only thing that is comforting, especially yours.”

“I’m just a physically affectionate person, like I need human contact to feel grounded.”

“I know,” he empathizes emotionally.

“So I’m not good at this,” you admit. “But I wanna be, it’s just…” you sigh while staring at the 80s patterned carpet.

“What?”

“I think if we’re physical my body will forget that we’re broken up. My mind will know, but I think I’ll still feel heartbroken if you aren’t there.”

“Baby, no,” he coos.

“I can’t go through it again and still be the support you need me to be and that I want to be. The affection…for lack of a better word, withdrawals were…rough. But I don’t want to act like strangers either. Like this,” you lace your fingers together, “should be fine, right?”

“Yeah,” Damiano murmurs, but his eyes say so much more.

“So I just have to do my best to keep it at this.” You squeeze down simultaneously, all too easily falling into rhythm with each other. “And ignore the part of my brain that tells me to crawl into your lap, take off all my clothes, and give you a bath with my tongue.” Damiano’s eyes go wide and he blinks a couple times in quick succession. 

“Sorry, that was a little graphic.”

“Actually I’m mentally bookmarking that image for tomorrow afternoon.”

“That's when things will get ugly?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve never detoxed from H before, but they have medication to help with that.” He’s visibly nervous and sweating. Damiano opens the shot with one hand and his teeth, then knocks it back. You set a bottle of water on his tray in response. He drinks a quarter of that, which you're feeling good about until he takes the second shot.

“Eat something or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I know,” he retorts, annoyed. To be fair, Damiano does know a lot more about substances and how they combine than you do. As he’s eating, Dami looks at the row behind us through the crack between the seats. Finally, you recognize it as paranoia.

“I’ll check for phones again, you just keep eating.” The woman on her computer is now working on a spreadsheet and the person directly behind Damiano is watching Casablanca on his phone. Definitely not the Maneskin demographic. Beyond first class, even more passengers are dozing and there's not a single flash from a phone camera. 

“Still no one.” The guy behind us is watching a movie in black and white, so I seriously doubt he knows who you are.” 

“Fine,” Dami concedes, still on edge. He orders two more shots and you haven’t seen him consume alcohol like this since he was a teenager. Sure, he’d have four drinks at an egregiously long event, but shots of crappy whiskey in quick succession was a different behavior entirely. He unclasps his hand and excuses himself to the bathroom. It’s so casual that you can’t ascertain why. When Damiano returns, he doesn’t take your hand again, so you pretend to be on your phone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good.” If you weren’t broken up, you’d fling your legs over his lap and coax him to look at you. If you weren’t broken up, he’d stroke your hair and tuck it behind your ears. Then he’d massage the shell of your ear. If you weren’t broken up, you’d press your foreheads together and Dami would say everything he meant with his expression. Totally vulnerable, he’d confess his thoughts in a whisper, wrapping an arm around your waist. If you weren’t broken up, you’d know details he’d never disclose to anyone else. The emotional intimacy would throb with the beat of your heart. You’d become so accustomed to having your person, and the total vulnerability which accompanied that.  

But you were broken up, so you sat in silence. By the time the place descends, Dami is visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He has no patience, glowering at the passengers around him. At first the lights coming on is the problem, then the ding of the seatbelt warning, then the way the pilot is descending.

“I need to be off this motherfucking plane,” he hisses. He yanks down the privacy curtain then complains how exposed first class is. You just listen to him and don’t comment. Luckily, the flight attendant allows the both of you off first. This time you carry your own bag until that pisses Dami off too and he lugs it over his shoulder with a scowl.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” he announces, when you arrive at baggage claim. You grab his hand and point to the family bathroom.

“Use that.”

“Why?” he bites. “Why can’t I use a normal fucking bathroom.” You scowl right back.

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot. Because you could ask someone for drugs, or sneak away, or refuse to get in the car. I am far too tired to deal with that shit.” He rolls his eyes, sighs loudly, and heeds your request. Five years of dealing with his mood swings had prepared you for this like none other.

The chauffeur finds you, then finds Dami’s bag, all while he’s still in the bathroom. Had he somehow gotten his hands on something? You’d been with him the whole time. After ten minutes you knock on the door.

“You alive?” He undoes the lock and you slip inside. Dami is bent over the sink with his face in his hands.

“I’m not gonna survive the drive there.” He takes a shaky breath in and sobs. “And I can’t detox from both simultaneously, so don’t fucking asking me to. I want to go home!” 

 “Damiano, in five months you have been hospitalized four times for your substance abuse. You’ve been in a coma. You’ve started taking two of the hardest drugs known to man. You’ve been one modicum of self-control away from doing crack. You’ve poisoned your body to the point that it can’t retain food or liquids. You are going to die.” He looks up in shock. “You are going to die unless you get sober and if I take you home with me, you are gonna do it in our apartment.” There's a long silence where Damiano opens and closes his mouth a couple times, then swallows hard.

“I’ve never experienced physical withdrawal symptoms like I’m about to. I’m…I’m not – I mean, I can’t.”

“You only have to do it once and this is the easiest it's ever gonna be. I know you’re brave enough.”

“You know fuck all!” he lashes out. “It’s not about bravery or some positive affirmation bullshit.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I know you hate me right now.”

“I don’t hate you,” he grumbles, standing upright. 

“What you’re feeling is a result of withdrawals. That doesn’t invalidate your emotions, it just means that this particular brand of shitty is very temporary.” Damiano nods and washes his face, beginning to regulate. “That also means that your perception is skewed. The world isn’t nearly as horrible as your brain chemistry is fooling you into believing.

“Okay,” he sniffs. Then he repeats himself with certainty. “Okay. I’m gonna do this. I’ll be okay.” On the walk to the car you trail behind him again, prepared to catch Damiano if he makes a run for it. Once everything is in the Sudan you relax, but Dami has his hands balled into fists as you turn out of the airport.

“Just 40 minutes” you remind him. “Less since there's no traffic right now.” 

“Partition, please,” Dami requests, creating privacy behind the tinted windows. Barely perceptible is the sound of a small motor as the driver rolls up the partition between himself and the backseat.

“You wanna lay down with your head on my lap?” He nods and undoes the seatbelt, curling his body to fit in the small space. As soon as your hand makes contact, Dami begins crying. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to be exposed, to be truly seen. It's the part of him that used to ask for French braids. He’d never actually wear them in public, but loved the sensation. It was the part of him  that got genuinely nervous about you enjoying a family recipe. The part that could relax and receive when you fingered him with two digits.The part that lay with Princess on his bare chest because he liked the way her fur felt.

“I don’t want to be alone with myself,” Dami confesses. “I can’t remember the last time I liked that person. Fuck, I’m starting to hate my own stage persona.”

“Front men are supposed to be obnoxious to non-fans. If you were likable to the previous generation of rock listeners, you wouldn’t be rock and roll.” 

“Maybe I’m a shitty musician.”

“Someone could justify that statement about most rockstars.” 

“Every tour, every album, every new fucking setlist, I watch the power trio get more talented and I just say the same.”

“That’s objectively not true, but I know I can’t convince you of that today.”

“I should take vocal lessons.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Suddenly he’s abrasive.

“Because it will make you feel more productive and more confident. It could also help the longevity of your voice.”

“Oh.” He settles and allows you to stroke his head. “Why is it so quiet?” he gripes.

“Could you roll down the partition and hand me the aux, please?” Leaning over to dig your phone out of your purse also results in Dami getting a face full of your boobs. He seems to be in better spirits afterwards.

“This band is called Snowy Dunes. It’s bluesy hard rock, I think you’ll really like it.”

‘“That's not what I’ve been listening to lately, but sure.”

“Crotchety old man.” Damiano does, in fact, keep his head on your lap the whole way there. There’s two fences, the first with an attendant and the second with an intercom. The security level seems to pacify Dami.

“Just stay in the car, please. I’ll get it,” he says to the valet. You hop out as he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. It’s the very beginning of dawn, when the world is painted in a deep blue light and the birds start to chirp. The facility is just as beautiful as you expected, well manicured trees barely visible and a grand entrance with double doors. The care idles, red taillights ominously hitting the octagon cement tiles. You take Dami’s hand and walk him inside.

“And I thought the other places I’ve been to were nice,” he murmurs.

“Remember that you put yourself on the waiting list three months ago.” He chuckles, before speaking on another intercom.Theres a clicking sound and the left door opens automatically.

“Hey there, we only keep this entrance locked at night,” is the first thing a staff member says. “Are you Damiano?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to run.

“I’m y/n, I spoke with you earlier.” You drag him inside and use your free hand to greet someone in a white uniform.

“A little apprehension is normal. Or a lot.”

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asks curtly. 

“Right through here,” responds who you now assume to be an orderly. He leads Dami around a corner and follows him inside.

“Hi there, would you mind if I ask you a couple questions?” A newly appeared nurse seats herself behind a counter on the other side of the hall. The lights were almost as low inside as they were outside.

“Oh, uh yeah! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. And uh, he doesn’t have anything on him. We just traveled through two of the biggest airports in Europe. His stomach has just been upset from y’know…”

“Right, of course,” she responds with genuine sympathy. Now you feel better about leaving him here. “I’ll say goodbye and get out of your hair as soon as he’s back.”

“What's your relationship to Damiano?”

“Well, I was his girlfriend for five and a half years.”

“Woah, five years is a lot in your early twenties.”

“Yeah…but we broke up, because of the…addiction issues. Plus the fame makes things…it makes them complicated.” What you really meant is that global popularity is so intrusive that vital aspects of a relationship go unattended because there's simply no room. She nods like this is something they see daily.

“Do you know what he’s taken in the past 24 hours?”

“Cocaine, uh alcohol, and maybe heroin, I don’t know. He smokes weed and rolled tobacco, plus normal cigarettes.” There's not an ounce of surprise or judgment. She enters the information into the computer like it's the weather report.

“Crack cocaine?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The clicks of the laptop seem loud, but maybe that's because the world around you is so silent.

“He only started using heroin regularly three weeks ago. I don’t know if that matters.” You feel defensive of Dami, then like an dumbass because you were standing in rehab for fuck’s sake. Anxious, you look over your shoulder.

“Do you know when the last time he used heroin was?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he’s ingesting it?”

“No.”

“And do you know what type of heroin he’s using?”

“Um, no. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she reassures. “We’re just happy to have a little extra information if you’re able to provide it. Do you know when he last ingested cocaine?”

“Four hours ago.”

“Alright. Do you have payment information? It looks like his intake fee has already been paid.”

“Yeah, that was me.” While you were dating, Damiano paid rent and you paid utilities. It was far from equatable, but you made a lot less and he insisted. Post breakup, you found out that a spacious apartment in Rome with private parking was even more exorbitantly priced than he’d led you to believe. So you’d called your landlord to clarify a move out date and were informed that in addition to taking himself off the lease as agreed, he’d paid out the two year contract in its entirety. If you were to move out, the remainder of the money would be yours. 

Subsequently, you decided to stay in that absolutely gorgeous apartment, right up until you needed the money for something. After thoroughly guilt tripping your landlord, he gave you half of the remaining lease payment, which you used for application fees and to eventually secure a spot at rehab for Dami. It was, after all, a totally ridiculous amount for him to essentially give you, with no way of rejecting or returning it.

“I’m not sure if his label is gonna pay directly or reimburse him or what.”

“Alright, so I’ll just collect that information later.” She looks up from her computer screen. “The important thing is that you got him here.” You bite the inside of your lip to suppress the urge to cry. No doubt you were gonna end up lying in a pool of your own tears and snot later today, but if you started now saying goodbye would be very ugly.

“How much pain is he gonna be in?” Before she can answer, there's two sets of footsteps behind you.

“No windows?”

“Not ones that I could reach.”

“If you were the proper height for a basketball player…”

“Oh, shut up,” he jokes (mostly). “So which one of you is gonna tear apart all my belongings like a racoon in a dumpster?”

“Damiano!” You’re laughing too hard to reprimand him, as are the two staff members.

“They’re gonna throw out my 70€ shampoo!”

“You don’t have hair!”

“That’s true,” he smiles, rubbing his buzz cut. This was so like him, rallying at the end so you could leave in good spirits. He was trying to spare you some anguish. It also meant he’d decided to commit.

“We actually have storage lockers for this very reason. Once we feel confident, you can have your shampoo back,” reassures the nurse. “Do you have a form of ID you can show me?”

“Uh, yeah.” His voice wavers ever so slightly. Next he signs a release to provide treatment.

“Looks like you’re all checked in,” she announces in a cheery voice. It's your cue to leave. Both staff members find a reason to look away so you have a moment of semi-privacy. It becomes apparent that your tears won’t wait for a more convenient moment. So you hug him to give yourself a tiny bit of grace to wrangle your emotions. 

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.” The hug isn’t platonic at all, with your arms thrown around his neck and his dangerously low on your back. Body to body, standing with your feet between Dami’s, any closeness that can be acceptably achieved in public has been.

“I’m so angry with the world that you have to deal with this and I’m –” You take a steadying deep breath. “I’m so fucking proud of you and for facing it an – and grateful.”

“Even though it scares me shitless?”

“Especially because it scares you shitless.”

“I love you.” He whispers it right in your ear and kisses your temple

“I love you, too,” you hiccup.

“Give Princess a kiss for me.” He pulls away, takes a step back, then another, and he’s gone without ever meeting your eyes. Seeing as they have actual patients to care for, you drag yourself back to the SUV. Then you cry so hard that the chauffeur stops at his brother’s gelato shop on the way home. 

Notes: Well if it isn't some more nice, light reading from your gal FilthforFriends!

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