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peachy-panic · 1 year

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Take Me Instead

A quick little chapter I couldn’t shake free from my brain. Part of Fifty-Eight Days.

WARNINGS: Captivity, sickness, vomiting, self sacrifice, implied abuse, very loosely implied past/future noncon

Grayson had hours to formulate a plan in his head—hours to steel his resolve into implementing that plan when the time came—but no amount of preparation could have lessened his terror when the cellar door finally opened.

He didn’t wait for them to speak first.

“He’s not going with you,” Grayson told them, voice trembling. “Not tonight.”

Predictably, the Tall One’s hand went to the gun at his hip. Grayson hunched forward on instinct, throwing the feeble protection of his body over the head in his lap. He held his breath, listening for sounds of awareness, but Elijah didn’t stir.

“He’s sick,” Grayson said in a hushed tone, desperate not to wake him.

He didn’t know if it was the shitty food they were given, the inevitable result of weeks of abuse, or a really fucking cruelly timed stomach flu, but Elijah had been in a constant state of misery for the last twenty-four hours.

All through the night, Grayson sat at his side, rubbing his back and pushing hair away from a clammy forehead as Elijah heaved into one of the old, empty buckets in their cell. Grayson soaked and re-soaked the same torn patch of his shirt with their limited water supply, pressing it to Elijah’s neck in hopes of quelling the fever that had his whole body wracking with shivers. Sleep had largely evaded them both, but Grayson eventually managed to lull him into some semblance of rest between bouts of nausea.

Grayson’s mother was a germaphobe. She was loving and nurturing and motherly in all the ways that mattered, but something in her brain overpowered that maternal instinct when it came to contagion. Growing up, whenever he or his siblings got sick, they’d be quarantined in their room and surrounded by a vapor cloud of disinfectant spray until it passed. That was fine for Grayson, but he always had a harder time accepting that isolation on behalf of his little brother and sister.

For as long as he remembered, whenever they got sick, it was Grayson who snuck into their rooms and held them until they felt better. Who made sure they didn’t feel alone. His little brother liked to have his hair stroked. His little sister liked when Grayson would sing to her.

For Elijah, Grayson called upon every memory of comfort he could, knowing none of it could stand up against their circumstances but determined to try anyway. And Finally, Elijah slept.

That was good. Grayson needed him asleep for this next part.

“Tell him he can have me instead.”

The guards stared back at him for a few seconds, then Goatee barked an ugly laugh in his direction. Grayson tightened his hold on Elijah’s shoulder, willing him to stay asleep.

“Tell him,” he said again.

The two of them exchanged a look, followed by a few words in another language. Then, to his surprise, the door slammed shut.

Grayson blinked into the dark, listening to the familiar sequence of shifting locks. Elijah began to stir in his lap.

“Shh,” he said quickly, resuming the soft brushes through his hair. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Go back to sleep.”

Several minutes passed before he heard footsteps in the hall again. Grayson pulled in a quivering breath and straightened his back. He could do this.

When the door opened again, it was Myles Voss standing in the threshold.

It wasn’t often—though still too frequently by his own measure—that Grayson addressed him in person. Thrills of hatred and fury and terror ran down his spine as Myles spoke.

“I hear you have a proposition for me?” His eyes slid down to Elijah’s head on his thigh, then back to Grayson.

As unobtrusively as he could manage, Grayson slid himself out from underneath Elijah’s weight and settled his head on the ground. When he didn’t wake, Grayson pushed himself onto his feet, ignoring the tingling numbness in his leg, and turned to Myles with his hands raised in surrender.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t take him today. He can’t handle it. Please, let him sleep.”

“I have a very comfortable bed upstairs,” Myles said. “Ask him.”

Grayson gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't break apart like brittle porcelain in his mouth. “Please,” repeated slowly. “Take me instead. I’ll go willingly. I… I won’t fight you.”

Grayson knew exactly what he was offering himself up to, but he didn’t hesitate. Because in the back of his mind, there was this razor sharp memory, slicing away at him over and over: Last night, Elijah’s teeth chattering, his whole body vibrating with chills that he had no way to ward off. The too-hot skin of his cheek pressed against Grayson’s thigh, and the tickle of breath against the hair of his leg when Elijah whispered a heartbreakingly innocent, “I don’t feel good.”

The idea of Elijah being taken out of this room and dumped at the feet of Myles Voss’s mercy was not something Grayson could handle on any occasion, but in this state? Grayson wouldn’t survive it.

A smile broke out over Myles’s face.

“That’s very sweet of you,” he said, then flicked his eyes to where Elijah was curled up behind him. “What do you think he would say about that plan?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Grayson knew exactly what Elijah would say about it. But he was dead to the world, and in this moment, Grayson needed him to be.

Seconds bled into an eternity under his scrutinizing gaze. It was hard to make out his expression in the darkness of the cell, but Grayson could feel it crawling over his skin like eyes leering out from the edge of a dark woods.

“Okay,” Myles said. He took a step back, clearing the doorway in a wordless command for Grayson to follow. “Let’s go, then.”

TAG LIST: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @distinctlywhumpthing @diyalogues @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @wicked-whump @scp-1296 @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @whumpcereal @reflected-pain @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @flowersarefreetherapy

#fifty-eight days: grayson and elijah #whump #whumplr #whump writing #captivity whump #sick fic #sick whump

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ascendthisday · 2 years

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Driving Rain

gif by veilofmegiddo

Pairings: Myles Kennedy/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,200~

Info: Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Married Sex, No Vaginal Sex

Summary: “Jeez, I can’t see the road through this damn rain,” Myles mumbles, flexing his grip on your thigh. His other hand holds the wheel tight and straight. “Why don’t we pull over and wait for the rain to thin out a little bit?” You smile, placing your hand on top of his.

Authors Notes:ITS MYLES BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABYYYY!!! we love you so much, here's something myles orientated for just for him <3

“Jeez, I can’t see the road through this damn rain,” Myles mumbles, flexing his grip on your thigh. His other hand holds the wheel tight and straight. “Why don’t we pull over and wait for the rain to thin out a little bit?” You smile, placing your hand on top of his. Your silver wedding bands clink together. He grunts softly and nods. Carefully, he guides the two of you off into the shoulder. The headlights of your humble Hyundai illuminate a wide path of yellowed rain, yet they can only go so far. The vehicle comfortably glides to a stop.

“You look handsome.” You grin, looking over at your husband. He’s got all of his hair pushed up into his woolen beanie which gives you a comfortable view of his face. His cheeks and nose are sweetly flushed from the wisp of cold air floating around the car despite the heated air blowing out of the vents. Myles is bundled up almost comically with a large puffer jacket stacked on top of a few jackets and a nice scarf wrapped around his neck. Beneath that scarf is something only the two of you know of: a handful of hickeys you had sucked into his sweet skin the night before. “You, too. Or uh- you look beautiful, I mean. Oops.” He nervously stumbles on his words. It was sweet, he was just as sweet and nervous as the day the two of you met. He was so in love it was almost painful.

“Ah, you’ve got such a way with words.” You tease and snicker at his embarrassment but go in for a kiss anyway. He goofily smiles at you and leans into your body, closing his eyes as your lips touch. You let your eyes flutter shut but quickly let them open to undo your seatbelt. Once you're given more leverage, you lean over the center console and gently trail your hand across his jawline. It’s soft and delicate, almost like him. “Sorry about the weather. Sucks, it's throwing off your birthday plans.” You mumble, breath gently brushing against his lips as you slightly pull away.

“Yeah.” He nods in agreement, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The two of you are silent like that for a moment, just cradling each other's faces and taking each other in. Then, you speak. “You know what? I think I could make up for the weather if you let me.” You suggestively grin, trailing your fingers down his cotton-covered chest and toward his belt buckle. “Here? What if someone sees?” He coughs out, embarrassed and weirdly turned on by the risk. “You can always keep watch and tell me if someones coming over here, but I doubt anyone else is driving in this weather.” You hum and begin to nimbly undo his belt. The large metal buckle clanks against the prongs as you pull the leather open.

You draw your legs under your body in the car seat and maneuver your body to face him, throwing your torso over the center console. He sighs as you undo the button to his pants and tug down the zipper. You carefully slide your fingers into the fly of his boxers and pull out his half-hard cock. you could never get sick of Myles- ever, but if you were to, you’d still love his cock. It’s just outright pretty! It’s a solid six or so inches, cut, and a soft pale pink at the tip. He’s got one mole near the base of it that you’re just absolutely obsessed with. Myles is clean-shaven from the neck down, including his pubic hair. You had always found it funny, but he had a good reason! He firmly believed having a big bush coming out of his uber-low-rise pants would look ridiculous.

Normally, in any other situation, you’d take your sweet time teasing Myles and reducing him to a whimpering mess, but giving head in the car gets uncomfortable fast! So, you settle with getting straight to the point. You give a soft, almost experimental kitten lick to the head, absorbing the salty flavor of sweat and precum on his skin. That's something else you’d never get sick of, the way he tastes. It’s just so distinctly Myles. Then, you lick a firm strip from the start of the underside of his cock to his tip. He shudders almost dramatically when you finally put it in your mouth. You’re gentle yet firm as you suck him off, bobbing your head in an almost rhythmic manner.

“So good for me.” He moans out, gently lacing his fingers through the roots of your hair. He doesn’t pull or lead you around, just simply rests his hand there. You tease your tongue around that soft spot he’s got on the underside of his cock, just below where the tip meets the shaft. Myles groans and grabs your hair a little tighter, letting his nails scrape across your scalp ever so slightly. You moan around his cock, causing him to desperately flex every muscle in his body. He holds back the urge to come on the spot, but he can’t help the way his legs shake and shiver.

One of your hands carefully comes up to cradle his balls, although his jeans and boxers keep two thick layers between the two of you. He still can’t deny how good it feels even with the blockage. “You are- ah, so… Fuck!” He moans out as you play out a few more of your tricks upon him. He can feel that electric feeling creep up in his guts, beginning at the tips of his toes and dancing along his nerves toward the lower half of his stomach. He tries to warn you in a series of intelligible moans, but it only spurs you on further.

“Shit! Baby, I’m- fuck!” He groans out as his peak slams into him. You don’t even pull away, just let him come into your mouth. Part of you wants to enjoy that feeling of him shooting warm white across your cheeks, but the idea of tasting him in whole overpowers that idea. This is a taste you’ve been long acquainted with, and yet, it never gets any less pleasant. You aren’t normally quite obsessed with the way a dude's spunk tastes like, but come on! It’s Myles! His thighs desperately twitch as you blow him into overstimulation. That firework feeling in his stomach is yet to fade. He whines and huffs out a series of moans as you finally pull away.

“Ah, God. You’re gonna kill me one day.” He almost sobs as you look up at him. You’re a little slobber-mouthed and your mascara has started to run, but you just look absolutely beautiful. “I’d kiss you right now, but I for one am not the biggest fan of eating my own semen.” He snorts, too lost in his post orgasm haze to be nervous. “Hey! I swallowed, so you’re only really getting an aftertaste.” You tease him, patting his thigh.

“So, is that a good birthday celebration?” You giggle. He nods and blushes, his shy attitude sliding over him once more.

“Looks like the rains cleared up some, how about we go do those birthday things now?"

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igniferous · 2 years

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"We're supposed to be sparing, but I'm starting to feel bad seeing you with a bloody nose, covered in dust... if I'm too distracting, I can have one of the knights step in so you can properly get back in the groove of things, I know it has been a while--" It wasn't meant to sound teasing or condescending, there was genuine concern in his voice, but the minute the words left his mouth he knew his afternoon was done for. Myles grabs the end of his shirt, the small of his stomach showing in the hot afternoon sun as he dabs a bit of sweat from his face with a sigh. "...Or should we go through the drill again?"

█▐ @hhemeraa | ✖ | inbox

A STRAINED HUFF seems the only immediate response to be offered Myles’ concerns, in lack of a better rebuttal. Wolfram would be the first to admit, however many years spent sparring on a near daily basis, that his area of expertise did not, and never had extended to combat quite this intimate unrefined. An odd afternoon activity to so readily and adamantly be in favor of indulging, for anybody who knew him well, and it would be a bold - faced lie to claim his motives stopped at a mere hardheaded competitiveness or any sort of need to prove himself capable.

Matted hair robbed of its shine clings unpleasantly to his forehead and a scraped elbow presses hard against the ground, yet his disheveled state of defeat offers the very best angle for a glowering gaze to look his partner up and down with a most bizarre combination of impressed, frustrated, enamored, spiteful awe, among other things. In an ideal world, Myles would be too preoccupied preaching his unsolicited little lecture to pick up on the most UNSAVORY filth flashing through his mind unbidden, all the while. Too distracting. If he’s too distracting, he says, the vigorous freak flaunting the gall to go exposing his midriff in broad daylight.

It’s true, but it’s unseemly for a Prince to speak so loudly of it.

〝 h - heh . . . heheh . . . . . . 〞 If Wolfram sounds in any way questionably delirious he’d have no issue blaming it on the heat and prolonged exposure to the beaming sunlight, fine gravel hot to the touch as he pushes back to his feet not for the first time. 〝 No, no, you— you are going to shut your smug mouth and keep— the knights out of our private business, 〞 Some of the authority meant to inhabit his tone likely falls flat when spoken between puffs of breath, regardless of how strictly any one index finger may be pointed, 〝 and we are going — one more time. 〞

#⑊「 ic #⑊「 dried ink on burnt parchment ◜ ( letters )#hhemeraa #I’m StArTiNg To FeEl BaD why don’t you roughhouse me about it until i’m seething mad and secretly-not-secretly starstruck (flirtatiously)

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blackkatmagic · 3 years

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Could I please request a drabble with Mace meeting Jaster? Time travel shenanigans would be loved and heart-eyed, but are not required.

“A Jedi is hiring a Mandalorian for a job?” Jaster asks, one brow raised, and can't help the thread of incredulity that creeps into his voice. “Perhaps you're confused, Jetii, but our people have been enemies for millennia.”

“I'm well aware,” the Jedi says, unmoving. Jaster has, admittedly, never been quite this close to a Jedi, and he can't help but be faintly impressed at the man’s stoneface, particularly given the bright-eyed Chalactan girl peering around his side. Her hands are hooked into his sash without any apparent fear of being shaken off, or any apparent concern for her Master’s dignity, and Jaster finds himself reluctantly amused despite the man’s temerity.

“Oh?” Jaster asks, leaning back in his chair. His blaster is within easy reach, and the Jedi is far enough away that Jaster has the advantage. “Bold of you to approach me with a job offer, then.”

“Is it?” the man asks, and reaches up, folding his hood back. Jaster stills, startled, because he hadn’t thought there were Korun Jedi—Myles has always been very insistent that the Korun people have their own Force traditions, and outsiders aren’t welcome to step into them. He’s a handsome one, too, tall and broad shouldered, with a lean strength to him that even the loose, comfortable robes can't hide. Steady, he meets Jaster's eyes, and says, low, “It seems to me, Mand’alor, that our status as enemies means no one will suspect me of having hired you.”

Ah, Jaster thinks, smiling. Like that, is it. He hums, then says, “Jango, who don’t you show this lovely padawan the gardens? I'm sure she would like to see them.”

“What?” Jango demands, outraged the way only a fourteen-year-old can be. “Buir, I'm not leaving—”

Jaster levels a pointed look at his son, and his mouth snaps shut. He scowls, deep and affronted, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t be meeting with a Jedi alone,” he says grumpily. “Myles is going to yell at you.”

“Myles will survive,” Jaster says, though it’s likely true. “Master Jedi, I hope you don’t object to speaking privately.”

“Of course not,” the Jedi says, perfectly calm, and glances down at his padawan. “Depa. Be polite.”

That is, Jaster reflects wryly, an incrediblyfamiliar tone of voice. He’s willing to bet the girl gets herself into almost as much trouble as Jango, given how practiced it sounds.

And, on cue, the girl beams up at her Master without hesitation. “I'm always polite, Master Mace,” she protests, perfectly, wickedly innocent. Mace doesn’t answer, just sighs, and Depa laughs, rising up on her tiptoes. She hauls him down, no thought given to dignity, and plants a loud, showy kiss on his cheek, then hops back two steps and turns that smile on Jango, who freezes like he was just dipped in carbonite, his eyes going wide.

She is, Jaster thinks with amusement, a very pretty girl. He wonders how quickly Jango will manage to stick his foot in his mouth this time. Within ten minutes, judging by last time. Jaster doesn’t precisely have high hopes for their interaction, but at least this isn't the daughter of a high-profile client that Jango is going to offend. The Jedi needs them, not the other way around, and given Jedi morals, he likely won't turn to the Death Watch the instant he’s insulted.

“Depa,” Mace says, a warning, but Depa ignores it, grinning at Jango and folding her hands behind her.

“I would love to see the garden,” she says cheerfully. “Jango, was it?”

“Jango Fett,” Jango says, only a little mulishly, and takes a careful step forward, like he’s worried she’s going to bite him. “It’s this way, I guess.”

He couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. Jaster rather suspects he is.

As the door slides shut behind their two witnesses, though, Jaster's amusement fades slightly, and he turns his gaze on Mace, narrow and thoughtful as he considers the man, his presence on Mandalore, the quiet, entirely understated way he arrived.

“This isn't a mission from the Jedi Order,” he says, weighing. “I might even go so far as to say they have no idea of your presence here.”

“They don’t,” Mace says bluntly. “I'm here on my own business, and acting on information the Jedi Council isn't privy to.” There's a pause, and then a rueful curve just touches one corner of his mouth. “Believe me, Mand’alor. I do not go behind the Council’s back easily. This is vital, and I'm willing to provide the funds to prove it.”

Jaster smiles, a little humorless, a little thin. He’s not fond of being played, and this sounds very much like Mace is trying. “I have plenty of credits, Master Jedi. Why should I find yours any more appealing than anyone else’s?”

Mace doesn’t hesitate this time, just raises his chin. “Because I have something that is far more valuable than credits,” he says calmly. “I can provide you with information.”

It is, Jaster will admit, a tempting prospect, but he’s still wary. “Jedi information? Access to the Archives, perhaps? If I wanted dry Jedi tomes on political law—”

“No,” Mace interrupts, flat, and takes two steps forward, until he’s right across Jaster's desk. “Far more important and immediate information. Such as the name of the traitor who will kill you. And the location of Jango Fett's older sister.”

Jaster freezes, hardly daring to breathe. Arla was gone by the time he’d made it back to the Fett homestead on Concord Dawn, and no trace of her has ever surfaced. Jaster has been looking, because Jango speaks of her endlessly, but—

“That,” he rasps, voice half-caught in his throat, “could be considered blackmail, Master Jedi.”

Mace tips his head. “Proof of my desperation,” he says, and there's no self-consciousness to it, just blunt honesty. A pause, and then he says, faintly rueful, “I’ll give you her location whether you take the job or not. The Death Watch has her.”

Jaster was afraid of that. He breathes out, slow, careful, and—the willingness to offer up half of his bargaining chips makes him more inclined to trust Mace, even if a flicker of wariness still remains. “And the job is?”

Mace doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch. “I want you to assassinate the senior senator from Naboo. Sheev Palpatine. He’s a Sith apprentice.”

Of all the things that Jaster was expecting, that most certainly wasn’t among them.

It takes him a long moment to scrape together a coherent response, another still to get the words right. “Apprentice,” he echoes. “Usually, an apprentice follows a master. Who is the Sith Master, then?”

“A scientist and a banker,” Mace says coolly. “Palpatine is the more dangerous target, and a better duelist. I can handle the Master, but the apprentice I would leave to someone more adept at assassinations.”

It would hardly be the first time the Mandalorians have been hired for such a thing, and Jaster is more than willing to do it. Knowing that Mace will be fighting his own battle allays some of Jaster's fears as well, and he leans on one arm of his chair, considering the man.

“A fraught mission,” he says, “on both parts. You have a plan, I assume.”

If anything, Mace looks amused at that. “The Jedi do not plan,” he says, a trace of humor in the words. “I trust the Force to see me through, however. And as I am training Depa, I will have all the time I need to see things through.”

Jedi, Jaster thinks, and doesn’t roll his eyes. Quite. “And would you care to tell me where you got this information, Master Jedi? Particularly about a traitor within the ranks of the True Mandalorians. I must admit that one surprises me.”

Mace is silent for another moment. “From the future,” he finally offers. “I traveled back with the help of a Force nexus. In the time I came from, the True Mandalorians were wiped out, and the Sith won.”

Something cold slides down Jaster's spine, and he rises slowly, comes to his feet to face the Jedi. Mace meets his eyes, holds his gaze, and—

He looks tired, Jaster thinks, calculating, considering. Tired in a bone-deep, weary way that Jaster had managed to miss before, buried as it was by his determination. Traveled back from the future, through time itself, and Jaster didn’t know such a thing was possible.

Not possible for most people, he thinks, watching Mace. And not optimal even for this one.

“Very well,” he says after a long minute of silence. “But on the condition that you stay here and provide your information throughout the mission. I won't have a Sith kill my men because you think you have better things to do.”

The relief that slides over Mace's expression is subtle, but—Jaster catches it easily. “Agreed,” he says. “We will rely on your hospitality, Mand’alor.”

“Jaster, please,” Jaster says, and moves around the end of his desk, taking Mace's arm. Muscled, he thinks, and that’s likely a good sign. Not a useless Jedi, hopefully. Not if he’s certain he can take on a Sith. “I think the use of first names is allowable now that you're my guest.”

“You have a liberal interpretation of guest,” Mace says dryly, but he doesn’t pull away as Jaster leads him out of the office, and Jaster is willing to count it as a win.

[On AO3]

#my writing #jastermace #jaster mereel #mace windu #star wars

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generalobi · 3 years

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the one where jaster adopted obi-wan was precious... could you please write some more?

“Obi-Wan,” Jaster knocks on the doorframe, “We’re coming out of hyperspace, you need to get strapped in.”

Obi-Wan closes the book he’d been reading and replaces it on the shelf, and slips past Jaster on silent feet. He follows the boy into the cockpit, where he’s strapped himself into the too big straps again.

“Can I tighten those for you, ad?” Jaster asks, and Obi-Wan regards him with serious eyes.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

It’s only slightly better than before, but Jaster will take what he can get. He straps himself in and pulls them cleanly into real space.

“Manda’lor to Sundari Palace,” he hails.

“Copy Manda’lor, platform is clear to land. Welcome home.”

The kid, Obi-Wan, is even smaller than Jango expected. The tiny Jedi follows his buir down the ramp, a strange mixture of skittish and defiant. Next to him Myles snorts. When Montross tries to greet Obi-Wan, he glares at him and shrinks away. Jango supposes that’s a valid reaction to being near a new, slimy looking stranger on hardly any sleep.

Finally, the two make their way over to where Myles and Jango are waiting, in the shade cast by the palace.

“Buir,” Jango says, nodding at him, “Verd’ika.”

Obi-Wan frowns at him, little hands clutching at Jaster’s vambrace, “I don’t speak Mando’a, it’s rude to talk to someone in a language they don’t understand.”

Jaster rolls his eyes slightly, and pulls Jango into a keldabe kiss. The gentle bump of his forehead to his buir’s calms the last of his jealousy. A new vod’ika doesn’t mean Jaster is replacing him.

“It’s good to see you, ad,” he says, smiling gently, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, buir.”

A little hand taps Jango’s, and he pulls away from his buir to see Obi-Wan staring at him intently.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, “What does verd’ika mean?”

“Little soldier,” Jango replies.

“I’m not a soldier, though,” Obi-Wan says, spinning to stare up at Jaster, “You didn’t bring me here to be a soldier, did you?”

“No!” Jango says quickly, drawing Obi-Wan’s attention back to him, “It’s a nickname, an affectionate thing. Buir, Jaster, told me you were very brave. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”

Obi-Wan considers that for a moment, then nods decisively, “I don’t mind, but most people called me Obi. And my friends called me Imp, but you can’t call me that.”

“Okay,” he draws the word out slightly, “Would you like to see your room?”

“Okay, but Jaster has to come with us.”

“Of course,” his buir says, “I won’t leave you alone until you want me to.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan tugs on his vambrace, “Let’s go.”

Obi-Wan runs his hands over his new bedspread. It’s nice. It’s really nice actually, but it kind of makes him miss his bed in the Temple. He’s never had a room and a bed all to himself, not really. In the Creche he slept in a Clan pile, and as an Initiate he slept up in a dorm also with his Clan. On the ship to Bandomeer, he slept in communal quarters. In the mines, he didn’t sleep much. On Jaster’s ship, Jaster was always right there.

It’s becoming apparent the longer he sits in his too comfortable bed in his too quiet room that he can’t sleep at all when he’s alone.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan throws the duvet off and slides to the edge of the bed. He slips his feet into the slippers Jando had pointed out when they left him at bedtime. He doesn’t really want to bother anyone, but he can’t sleep. And Jaster was always there when he needed him on the ship.

He creeps into the hallway, and knocks on the door Jaster had said was his. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open quietly. Jaster is sleeping peacefully, snoring slightly. Obi-Wan shuts the door as silently as he can, and tiptoes his way towards the bed. He curls up into a ball on the end of the bed, just out of accidental kicking range.

He’s asleep in minutes.

#dadjaster #bandomeer #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi needs a hug #and a nap #obi-wan kenobi needs a nap #jaster mereel #he's got two sons now #mando'a #myles #gotta love myles #i literally always add myles #if there's jango there's myles

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therealmylesmorales · 7 months

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Madam Web??

#why is nobody talking about this??#the movie looked hard af #sony #marvel #Spider-Man #madam web #Myles is speaking shut up

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covrdtracxks · 2 years

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#myles speaks mha #mha 366 #mirio togata #thank you tik tok for the laugh😂#not mine #mha spoilers #myles shut the fuck up challenge

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lordabovehelpme · 3 years

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Moving Day- Din Djarin x Reader

This superb moodboard is done by the fabulous @jedi-jesi

A/n: Well, here it is! I hope you guys enjoy.

This is the next part to my Days Fillled with Love series. You can find the first part here! :)

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

It’s comical how all seven of you will try and squeeze into the cockpit. Din pilots while Myles sits on his lap. Reeza is in the small seat to his left with Grogu on her own lap. You sit on the seat to the right with both the twins in your arms.

Usually just Din will pilot while teaching Myles the beginnings of flying. Reeza and Grogu will play in the main hull, and you’ll have the twins. Sometimes, you’ll sit next to him and watch as he explains things to Myles. Or, if all the kids are asleep, you’ll sit on him yourself. Albeit, everyone is so excited that you all just ended up in the cockpit together.

Today is the day you fly to your new home. The house is located on a small outer rim planet, not known by many people. It’s perfect for living safely with Grogu. Neither the empire nor the republic mapped this planet as valuable. Thus, it has no official name.

It’s similar to Naboo almost. Lakes cover the planet with large flower fields and some forests.

It’s perfect.

“Dad, is that it?” Myles points out the window to something. Looking up, you watch as the Crest approaches a good sized lakehouse.

“That’s it!”

“Wait, I wanna see!” Reeza jumps down from the seat and places Grogu on the ground. She reaches her fathers knee and begins to climb up it.

“Hey, I’m on Dad’s lap.”

“Come here.” Din says as he reaches down and lifts his daughter up onto his shoulders. She squeals and giggles the whole way up. “Hold on.” Her little hands grab the sides of his head and she locks her feet under his armpits. Grogu coos from the floor and pats Din’s leg. “You too?”

The child's big eyes look up at him and he starts his own climb up his father. Myles reaches down and sets him on his own lap.

You bite back a laugh at the sight of them. Your husband overrun with children, while he presses buttons and pulls levers.

“Okay, everyone hold on, we’re landing.”

***

As soon as you open the door, two children rush by you and up the stairs.

“I want this room!” Reeza shouts and you can hear a door slam shut. Grogu waddles up the stairs after them, wanting to be included in the fun. The twins are fast asleep in their cribs, taking their daily nap seriously.

Laughing quietly you walk in the door, one large palm rests on your lower back. However, it’s not a forceful or guideful hand, more of an assurance that he’s there.

He hasn’t always been as touchy as he is now. When you first were crewmates he was stoic and quiet. He never really talked to you, or to anyone. However, after a few months of you taking care of the kid and just being around he started to really notice you.

Fingertips would start brushing against your shoulder as he passed you. Or he would fully turn to look at you when you spoke, giving you his full attention. One time when he nearly died and you ran to hug him, he didn’t shy away like usual. In fact, he opened his arms and pulled you against him. Holding you tight as he whispers words of untold love.

Now though, he is always touching you in some way. Whether it's his hand on your back as you both walk, or his knee brushing against yours under a table. He needs you the most though at night when he wakes up from a nightmare, echoes of his family's screams playing over and over like a broken record. Memories of the day he lost his parents still haunting him and plaguing him with the thought that it could happen to his own children.

These times he just tucks himself into your embrace, molding his form to your own. His hands move along your skin, tracing memorized skin. You never speak of it, but you can feel the warm tears rush down your shoulder as they fall from his eyes. His mouth moves over your skin, flooding his senses with you. One of your hands will softly tug at his hair while the other rubs along the tense muscles in his back. Sometimes you’ll talk to him about your day, or what the kids did while he was away. Sometimes you’ll just softly hum a tune. But you always tell him over and over how much you love him.

“What are you thinking about cyar’ika?” Din’s voice snaps you from your thoughts.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek as you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “Mmm, just you.”

A smile forms on his face and he chuckles, “Better be good things.”

“No promises.” Giggling, you run away from him and into the house.

“Hey! Come back here.” You can hear the amusement in his voice as he chases you.

Running out the back door and into the field, you slow your pace and let out a breath. Turning towards the lake you smile. It really is a perfect spot to raise a family.

But before you can ponder any longer, a firm slap cracks on your bottom and two arms wrap around your waist.

“Din!” You gasp as another set of giggles falls from your lips. Wiggling around, you try to slide out of his hold.

“Mm no, I’ve caught you.” His helmetless head rests on your shoulder and his mouth attaches to your skin.

He turns you around in his hold so he can face you. Smiling, you press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Hi handsome.”

With his own grin, he grabs your hips and lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him as close as you can. A scream sounds throughout the meadow when he falls to the ground. Rolling on top of you, he plasters kiss after kiss on your face. You’re all giggles and smiles.

Leaning back, he looks down at you, a big dopey smile plastered on his features. “You’re so beautiful.” His fingers find your hand and play with the beskar wedding ring you wear.

It amazes you how he can still make your cheeks heat up and your heart skip a beat after all these years. “Hehe, thank you.”

He hums his approval before diving back down to meet your lips.

***

The sun sets under the horizon, casting pinks and oranges throughout the sky. Crickets start to play their songs and some fireflies start to dance.

You’re sitting between your husband's legs, back up against his chest. His fingers lazily trail along the neckline of your shirt.

Myles, Reeza, and Grogu are running around in the field, trying to catch the glowing bugs. You know Myles and Reeza want them to look at, but you’re not so sure about Grogu’s intentions.

Your theory proves correct when as soon as he gets his little hands on one, it goes straight into his mouth. Reeza looks at him with disgust before going back to her own mission of capturing.

Isabet rests against your chest, soft breaths tickling your skin as she sleeps. Tobbi leans against your own leg, his eyes watching his siblings play. Din’s hand leaves your neckline to softly brush his daughter’s hair.

“They both look like you, again.”

His body shakes as a chuckle falls from his lips.

“Don’t laugh, as handsome as you are, it’s frustrating.”

Your comment only adds fuel to his amusement and he is full of laughs now.

“Stop it!” The slight shake in your voice gives away your own glee.

A kiss is pressed to the back of your neck. “I love you cyare.”

Smiling, you lean back into his hold. “Love you too, dominant genes and everything.”

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

Next Part: Stormy Day

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it! Just wanted to say again how much I appreciate each and every one of you!

Love you guys, Lordy :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi

If you want to be added to my taglist- just give me a holler!

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #days filled with love #mother!reader

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clonemando · 3 years

Text

Time on my Side

When Boba sneaks along to one of Jango’s missions and touches something he shouldn’t it causes him and Jango to end up back with people Jango never though he’d see again. Time travel fix-it fic

(a one shot I just got the urge to write but I might continue it if there’s interest.)

Jango shot up in bed with a strangled yelp and tangled himself in his sheets before falling out of his bunk in his haste to stand up. His eyes searched the room before going to his own wrists which caused his face to crinkle in confusion and he turned and twisted his hands looking for scars that no longer existed. However, a scream from outside the tent he was in had him ripping the sheets off and sprinting outside.

“Buir! Help me! Buir!” Boba’s screams had Jango shoving himself through the armored Mandalorians around him without any thought to his own safety until he burst into the center of the ring where a familiar person was holding Boba with his arms pinned behind him.

“Jango good you’re awake I fou-” Montross started only to be full-body tackled by a Jango who was snarling in rage and dressed in only his sleep pants. It took five other Mandalorians to rip Jango off of him and another two to grab onto Boba who was panicking and trying to get to his father now.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Wait... Was he crying for you?” Montross wiped the blood from his face looking between Jango and Boba a few times in shock.

“What is going on out here?” Came a voice that froze everyone around them including Jango who looked almost sick. Boba even shut up at the expression on his father’s face.

“Alor, I found an ad running around the camp and caught him and he started screaming for his buir, then Jango came charging out and attacked me!” Montross said as Jaster made his way to them looking extremely tired and not at all pleased about having been woken. He spun around to face his son to have him explain but Jango had found his voice again.

“That hu’tuun Montross is betraying us to Vizsla! He’s the reason they’ve been one step ahead of us this whole time! He’s trying to get you killed buir!” He growled out gritting his teeth as he started to recognize where they were. He had no idea how they were there but he knew this mission.

“Buir… What’s going on? Where’d the jetti go? How did we get here?” Boba whimpered and Jango looked over at his son again who now was holding Jaster’s attention and Jango knew what his father was seeing. Boba looked exactly like Jango did when Jaster had found him. Their resemblance wasn’t something that could be written off. Even though Jango was only fourteen years old at the moment. Somehow he had an eight-year-old son. But Jaster was good at compartmentalizing and he focused back on Montross who had picked himself up now.

“What do you say to my ad’s claims Montross?” Jaster asked crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at his second in command.

“He’s clearly delusional and going through something. How does he have a son that’s three fourth’s his age who just randomly appeared in our camp? It must have traumatized him and made him snap. He needs medical help. You know me, Jaster, I would never do such a thing.” He said and Jaster looked back at Jango who shook his head.

“I don’t have proof I can give Buir but I am not lying or suffering from any sort of mental break. I will explain everything to you, but only alone. I won’t let that sha’buir near my ad.” Jango growled and Jaster rubbed his face but nodded.

“Montross, until I can prove or deny Jango’s claims you’re to stay with two guards at all times. Trying to argue or escape them will only prove your guilt.” He said seriously and Montross gave a firm nod. Then Jaster walked over to Boba and the pair of commandos holding him released him for Jaster to pick up.

“Come with me then Jango, we’ll speak in my tent.” He said and Jango was released to follow after him. Once they were in the tent and Boba was put down he ran straight to Jango’s arms and Jango knelt to hug him tightly as Boba sobbed into his chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay Bob’ika. You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He murmured soothingly even as his father watched them.

“You can start with how he exists and we can continue from there,” Jaster said getting out a camp stove and charge pack along with a pot of water to make them some caff. Jango stole his father’s blanket from his cot and wrapped it around Boba before settling down.

“You’re going to need that caff before I start because it’s a long story,” Jango warned him and Jaster groaned but sat on the cot stretching out his legs.

“Just start it then. We do have a job to do in the morning.” He reminded him and Jango sighed but nodded slowly running his fingers through Boba’s hair to calm him.

“Well Boba is my son, but he’s also my clone. I commissioned him from cloners on the planet Kamino as part of a larger deal for several million credits in return for them using my DNA as a base to make an army.” Jango told him and Jaster held up a finger taking a few moments to process this before shaking his head.

“When? I’ve been with you since you were his age yourself. You’ve never had time to go to some random cloners and do all this.” Jaster said and Jango nodded smiling a little down at his son who had fallen asleep already. Jango realized he must have really been terrified.

“This is where it gets weird. I’m pretty sure I’m in the past. Because when I made that deal you and all the other Haat were dead. Montross betrayed us and lead us into an ambush. He had me split off with Myles and my own group while he went with you. However, I turned around early and we… I watched as Vizsla gunned you down with a canon buir. Montross just stood there and watched. It happens on Korda 6 just a few weeks from now. He tried to convince the others I was too young to lead and that he had tried to save you but Myles backed me up and we banished Montross.” Jango told him before stopping when the water was boiled and Jaster stood again passing his son a mug of caff before sitting back down with his own.

“You become Mand’alor then. And agreed to this army to retake Mandalore?” Jaster tried to guess but Jango shook his head.

“We kept up against Death Watch. I wanted justice for your death but my duty was to our people first. We continued on how we were before taking commissions and bounties and growing our numbers. We were starting to push Death Watch back when Galidraan happened. We were tricked. The Governor had us fighting insurgents but when I came to collect our payment Tor was there with a whole group and I had to run. He shot my jetpack and I crashed down too far away from camp and I couldn’t get ahold of Myles. They called in the Jedi against us. Told them we were killing innocents. It was a massacre. I watched as they cut Myles in half buir. I flew into a rage. I had already lost you and then they took the rest of my aliit away too.” Jango rubbed tears away and set his mug aside so he didn’t accidentally spill any on Boba with how hard his hands were shaking.

Jaster moved over and wrapped his arm around his son. “I’m not dead now and neither is Myles. He’s in the tent right next to yours. You can go see him once we’re done here.” He encouraged but he needed to hear the rest.

“I killed six Jedi with just my fists before I collapsed. They turned me over to the Governor. He took my beskar’gam and sold me to the spice mines. I was there for… three years I think. Before I lead a rebellion and we all escaped. I went back for my armor and then became a beroya. I became the best beroya there’s ever been. Everyone knew my name and knew my word was good. That’s when Tyranus came to me. He offered me the deal. He promised it would come with revenge on the Jedi too. I agreed but only with the added payment of one of the clones to be my son. I’ve been on Kamino since then but I still leave to take jobs and I’ve been raising Boba. That was until this last mission. He snuck onto my ship and I didn’t feel safe leaving him there alone so I brought him with me. We were just supposed to be grabbing some trinket from some ruins. Then a Jedi showed up and attacked us. I was trying to get us back to the ship but Boba went for the artifact and there was a flash of light and we ended up here. Boba looks like he did then but I’m young again.” Jango spilled it all out and Jaster hummed and took a long sip of his drink.

“Okay. Well, you’re here now. And Boba being here surely adds credit to your claim. But we need proof to be able to do anything about Montross. We will proceed as normal. Or however normal as we can with you having your own ad now. I won’t let myself die this time and we’ll work forward from that, sound alright with you?” Jaster said a little playfully and Jango smiled and nodded.

“That sounds like a plan buir… Ni kar'taylir darasuum Jaster.” He said leaning his head against his father’s shoulder and Jaster smiled resting his cheek against Jango’s messy hair.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum Jan’ika. We’ll figure this out together. I promise.” He murmured back.

#Star Wars #sw tcw #Jaster Mereel #Jango Fett #Boba Fett #star wars open seasons #fanfic

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peachy-panic · 2 years

Text

Reconvergence

Part of Fifty-Eight Days.

< Previous

WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, not graphic and attempt not on-page. Hospitals, dark thoughts, tears & hugging & hard talks & avoidance. Things are hard. But things will be okay.

THEN

“Where is he? Where did you take him?”

There is a woman in a military uniform to his left and a man he thinks might be a paramedic on his right, but Grayson shrugs out of their grip. He stumbles toward the door, which is now just a gap in the wall after being kicked off its hinges. His bare feet catch on scraps of splintered wood scattered across the floor, but his mind is singularly focused.

“Where is Elijah?” he asks again, but no one––none of the bustling figures in uniform weaving between Myles Voss’s hallways––seems to be in any hurry to answer him.

Grayson feels a scream rise up in his throat and is barely keeping it from escaping when another set of hands intercepts him. He jerks away from the touch, and his shoulder slams into the doorway. He doesn’t know when he made it outside, but he blinks and sees a gurney in front of him, feels the hands prodding him toward it.

“Mr. Dawning,” someone says. “You need to sit down and let the medics look at you. We need to get you to the hospital.”

Grayson doesn’t need a medic. Doesn’t need a hospital. He needs Elijah.

They took him away. Grayson had allowed himself to lose sight of him for a few seconds in the harried aftermath, and when he came back to himself, Elijah was gone. Just like the night he disappeared from the camp. Just like every night after that Grayson spent alone in their basement prison, waiting for him to come back bloodied and broken.

It’s over now, they kept saying to him. And if that was true, if he had the freedom to choose now, he was never going to let Elijah be taken out of his sight again.

“Tell me where Elijah is,” he demands again, but before he’s even finished the sentence, he sees him. On the other side of the gaudy granite statue in the driveway, Elijah is lying on a gurney with two men on either side, about to be loaded into the back of an ambulance.

An ambulance that will take him even further away.

Suddenly, Grayson is overcome with the fear that if he lets those doors close between them, he will never see Elijah again. And that realization knocks something loose inside of him that he can’t ever hope to repair.

“Elijah.”

He takes off, shoving out of the grip they try to maintain on his arms. His leg catches on the side of the gurney they prepared for them, nearly taking both it and himself down, but he doesn’t let himself slow down until Elijah is within reach.

“You need to back up,” someone tells him, but there is a fat fucking chance of that happening when they have thick straps over Elijah’s chest and legs, and Grayson can see a pale hand poking out from under the blanket and clutched to the side of the gurney for dear life.

“I’m riding with him,” Grayson tells them, not looking away from his friend’s face for a second.

He only hears the first sounds of a dissenting reply before another voice speaks over it.

“Let him.” Grayson looks up just long enough to see the military woman who had spoken to him in the house. The paramedic beside him tenses like he might argue, but she levels him with a look and he concedes without further argument.

It’s cramped inside the small space, and there is the smallest spark of claustrophobic panic when the doors slam shut behind them, but his attention is pulled back into focus the moment Elijah lets out a small, frightened sound. Grayson is reaching for him before he can think. He hesitates just before he makes contact, then slowly, carefully, settles for placing two fingers against the cold skin of his wrist.

Elijah’s breathing goes still, and Grayson almost, almost, pulls away. Before he can, Elijah’s fingers relinquish their death grip on the blanket and flip over to clutch onto Grayson’s hand instead.

NOW

In the first few moments of fragile consciousness, Grayson was sure the pills had worked. That was the only reasonable explanation he could find in the fog for why he opened his eyes to see Elijah Porter staring back at him.

A perfect apparition. Or maybe it was Grayson who was the ghost.

Elijah’s face hovered just above eye-level. It took a few bleary blinks to sort out the bleed of overhead lights, and then the shape of a hospital room came into focus.

He was in a hospital bed. And Elijah was at his side.

Elijah leaned forward at his stirring, affording Grayson a better look. His shaggy, black hair was longer than Grayson remembered, even at the end of their captivity— long enough now to tuck into a loose bun at the nape of his neck, straggler pieces hanging in a messy frame around his face. In his half-dazed state, Grayson had the sudden, intense urge to reach up and tuck one of the fallen strands behind his ear. The thought had him recoiling just as fast as it came.

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized their hands overlapped on the bed. He didn’t have the capacity, in that moment, to acknowledge the cloth restraint that had been unfastened from his wrist and left to dangle limply from the bedrail. His brain was singularly focused on the fact that their skin was touching.

He was touching Elijah.

Before he could think, Grayson pulled away.

Elijah’s eyes—oh. Had he been crying? They dropped to his own abandoned hand. He stared at it for a few long seconds, then a hard wall shuttered over his expression. “Sorry,” he murmured, blinking quickly. A second later, he pushed to his feet so quickly Grayson flinched. “I just needed to see–– I can…” He stopped, pinching his eyes shut, and took a breath. He wouldn’t look at Grayson at all now, and he felt the absence of his gaze like a physical burn. “Your parents are in the cafeteria. I’ll go… I’ll go get them. I’m sorry.”

He was halfway to the door when Grayson’s panic caught up to him.

“You’re here,” he blurted.

Elijah stopped mid-stride. He lifted an arm to swipe across his face before he half-turned back to Grayson, keeping his eyes low. “Of course I’m here, asshole. You tried to fucking kill yourself.”

Grayson blinked. Then he blinked again, all available words in the universe spinning uselessly out of reach. Finally, he heard himself say, “I don’t remember you having such colorful language.”

This, at least, got him to meet his eyes again. There was a long, tense silence, during which Elijah stared at him blankly and Grayson wished he could reach into his mouth and rip his own tongue out. And then Elijah laughed. Grayson was so startled by the sound, it took a second to realize it was the first time he had ever heard it.

“Shit memory you have.”

He was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of him, by the gradual trickle of awareness that he was here and real and alive.

That they both were.

The moment passed as soon as it came. In a split second, the brief air of lightness was washed away again. They both felt it, judging by the way Elijah’s posture deflated, his eyes dropping away from Grayson’s.

“I’m sorry,” Grayson tried to say, but Elijah’s voice rolled over his before he could even finish the thought.

“Do not.” Elijah was quick to cut him off. “Don’t do that.”

“Elijah.” The name was forbidden fruit on his tongue; an explosion of vivid sweetness followed by the haunt of regret.

“Why?” Elijah shot back. He didn’t even try to hide the moisture that filled his eyes this time. “Why did you do it?”

The question cemented Grayson to the bed. For a horrible moment, his mind tricked him into thinking he was asking about their last day in the compound—perhaps if only because Grayson had spent so much time directing that question at himself. The truth of what he was asking was no less difficult, and there was no clean answer to either.

“I don’t know,” he said. Was it a lie? He didn’t know. Nothing seemed as simple as it once was.

He watched Elijah’s hands curl up at his sides, the way he had watched them do so many times when Myles Voss’s men came close to him. It was an outward signal of Elijah’s distress, and Grayson was the one to cause it.

Again.

“You don’t know,” Elijah echoed dryly.

“How did you know I was here?” Grayson replied with a question of his own.

Elijah’s hands relaxed a bit before he folded both arms over his middle. “Your parents called my mom,” he said. He hesitated, lips moving wordlessly, then added, “They saw the envelope.”

The one with his name on it. The only one he’d left. Dizziness crashed over him. “You read it,” he managed.

Elijah’s eyes flicked up to him. “No,” he said, a little bit outraged by the accusation. “I didn’t. But you’re here now. You can tell me what I missed.”

Grayson closed his eyes, picturing the ink on the page, smudged across the page with tears. The same two words written over and over.

“I can’t do that,” he said, his attempt at a smile falling flat. “You told me not to apologize.”

He watched Elijah take that in, struggling to maintain his even expression. The edge in his voice was just a little bit rougher when he said, “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”

The request rendered him incapable of thought and movement altogether. It swayed him a little bit closer toward the belief that he must be dreaming or dying or dead.

“You want to hug me?” Grayson asked.

Elijah’s throat moved in a way that drew in his gaze like a moth to flame. “I kind of want to punch you, too.”

“That one feels more deserved.”

Elijah took a step forward. “It’s not,” he said. “You’re wrong about that, Grayson. And I’m sorry that I ever made you think any differently.”

There were tears streaming openly down his face now. Grayson didn’t realize that he mirrored that image until he felt the warm drops land on his collarbone, soaking into the neckline of his gown.

“If I can't apologize,” Grayson said, “neither can you.”

And then Grayson was holding him. Or he was holding Grayson. All that mattered was that, after months of radio silence, their bodies were pressed together and clinging to each other for survival in a way that once felt like the only good, familiar thing in their world.

“You’re here,” Grayson muttered into his shoulder, warm and damp from his own tears.

“You said that already.”

He didn’t feel the need to say anything else. Grayson just wrapped his arm––the one that Elijah had freed from the cloth restraint––tighter around his back and held him as close as he dared.

A lifetime passed between them in the silence of the hospital room, and in it, it was almost possible to believe that the past few months of separation and the last twenty fours balancing on the edge of his own personal abyss hadn’t existed at all. Grayson was sure the world would shatter to pieces again if he ever had to pull away.

Elijah was the first to move, though Grayson didn’t think he was deluding himself into thinking he was just as hesitant to do so.

“Um.” Elijah cleared his throat. “Your parents. I should… I should really go get them.”

“Yeah,” Grayson agreed, though he made no effort to uncurl his fingers from Elijah’s sweatshirt. He made his best effort at pushing down the swell of dread at the prospect of facing his parents after… after what he had done. But the more pressing issue was staring him in the face now.

“Elijah, please don’t leave.” The words spilled out of him in a sob that took him by surprise. “I mean… I– Yes, you should probably…” He paused, pulling in a deep breath. “My parents will probably want to see me. But I don’t want… I can’t…”

I can’t let you disappear again.

Elijah seemed to hear what he left unspoken. He pulled away from the embrace just enough to look at Grayson. Clarity settled in his eyes, passing over something dangerously close to apology and finally, solidifying into hard resolve.

“We already tried staying away,” he said finally, giving a meaningful sweep over the hospital room. “I don’t like how that turned out.”

Grayson stared up at him, terrified of the hope that tried to worm its way through the rot inside his chest. Maybe Elijah saw that fear. Maybe he saw Grayson’s need to hear it in the form of a promise he could cling to in order to get through what was waiting for him in the immediate aftermath of… of this. And, because he was Elijah, he was kind enough to indulge him in that.

“I’m here, Grayson,” he whispered against his temple, a mirror of all the times Grayson had done the same for him. “I’m staying right here.”

#fifty-eight days: elijah & grayson #whump writing #whump #captivity whump #whump community #tw attempted suicide

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nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years

Text

Driving Rain - NCIS Reader Insert

Pairing: Tony DiNozzo x reader

Warning: angst, hurt, language

Word count: 2025

The reader admits her feelings to Tony, who doesn’t know how to respond. She flees, driving to somewhere unknown, at least until she tells Gibbs where she is, who gives Tony a good head slap and sends him after her.

A/N: This idea came to me while listening to “Driving Rain” by Slash featuring Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators. Thus, the name of this one is Driving Rain.

Sitting at your desk, you try to find some courage for what you were about to do. With Tony being the only other person in the bullpen you had decided now was the time to tell him about your feelings for him.

Taking a deep breath, you stand and brush the wrinkles out of your slacks. After procrastinating for a few moments, you move to the front of Tony’s desk.

He lifts his head, his alluring green eyes catching yours. “What’s up doll?”

You internally cringe at his nickname, one he had been calling you for years, despite your protests. “Tony. I-I don’t know how to really say this, so I’m just going to go for it.” He opens his mouth to speak but you place a gentle finger against his lips. Although your action has your heart racing and your head feeling faint, and has Tony raising his eyebrows at you, you make yourself continue. “I like you a lot, more than I like my other coworkers. Actually, I think I’m in love with you. And I have been for a while now. I just couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.” You finish your rambling and slowly remove your finger from Tony’s lips. You have to stop your brain from wandering to the many scenarios you had imagined with those lips.

Tony’s mouth falls open but nothing comes out. You wait for a few beats before begging, “Please say something.” His eyes search yours, but he still doesn’t reply. You feel fear and rejection creep up and start to choke you up. Finally, you can’t take the quiet so you shoot out a quick “It’s fine” before grabbing your jacket and rushing for the stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator. You hear Tony call your name, but you don’t stop.

You quickly make it to the parking lot, scrambling for your keys, and unlocking your car. The thought that you would have to face Tony again in the morning made you feel sick. A quick, impulse decision has you driving in the opposite direction of your apartment, with no destination in mind. After your phone rings twice, you shut it off, not wanting to think about the excuses Tony may have to tell you.

After driving for a few hours, without paying attention to where you are, you decide to stop for the night. Upon entering the hotel you discover you are in Henderson, North Carolina. Knowing that you weren’t going to return to work the next day you decide to call Gibbs, rather than have him struggle to figure out how to read your text.

He picks up after the first ring. “Gibbs.”

Hearing his voice brings tears to your eyes. “It’s me. I-I-I can’t, I won’t be at work tomorrow, or for a while.”

“Y/N/N.” His gentle voice breaks you down. Gibbs had figured out almost as soon as you did that you had feelings for Tony. And he never made you talk about it. He was just a comforting presence whenever you struggled with keeping these feelings quiet.

After collecting yourself as well as you can, you say “I told him. And he didn’t say anything. So I ran. And I ended up in Henderson, North Carolina.”

A gentle hum from Gibbs prompts you to continue. “I can’t face him right now. So I’m gonna stay here for a few days.”

Gibbs is quiet for a long time before he responds, “Take your time Y/N. Be safe and let me know where you are.”

His caring response has you tearing up again. “Okay, thanks, Gibbs.” You say your goodbyes before hanging up. After talking to Gibbs, you curl up on the hotel bed and pull the blanket over your head.

As comforting as Gibbs could be for you, the hurt and sadness from Tony’s rejection are drowning you. And all you want to do is run. Run from the hurt and the sadness. Run from the way your feelings were choking you. Run from everything and leave it all behind.

Tony’s POV:

She ran. She ran before I could tell her how I feel and it’s my own damn fault. I couldn’t find the words to tell her and she left.

I had come into the bullpen this morning, hoping to see her so I could tell her that I fucked up. To tell her how I really feel. I had even made reservations at one of her favorite restaurants for the evening in hopes of taking her on a date.

She wasn’t there when I got to my desk, although Gibbs and McGee were. As the morning progressed, she still didn’t arrive. The thoughts of doubt and fear finally made me stand and walk over to Gibbs’ desk.

“Hey, Boss. Do you know where Y/N is by chance?” I ask, facing his desk.

He turns his attention to me before standing up and walking around his desk. A moment later, his hand slams into my head. Hard.

“You bone head. She loves you. Now go get her.” He gruffs out. “She is in Henderson, North Carolina.”

I stand there, dumbfounded. “Go Tony.” McGee pipes up behind me.

“Okay, I’m going.” I rush towards my desk, grabbing my jacket, and swipe the keys off my desk. I ran down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. As I step outside, I’m greeted with pouring rain. It’s coming down so hard I can hardly see my car.

Nevertheless, I get to my car and start driving. Getting on the road, I realize that I can’t see much through the driving rain. But knowing that Y/N is out there, thinking I don’t love her keeps me driving. Knowing that when I stop driving, I’ll be able to take her in my arms and really be home has me driving faster, despite the lack of visibility.

Your POV:

You didn’t sleep much that night and by one in the afternoon of the next day, you still hadn’t moved from the bed. Deciding that you are done feeling sorry for yourself, you trudge towards the shower.

You turn the water on hot and spend the next twenty minutes with the water blasting over you. You had cried all your tears last night and now all you felt was numb. You were numbed by the pain and numbed by the feelings of rejection. Eventually, you shut the water off and wrap one of the small hotel towels around you. Knowing you didn’t have a change of clothes, you weren’t too excited to leave the warmth of the bathroom.

As you enter the room, you spot a figure sitting on your bed. “What the fuck?!” You scream, retreating back to the bathroom and locking the door. A moment later a knock sounds on the door.

“Whoever you are, I have already called the police.” You lie through your teeth.

“Doll, it’s me.” Tony’s husky voice echoes through the door.

“Tony?” You open the door a crack and peek out. Tony is standing nervously in front of the door.

Your heart plummets and then feels like it finally restarts for the first time since you ran out of the bullpen yesterday. You almost grab him in a hug, but you remember you have nothing but a tiny hotel towel on.

“Um…, I don’t have a change of clothes.” You mumble.

“I think I have something in my car. Let me go check.” He gently states before leaving the room. He is gone for maybe five minutes, in which you sit idly on the toilet in the bathroom, a stream of negative thoughts running endlessly through your mind. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t make yourself think about the one positive thing you had been hoping for since yesterday. If you got your hopes up, and Tony let you down, you’d be crushed all over again.

You hear the door to the hotel room shut, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. “I’ll just leave these here for you Y/N.”

You wait a moment before opening the door. You grab the clothes, a pair of gym shorts and a NCIS sweatshirt, and quickly get dressed. You towel dry your hair before opening the door and moving into the “bedroom”.

Tony, having lost his jacket and shoes, was leaning against the headboard of the bed, watching the evening news. His hair was tousled and wet from the rain and you could see the five o’ clock shadow gracing his face from where you stood. All you wanted to do was curl into his side and have him wrap his arm around you.

You clear your throat, partially to get his attention but mostly to prepare yourself for what you were going to say. He powers off the TV before standing and walking towards you.

“Tony, I don’t know why you are here. I said what I needed to say.” His increasing proximity to you was making it hard to think, so you took a step back as he stopped in front of you. “And you apparently said all you needed to say as well.”

His eyes, usually so soft and playful, were hard and serious as he looked at you. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders tense. Seeing him like this made you realize how much you loved his joking, relaxed side, even when it wasn’t appropriate.

“No Y/N.” Another indication that he was serious was the lack of any of the nicknames he had concocted for you. “I need to say something now. I fucked up. I let you leave thinking your feelings were one-sided, which they aren’t.” He steps closer to you, until you are close enough to reach up and kiss him if you want, which you really did.

His breath fans across your face as you maintain eye contact with him. “Tony, what are you saying?” You want to hear him say it, not just imply it.

“Fuck, I’m in love with you Y/N. I have been since the day you walked into the bullpen and shot down my cheesy pickup line.” He pauses for a moment, but you don’t say anything. “I love the way you laugh when you think something is funny. I love how you look when you are concentrating at your desk. I love how your face lights up when Gibbs listens to you and how excited you get when you and McGee talk nerd. I love fucking everything about you. And I really fucked it up when I let you leave, but now you know how I feel.” His speech has tears springing to your eyes. You’d never realized how much he had been observing you. Frankly, you thought it was just you doing that.

You search his green eyes, softer now than they had been earlier, before you close the space between you. “Tony, I love you.” You watch as the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles before reaching up and pressing your lips to his.

He doesn’t move his lips right away but when he does, he presses hard against your mouth. His hands are everywhere; in your hair, on your arm, at the small of your back, even on your face.

The kiss continues until both of you pull away for air. Your heart is racing and you are gasping slightly from the kiss. You have both your arms wrapped tightly around him and one of his hands rests on your face. “Jeez, if I’d known telling you would have led to that, I would have told you a long time ago.” Tony jokes, even though there is a ring of truth to his words.

You smile, before asking him, “How’d you get into my room anyway?”

His smile turns into a smirk as he steps out of your embrace. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black case you know all too well. “I am an NCIS agent, after all.”

Seeing his less serious side return, your heart swells and you realize that you are finally home.

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vanchlo · 3 years

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The Partner / Chapter Fourteen, "The Ten"

Word Count: 5.9k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics

I wasn't sure what had brought me here. It had felt like yesterday since I'd shut this door last, even if weeks had passed since. I'd never been able to shut it on that day and I knew that I wouldn't be able to, not fully.

"Babe! Are you ready to go? We're going to be late for the meeting," a voice calls from down below. Gulping hard, my heart stays stuck in my throat at the sight before me. It hadn't been the only one this morning that was hard to swallow.

"Coming!" The upstairs guest bedroom door closes behind me. I can't help but look at it over my shoulder, still unsure of why I had come up here. "We're not going to be late, Harry! When was it that you started to become so anal about being early?"

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn't attempt to hide the way his eyes roll at my remark. They finally settle on me, registering my eyebrow raise I challenge him with.

"Since you take fricken forever to get ready in the mornings, and the boss needs to be early," he tuts, nodding his head towards the front door. I hadn't noticed before how he holds it open, but now, the spring sunshine is unmistakable. "Come on already. I put our stuff in the car while you were dilly dallying upstairs. What were you doing up there anyways? It took me a few times to get your attention."

We'd long ago passed the time of saying 'thank you's for holding doors open, but habit aside, I still say it. Pulling the seatbelt across my chest, I ruminate on his question as he messes with the radio beside me. I'd become a master at being able to tell when his eyes were on me, and right now was no exception, because when I glance over at him, he's doing just that. The words hesitated on my tongue because at times I still found it hard to talk to him about her. We shared her and the grief around her. There was nobody else in this world who could know how I felt about her besides him, but the struggle persisted.

Avoiding his eyes had been my go-to when I didn't want to answer him. I did it now but it didn't serve me well, because of what I find instead. It seemed that nearly every time my eyes came upon it, it was impossible to not trace the curves of ink. It had lived on the inside of my wrist for over two weeks now and I still hadn't gotten used to it. When I thought that way, I realize I was never one to get used to things. My mother's abuse. Harry's coldness towards me in the beginning, only to be changed into sporadic softness. Then we became friends and something more, and it was hard to wrap my head around. He got hurt and I almost lost him, and it was something I still couldn't believe. It was a recurring theme in my life, especially as of late.

The permanence on my skin is interrupted by the soft edges and lines of his hand. A relief is kissed onto my skin when his fingers lace with mine, his thumb paying attention to the capital letter P in his handwriting on my skin. I don't know what does it but suddenly, I'm looking at the melancholy lifting his lips.

"I don't know but I wanted to look at her things in the nur- guest bedroom. The sonograms and clothes . . to remember that she was real and ours when . . when today I feel like I need to pretend that she wasn't," the words tumble from my lips as my throat feels tight with remembering. "I miss her."

"I miss her too," Harry says with a softness saved for times like these, which seemed to be quite often lately. It speaks louder when his lips press a kiss to the top of my hand. "But we don't have to act as if she never happened, Becks."

"I want to though. Not to act like- I'm just not ready to talk about her with people at work yet. It's almost been two months and I feel like I should be ready by now."

Repeating in and out inside of my head didn't help to steady the breaths trying to swim into my lungs. What did succeed was letting myself live in the unending sage color of his eyes, wondering what the flecks of gold would feel like if I swam in them.

"That's okay too, honey. People know not to ask and I said not to. It's more so something that you bring up yourself if you want to," he murmurs, thumbing at the escapist tear that got through my guard. "Are you sure you don't want to stay home another day? I can work from home whenever I want, you know."

"I'm sure," he had barely put a period to his words and I was insisting. His nod was fast but I could read the hesitancy in it. I tried to push it out of my mind as the car began to move, my thumb occupied by the same traces of ink on the inside of his right wrist, a P in my handwriting.

It wasn't how I thought I'd be living my life today, carrying the memory of my daughter in my heart and on the inside of my wrist, instead of in my arms in a few months.

I had thought at once that it was a sight for sore eyes, but now I couldn't be more sure that it wasn't. Still, I wasn't certain how I felt about it now. Seeing it had brought forth a nostalgia I yearned for, wanting to go back to a time where we were so naive and unknowing of what the future held for us. It also dug up a pain that could be unfathomable, because I knew how different things were the last time I stood outside his office door, looking in. Our happiness had been unmatched and upon realizing that, I felt my throat grow dry.

He looked more handsome than ever with the short beard he'd come to keep, one that swims into view upon turning around. I'd been caught.

"Hi, bug," Harry says, a smile making the dimples dive into his cheeks. It was small but it brought a glow to his face that I'd missed. "Are you heading out?"

Nodding was all that I could do as I stepped foot in his office. Even if it wasn't the first time today it still stung. Everything I missed was what I thought of when I stood in here. It was the framed sonogram missing beside his desktop, the space behind the guest chairs where I'd showed him the pregnancy test, and on the couch where we spelled out potential names with Scrabble tiles. That was only the beginning of what stabbed at me like knives, even if things had gotten better. It had only been two weeks since we'd started to talk and I had come to feel so much better, almost like myself again. I wasn't sure if I'd admit it but he was right. I'd come back to work too soon and it had been too much. I couldn't decide when I would tell him that I had cried in the bathroom twice today because of it all. He'd wonder when that had happened since I had been at his side all day helping him start on his new case, but I'd thought about her all throughout. I hadn't known that coming back here would stir up so many thoughts about her. How could I?

"Becks?"

"Y-Yeah, soon," I belatedly answer, grateful for his bookshelf in front of me. I know that he knows the truth, but it could seem as if I was lost in reading his titles, instead of consumed by my thoughts. No, Harry was smarter than that. He knew that I had perused his bookshelf more times than fingers I had on one hand, more than one normal person would. "You're sure it's okay that I take the car?"

"Of course. I'll just catch a ride with Myles. We still have a few things to go over anyways. We're not sure if we're sold on that one guy for the new hire or not, so we have to figure out what to do."

I couldn't find it in me to make a comment. Today had taken so much more from me than I had anticipated. I knew that there would be awkward interactions and maybe the curious looks. I didn't know that the team meeting right off the bat would let everybody stare at me to their heart's content, and let me catch them in the act.

"How was today?" his voice comes, interrupting my thoughts. I had come to welcome it, knowing how it broke up my mental web of danger. He had to have known too. "Rate it."

A title catches my eye, replacing the Pain-O-Meter we'd come to adopt since it'd happened. Plucking the book off the shelf, I flip it open to find the familiar title page and a message written in black ink. I'd have a good shot at reciting it without needing it before me even as the words came to blur before my eyes.

"Pass," I mumbled, daring the tear at my nose to fall onto the paper. Brushing it away before it can, I let the words in front of me swim through my mind yet another time.

March 2024

Harry,

I couldn't count how many times I've heard you speak of this case and all that it's taught you, even inspiring you to become a lawyer, you once said. I guess maybe I should have kept it for myself seeing as how you know next to everything about it, but maybe you won't know some of this 'never before seen' stuff. I call dibs on being the first one to borrow it from you, seeing as how it's a new release. I hope that one day we can bring justice and right a wrong like seen in this landmark case. Book aside, I couldn't ever find the words to tell you how grateful I am for you and even though it hasn't been a month yet, how much I love you, Harry. If there's a God, I'll be thanking them forever for bringing me back to you and to your firm to work beside you, and to fall in love with you all over again. I can't wait to hear you talk so passionately about this case and all of the others you look up to when we have our nightly goodnight call. I'll try not to fall asleep the next time.

Love,

Your Becks xo

"Becks?" There had been a time when I'd hated that name and how he'd mistreated it. It wasn't long after that I'd missed it deeply and wished to hear it despite being scared to. "There's no passes."

"Since when? Why can't I just for one time not have to rate my pain, Harry," I almost retort, my chest heaving when I turn to face him. His face remains stoic, that is if you were anybody but the few people who could read his face right now. The shock is clear as day and brings my hands to my mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to explode on you."

"It's okay," he assures me, stepping forward. His hand on my wrist is ginger and reassuring. "What one have you got there? Ah, the good old Glensheen murder. One of my favorite cases."

There hadn't been many times anymore that I couldn't unravel the emotions hiding on his face. Except for now, he locked it up good as he thumbed at the page, nostalgia lifting his lips into his cheeks. It made the sting louder inside of me as his mouth relaxed into its former line, a wetness clinging to his eyes.

"I'd started to think about how I'd tell our kids how I became a lawyer and it always started with this case here," unlike before, a dullness lept into the curling of his lips, a smile dipped in sour memories. "I thought of it with P, telling her how Daddy became a lawyer because of Glensheen . . but I can't do that anymore. It's too hard to think about."

A hastiness filled my actions, first with my hand on his forearm. The velvet button down he'd picked for today felt like butter beneath my fingers, but it was the only easy part about this. No, the wetness spilling onto his cheeks only made it harder and so did prying the book from his hands. It wasn't any smoother looking into his eyes as mine welled with what filled his.

"I'll rate today if you will," my gentle words came, volumes different from mine that had come before.

"Eight and a half," Harry said dryly, clearing his throat afterward. I knew how he craved a glass of water to soothe the cracks in his throat. If only it could do the same to the heart.

"That's your first eight in a week and a half," I note aloud and his acknowledgement is absent. That is unless you count his eyes falling away from mine, focused on dragging his finger along the letter on my wrist as if he could do it forever.

"What's yours?" his question is quiet, but I could hear his voice in the loudest of darks. It was what had dragged me out of my lowest of lows, afterall.

"Nine . . and a half."

It was my turn to stare at my hands and avoid the gaze of the other. I could feel his as I tried to swallow past the heart shaped ball in my throat, trying to forget how quickly his head lifted.

"You haven't had a nine in weeks, bug," Harry remarks and I don't bother to nod. What would be the point? I don't want to make it any more real than it has to be. "Becks, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you say nine . . do you mean a ten?" his question made sense but I didn't want it to, because that would mean I'd have to come up with an answer. That wasn't something I could do.

Waiting was something I had done a lot of recently and what joined it was my feeling of something being amiss. I had blamed it on losing Phoebe and how it had upset my entire life, but standing here now, both rang too true. I couldn't put a finger on why I hesitated opening the door, even though I had been here just the other night. It had been Harry and I's first double date back with Asher and Skye. We had played Cards Against Humanity and sat around the old rinky dink deep fryer whilst picking our cards.

Leaving that night, my stomach was full from the pizza rolls, cheese curds, steak bites, and more that we deep fried, but that wasn't why my gut felt off. Skye had been acting weird and I couldn't put a finger on it. Sure, things had been different since losing Phoebe, but I knew it wasn't that. Tonight, I hoped it would come to light. If only I'd known now what I would later, I would have never come at all.

There was no answer when I knocked on the door, so I let myself in like usual. Our favorite chicken bacon ranch pizza Skye had promised me wafted from the oven where it cooked. After a quick glance around the open apartment, I find that I'm alone. That's odd, I think to myself, remembering running into Asher in the parking garage on my way from leaving work today. Their cars were parked out front and Skye's purse and keys are scattered across the island. Just like the old times, I muse silently as I begin to toe off my shoes until I stop.

Loud voices carry from down the hallway and immediately I recognize them as the two blondes I'm looking for. Removing my shoes is forgotten as I inch my way into the apartment, trying to listen. Normally, I'd feel guilty eavesdropping and so I don't often do it, but that went out the window when I heard my name. It sounds like they're fighting, but what about? Does it have something to do with me? Why would it? The questions bloom behind my eyes as the sound of their arguing grows when I come closer.

Stopping outside my old bedroom door, I felt more than uncomfortable, but it only grew as I waited. It had been weird at first finding out that Asher and Skye moved into my old bedroom, but knowing that it was the biggest, it made sense. Something inside of me tells me to stop and that I shouldn't be stepping into such a private moment of theirs. If it were the other way around I wouldn't want somebody to eavesdrop on me and Harry talking, and least of all a fight. But I can't stop after I hear my name for a second time.

"Skye, you have to tell Becky. You can't wait any longer."

"Don't you think I know that, Ash? I've been trying to think of how to say it, but for the life of me I can't," my best friend sighs. A whining sound follows her words, presumably after she plopped down onto the mattress. But when it comes a second time, I realize it's drawn from her lips.

"It'll be easier the sooner you tell her, babe. You know that." An unmistakable sigh whooshes from my best friend's lips on the other side of the door. "It can't wait any longer. Maybe you should tell her tonight."

"No! She just went back to work earlier this week and Harry said that she's doing better. I don't want to ruin any of that by telling her."

"She'll understand, Skye, and I know how much you want to tell her, to share this happiness with her. It was all I could do the other night to not talk about it, because I'm excited too," Asher admits with exasperation. Another sound tells me that he's joined her to sit on the bed.

"Of course I want to tell her, but how do I tell her about . . "

I hadn't known how I had gotten here. That's stupid because, of course, I did. But sitting here now, the steering wheel of Harry's car slick with my tears, I still wish I hadn't heard what I did. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't erase it from my memory, and no amount of tears could make it better. Each breath I took sent shoots of pain through my chest as it shook with fitful sobs. The engine still ran, rumbling softly even through the steering wheel my head rested on.

I had lost track of how long I'd sat here after pulling into the driveway. I knew that he would hear the garage door if I pulled in, so I was waiting. He didn't seem to hear or see the car yet, something I was grateful for. I wasn't ready yet, but would I ever be after what I just learned? Just as much as she didn't know how to tell me, I had no idea how I could tell Harry.

The laugh track of a TV show is what I hear first upon opening the door, followed by a wisecrack from Joey on FRIENDS. My heart squeezed at the sound of Harry's subsequent giggle, and knowing how I was about to take it away. I closed the door softly as I could and still knew that he would hear it. It's instantaneous how quickly the TV is turned down and how my unrelenting crying replaces the sound.

"Becks? You're home already, love?" my favorite voice murmurs from the living room before alarm is racing in it. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

I could count the seconds before I hear his rushed footsteps coming my way, and then stopping in front of me. Harry's molasses voice rushes to say my name a few more times but he succeeds in one try to pull me into his arms. Taking my spot sitting against the front door, I melt inside of his arms.

"Baby, please. What's wrong? You're scaring the shit out of me," it was hard to make out the concern in his voice amidst the spinning of my thoughts. It was there but I knew that had things been normal inside of me, I'd be able to hear the panic and fear living in his voice. "Are you hurt?" hurrying to ask, his hands run along my body, as if checking for injuries.

His neck smells sweet with vanilla from his cologne and then woodsy all at once, a smell that used to calm me in seconds. No, not now. Inhaling, I try to focus on his voice and the feeling of his fingers in my hair, but it's more than hard. It's only after snaking my arm out from around him and my fingers into his, do I find my bearings. His chin was sandpapery against my head and although he'd wake me up with the weird feeling, I welcome it now. It's what roots me to the spot and brings me back to him.

"Becks honey, talk to me . . Don't run away from me again," sorrow leaked from his words that began to break on his lips. "Please."

"Harry," his name came out in a sob deep from inside of me. The second I'd heard those words drop from Skye's lips I had wanted him . . needed him. I had known that's the only thing that could ever make it better, but could it after I utter the words that had been spinning webs in my head? "S-Skye . . . "

"What, is Skye alright? Did something happen to her? Did-."

"Skye's pregnant, H-Harry."

What woke me wasn't the feeling of his fingernails dragging along my arm, raising goosebumps. It was a nightmare that I couldn't place once I'd opened my eyes, but that didn't matter because I'd woken up to one. The night before came flooding back to me, making me remember why my throat burned and my eyes stung. It was from the screams I shouted in the car where nobody could hear me, not even God who they were meant for. No, I doubted he heard me or saw the way I chased breaths between sobs.

"Morning, bug," Harry rasped in his voice dripping with extra honey.

Something unspoken hid in his words and in the way he covered my face with loud kisses. I didn't laugh or even break a smile. It was impossible after the newly awake ignorance washed away seconds after waking. I felt the hesitation in his movements, the way his chin now tucking my head to his chest moved when he was going to speak only to stop. He wanted to ask how I slept or what I dreamt about. It was the usual stuff but I knew that he was choosing his words carefully after all of the ones that were said last night.

I felt lost in my own, not knowing what to say. It was almost as bad as before when a chasm broke through our lives, carrying us away from each other. Almost but not quite. The thought made me cling to him with fear, never wanting to lose him ever again after all of the times that I had already.

"Shhh, I'm here. I-I know it's not okay right now, but it will be eventually," he cooed to me, fingers nimble and gentle where they dragged through my snarled hair.

"How, Harry? How am I going to be okay seeing her have what I want? I have to watch my best friend have a baby when- when I should be pregnant with her too. I-I . . ," no other words are possible as I begin to shake in his arms. Again.

"I know, buggie," is all that he says, speaking volumes more through his fingers drawing shapes into my back.

"How many times have they called?"

His hand pauses, frozen in a soft claw against my spine, "How'd you know? I thought you were asleep."

"I was but I know h-how they are . . She was so upset, Harry. I still feel so bad for how it happened."

"They each called about ten times already since last night between our two phones. I've gotten a few texts as well but I don't know how to answer them," he murmurs and I can only nod. His calming humming begins against my hair, some tune by The Paper Kites that he caught me listening to when I was his assistant, saying it was a favorite of his too. "Skye already said a hundred times that she understands that this is hard for you . . It's what all her texts and voicemail said."

"How can she say that she understands wh-when she's never lost a baby?" out it comes and I can't take it back, despite all of the times that I had thought it. His words of comfort begin but I'm too quick to shut them down. "But I should be happy for her and Asher," I whisper into his chest, the familiar warmth of his necklace against my cheek.

"You don't have to be anything you don't want to be, Becks. We don't get to choose how we feel . . However you're feeling is okay and it's understandable," Harry says, tracing circles under his t-shirt he pulled over me last night when I couldn't get dressed myself. "To be honest, I'm quite pissed at the world at the moment and somehow at them too. It doesn't make sense but feelings never do . . I had the hugest crush on you when we met and I had a girlfriend. It didn't make one bit of sense to me."

All that I can muster is a hummed acknowledgement before words find me, "You fought it and it didn't go away though. I want this to go away. I don't want to be jealous and mad but . . I don't know how I can't be. It's not fair, Harry."

Any licks of morning light is doused out by black when I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that was the trick to keeping the tears in.

"I know, honey bug. Life is never fair, unfortunately . . but we're going to have our own family one day. It'll happen for us when we're ready again . . And if you can't do it, watching Skye become a Mum, then you don't have to. I don't want you causing yourself any more pain. You've already been through so much."

"But she's my best friend, Harry, ever since first grade."

"Then give it time, babe. Healing doesn't happen in a day . . We both know that."

"How can I heal if everyday I'm reminded of it, Harry? Sh-She's going to have a baby and I'm supposed to be there as her best friend, like we've always planned. The best friend plans the shower and is there for the birth, and her bump is going to get bigger. I-," he stops me before I carry on and eventually implode from the feeling bursting from my words.

"You can only do so much, and however much that is - big or small - is okay. Skye will understand," he insists from above, nudging his nose against my temple. "Shhh, shhh. It's going to be okay, babe. I promise."

Harry's words ghost over my face, smelling of the minty toothpaste we use. If my body wasn't shaking with waterfalls of tears, I'd try to care what time it is and why he isn't at work. Part of me wants to ignore it and that's the one I listen to, letting him rock me back and forth inside of the safety in his arms.

"Thanks for staying w-with me," I blubber against his neck, finding purchase with my hands cupping his shoulders.

"Always, my love. Thank you for doing the same. I know it seems like we keep getting hit down as soon as we get up."

"No kidding," I hiccup.

Trying to focus on the Elton John song he sings to me instead of the danger concocting inside of my head is no easy task. It was one of our favorite songs but it still couldn't stop me from thinking about how it should be Skye and me pregnant together. We'd dreamt out loud how many times since we were six that we'd be mothers together and our kids would be best friends. Now, that will never happen, I think miserably, wishing that things could be different just like I had thought for the last two months. Those thoughts spun back into how I'd have to stand by her side through it all, pretending that I wasn't insanely jealous and resentful. That sentence in itself makes me cry louder against his bare chest, because she was my best friend and how could I be so mad at her for something that was so amazing? I can't but I am.

It was the very same thing I'd said last night after the bedroom door had opened, all of our mouths agape. I'd tripped on my own feet, or their news had knocked me off them, I suppose. It had sent one of their plants onto its side and profanities from my mouth.

"Ree . . Oh my god," Skye had gasped, a hand to her mouth, of course. The face I had known for so many years, watched change over and over, had paled so that it almost matched the wall behind it. "Please. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way. I promise I was going to tell you, I just didn't know how. I-."

"I can't do this, Skye. I'm sorry but I-I can't. I don't know how to," I had muttered hastily, my wet eyes already painting my face only moments before hers.

It was only seconds later that Asher had exclaimed my name for there to be no response. Moments before slamming the door, I heard him call after Skye whose footsteps trailed behind me.

"Ree, please! I'm sorry!" she had shouted after me, in a voice that snagged on the fresh crack in my heart.

"Skye, don't. She'll be okay, just give her time."

With a pained sob just before the door closed, I heard her choke out, "I never wanted to hurt her."

"Is there anything I can do to take your mind off it, bubs? It's not healthy to keep replaying it over in your head, and I know you are," Harry's murmur comes, trying to shut the door on the memory. One that is still too fresh and new, too much like the puddle of red I sat on in this very bed that morning. We'd made our way back into our bedroom and into our old lives, thinking things were going back to normal. Little did we know. Shaking my head does little to erase the thoughts, no matter how many times I do it.

"Your head's not an Etch A Sketch, bug. Stop, baby, please," he insists, bringing a hand to my head, trying to make me stop. If only I could erase the thoughts like the old toy we played with as kids. Skye and I would fight over who used it, even if we both were terrible at it. "Please, just tell me what I can do to make it all better."

"You can't always fix it, Harry. Thank you for t-trying, but . . "

Puffing, the crack in my heart widens at the pain held in just his sigh. "I wish more than anything I could, Becks. I'm the husband, the d-dad. I should be fixing it."

"Don't. You can't a-and that's okay," I say with a voice colored with the very opposite, because it really isn't okay.

"Even though it's not . . okay."

Nodding my head quickly into him answers that then and there, as if the tears loud from my eyes didn't say that already.

"I see now why you've never rated your pain as a ten before today . . ," he didn't need to finish his thought because my mind knitted it up for him. Because I need to save it for when it could be nothing else but a ten.

"I miss her. I never even met her and I miss her so much it hurts," my voice trembles, colored with memories that had just become bearable to recall. Now, I feel as if I need to find the key to lock them back up in their box because they're too painful to think about. "I just want her back, Harry."

"I know, sweetheart. So do I," his lips brush against my temple with his words, pressing a kiss there that stays. At least I have Harry. I can get through anything with him by my side. I find it in me to take a full breath at that realization, holding onto him tighter.

What now, I thought silently but the words spoke volumes. Underneath me the mattress squeaked when I tried to get comfortable. Tugging at my shirt, my eyes fell to my legs clad in a fresh pair of jeans. It felt bizarre to be wearing them. I hadn't gotten dressed in four days, because I could barely get out of bed. It was too much like the last time and it scared me to no end, because I didn't want to lose everything like before.

I didn't want to get dressed today or to take a shower for the first time since I'd heard about Skye, but I did. Harry gave me time and didn't push me, but when he left for work this morning, again without me, I found it in me to do it. My body had already gotten used to the baggy feeling of Harry's oversized shirt and sweatpants. Now, it wasn't sure about these jeans or the warm black and brown Argyle sweater I'd found in his closet. Dragging a brush through my snarled hair seemed like the most work I could do all day, let alone warming up leftovers after it. This time, I hadn't lost myself completely, but I still didn't feel like me. Knowing what I did changed everything once again, and I didn't know how to do it.

Staring back at me, the meticulous plans Harry and I had made seemed impossible now. The blinking cursor nagged at me to type in the shared Google document, knowing Harry would see it. The top listed the logical need to know things and then the places we'd go, followed by the costs and smaller details. It had only been a week since we'd looked at our wedding plans together, but it had seemed much longer now. Seeing the dress decorated with lace and sewn flowers in our closet pained me, making me wonder how I'd get my best friend to do my hair and makeup now. I knew that she would come, even if I hadn't answered any of her texts or phone calls since it had happened. But how could I do it?

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