#She's also all bruised up and her hair is in a braid instead of its usual twisty thing

[warty-hog-legacy]

SKETCHES 

of Clara’s clothing. Will do school uniforms eventually

headcanon under the cut

Also, after the whole fighting-Ranrok thing (gotta happen in March, right? still snowy out), Clara is wounded via knife slash to her ankle, also twisted same ankle, got walloped by a troll, scratched up her legs something awful sliding on rocks, and then watched her favorite professor die. She’s in hysterics when Sharp and Prof. Onai are trying to corral her up to the hospital wing. She keeps trying to escape and go find the entrance to the mined tunnel.

Pls keep in mind, she’s 15, been awake for like 36 hours straight, and just lost someone important to her (again, so like, old memories of her sister dying are resurfacing). Obviously, she is a pillar of calm and collected sanity.

Additional Information: When the tremors with the Ancient Magic started, the Profs who did not go to help fight were herding students into the Great Hall, like when Sirius scratched up the Pink Lady’s portrait. So a not insignificant number the student body heard Clara’s screeches, snuck to the door and saw the floating cot with a body under a sheet, the haunted looks on the professors as they return.

Rumors circulate. As they do.

So two mornings later, when Sebastian has worked up the nerve to actually talk to Clara (he heard her parents were summoned in the middle of the night, also heard she lost her mind, that a dragon lived under the castle, castle was almost blown up, etc... who knows what’s true). So. He’s going to talk to her. Which he’s talked to loads of girls, and talked to Clara loads of times. Except that she’s refused to talk to him since the Uncle Solomon incident, and that’s why he’s nervous and trying to talk himself into seeing her.

Instead he Lurks (defintely lurking) outside the hospital wing, unsure if he wants to talk to her or not. He sticks his head into the door, half hoping she’s still sleeping and half-hoping she’ll see him and all that awkward guilt will vanish.

Sebastian is treated to a view of privacy curtains halfway down the wing. And through a little gap, he gets a glimpse of her lacing up her corset. Just for like, 1 total second.

5 minutes later, a bunch of second-years watch him sprint out of the castle and dive headfirst into the lake.

[mochinomnoms]

i know in the leech family that its a running joke that the mc is their cleaner shrimp and i cant help but think when its finally the leech parents turn!

Imagine mc and the leech family are going out to do some family bonding and the mc causally picks off some lint or hair off papa leech or mama leech and their mood just instantly brightens :D They go like “thank you dear! Is there anything else on me?” And the parents are just spinning around happy because their child-in-law is doing shrimp things with them! (Meanwhile jade and floyd are off to the side being like “what about me D:<”)

also may I be 🪸 anon or 💫 anon?

YEEAAAAH FAMILY SHRIMP!!!

I think it's a very sweet idea! Whether it's just one of the twins or both that you've gotten involved in, they both enjoy your fretting and picking at them. Floyd most often gets your attention, as he's always getting up to stuff and messy. However, he's more prone to scrapes from basketball and burns from cooking at the lounge, so he gets lots of attention from you. Floyd loves it, he loves being taken care of for once, instead of being feared or seen as a big bad eel. He needs loving too! He needs to be treated tenderly and kindly. Floydie just wants to be loved, and who better to do that than you?

Jade on the other hand will just get dirty when hiking and foraging, but rarely get any scrapes or cuts. He might bruise here or there depending on how it went, but over all you're more likely to need to clean stray twigs, leaves, and dirt for him. In fact, you'll find Jade approaching you after his extensions, every single time, asking for your assistance. Maybe join him in the bath and help him clean up? As his cleaner shrimp? Pretty pleeease? After all, the caretaker needs some caring too sometimes.

When you eventually get introduced to the family and properly fit into your place with the Leeches, with an appropriate shrimp merform! Papa and Mama Leech are just happy that their boys have such a sweet partner. You further solidify your spot when they learn about your “shrimp” tendencies. They think it's so cute! So imagine their delight when you start tending to them like you do their sons!

Papa Leech will often find himself get into...”scuffles” after work. Normally, the family doctor would be available to patch him up, but they were already attending to a patient of theirs. Here comes their resident shrimp, offering to patch him up! You babbling about Floyd and how he always got hurt from his activities at school, so it wasn't a problem. At this point, you're practically a pro! Papa Leech has stars in his eyes, though, he has the cutest child-in-law!!! And you've been doing this for his boys, for free??!! Screw Floyd and Jade if they ever break up with you (like they'd ever would) cause Papa is keeping you in the family for the foreseeable future. Not only are you convenient, but you care for him like family, he'd be a barnacle to let you go. If you're not already married to his boys, prepare yourself, cause he's already organizing the engagement and wedding. No, he did not ask his boys beforehand.

As for Mama Leech, she's been repeated described as a worrywart, and overly cautious, especially regarding her family. I think that, since you weren't brought up in the family like her boys, would be prone to keeping you at her side. If Papa and the twins are off for “work” then you can find her snatching you up for some mother-in-law time to keep you nice and safe! This is when she gets her own version of shrimp tending, via you doing her hair and makeup! She does love dressing up and looking pretty, and is delighted when you start brushing through her hair with your fingers, braiding it and softly applying her lipstick. It's been so long since her boys were little and played dress up with her! But here you are, so sweet and soft and gentle with her! She's now become attached, if you so much as try and leave the family, Mama is sobbing and begging you to stay, while also strangling her sons for what ever they did wrong (she knows they did something the little troublemakers).

I'd say that the twins only get mildly jealous, after all, the more time you spend with their parents the less they get with you! And you're their partner!!! They suppose they should be happy that you get along so well with their parents. Except Floyd. Floyd wishes to monopolize your time and will hide you away with Jade in a dark coral nook. He called you Shrimpy first, it's his right!!!

(I will dub thee 🪸 anon!! welcome!)

[happysparklingshadows]

𝙱𝚐3 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎

Note: I love you all for your support for my Bg3 headcannons and I want to let everyone know my requests are open (also open for TLOU and Yellowjackets)!! Also, comment if you would like to be added to the bg3 taglist! I love you all!

Lae’zel

-She finds it ridiculous when the two of you stumble into a pleasure house.

-She hates outward displays of desperation for sex or yearning outside of the person you are trying to lay with. She was a steel face as your party looked around the rows of items. She is not interested in any of them.

-behind her back, you couldn’t get anything without a sharp look sent your way. There are more critical things to do instead of istiks desperate need for a flesh bond.

-You are scared to tell her you had bought a strap-on. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was just something that had tickled the back of your head. So, you saved it for the right moment for you to introduce something new to your sex life with your overly serious githyanki lover.

-After a hard day of fighting, covered in sweat, blood, and dirt. She came to you. Her eyes are sharply intense as she looks over your form. She says, “I want to lick every inch of your skin of your scent. Tell me, do you tease me on purpose or just to make my hunger for you to grow?”

-You smile and play coy, knowing now that it does rile up Lae’zel, and say, “I am guessing I am not bathing tonight?”

-“No.” Lae’zel says as she holds her arms across her chest. She stares you down and doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to.

-So, you slip away and grab your bag whenever everyone is asleep. When you reach her, she gives you a stern look of confusion and dislike at you doing something unexpected.

-You sit down beside the bag and pull it out. You explain to Lae’zel that it is just for sex and that it is only needed to have sex differently.

-“Am I not pleasurable enough for you, then?” She asks in a defensive tone of venom, and you just smile and look up to her from your spot.

-“No, the opposite. I wanted to know how it would feel if you had a penis.”

-“But I don’t.” ????

-You chuckle as you look up to her, “Have you never wondered what it would be like if you could be inside me? Like, claim me differently, my champion?”

-The comment of claiming clicked in her mind. She insisted she would be wearing it and using it on you.

-You help her put it on when she gets frustrated with the straps.

-Lae’zel doesn’t even let up for a moment after hearing the whimper out of your mouth when she entered you. It was like something primal clicked in her head. She was going to claim your body and soul.

-Lae’zel licks your neck and chest with a soft growl, her hips slapping into yours without mercy. She hums low, moans in her breath as she thrusts into you. Your hands tangled into her hair and small braids, your breasts push against her lips as your back aches.

-Lae’zel becomes obsessed with the sounds out of your mouth. She holds your head down as she looks over your face intensely when you cum. She nearly cums against the strap when your name comes out in a shuttered breath.

-Lae’zel fucks you with the strap that night until the night sky crawled its way out of the sky. She groans at the fact she has to stop fucking you. She smells herself and you all in the air.

-Lae’zel will steal the strap and keep it with her. She may or may not smell it when she wants to smell you when you aren’t near.

-Lae’zel will not be using the strap often, but she will use it when she wants to have a little more dominance over you. To show you that she was the source of every bruise and ache in your body.

-Her strap would be flesh-colored, or she would have never had it near her body. What do you mean that she can have a glittery purple strap???

-She is a Mean Dom who praises your good behavior. She is always razor-focused, always on top of everything in her life, and ready for battle at a moment's notice. She has no problem correcting you or making you understand the consequences of subordinates. Expect to have a few marks on your way out.

Karlach

-The second she enters the pleasure house with the party, she wanders off on her own. Searching, wondering, fantasizing. She doesn’t want to get too pent up, so she leaves a little earlier than you do, not noticing you seeing her eye the strap on with blush on her cheeks.

-A devilish thought came to mind, and you got the one she was eyeing. It was a larger one that made you blush at the thought of it being stuffed inside you.

-But, because Karlach and you can’t have sex until her next upgrade and a miracle, the strap is long forgotten in your crest.

-Once Karlach got her upgrade, IT. WAS. POUND. CITY!

-You and Karlach fucked in your tent, on the tent, by the campfire, by the campfire with your friends around you (very difficult to be quiet), in the river, in ruins, in the forest. There wasn’t a moment that went by that Karlach’s hands were not trying to touch you.

-One night, while eating dinner at the party, you remembered what you had bought a few weeks earlier. You stay quiet as a blush comes over your face at the memory.

-When everyone retired to their tents, you entered your shared tent to find her humming away to a love song and sharpening her axe.

-“Hey, soldier, I have been waiting for you all day.” She puts down her axe with a great smile to look at you. She notices the way you coyly stand. She leans back on the tent wall with a slight smirk growing, “What brings you around?”

-You melt to her face immediately and crawl closer to her with a devilish smile, “I missed you today. I wanted to give you something.” You say as you crawl in between Karlach’s legs. Inches away from their lips.

-“Oh yeah, baby, what’s that?” Karlach asks, clearly lusting after you again, and watches you intently.

-You run a finger up her stomach and to her heart. It burned like a cup of hot water, and you let your eyes worship the woman you love. “You remember when we went to that pleasure house?”

-Karlach’s breath hitches when she feels you touch her. She only says shakily, “Yeah?”

-“Well, I noticed what you were eyeing and bought it. I was wondering if you wanted to use it on me?” With your eyes meeting her, you asked her, and your hand planted itself on her strong shoulder.

-The same shoulder you hold on her for dear life as she fucks you standing up with the strap. She trusts you with the growls she uses in battle. She ferally fucks you as you cling onto her with yelping moans.

-Karlach looks down to see the black strap disappear into you like a magic trick. She had a big, goofy smile on her face.

-Karlach has you screaming, writhing, and desperate. You become lust drunk quickly, even have a moment where you just stare at her in reverence in the way she fucks you to bliss.

-Karlach didn’t know her strength most of the time with you and didn’t mean to manhandle you when she did. You never complained, though. You liked the feeling of her effortlessly lifting you up and down with her biceps under your thighs, or the way her hand completely covered your throat if she held you there, or when she grabbed your chin firmly to kiss you.

-“Gods, I fucking love you- I am never letting you go! Fuck baby, look at me like that.”

-Karlach cums the moment you start to shake when your climax approaches. She shivers and ruts the strap into you like she was trying to push cum out of it.

-You are a writhing mess for her as you are placed on the floor, your toes still curling even after they have left your body. It was a delicious feeling. You bite your lip as she stares down at you, still standing and panting. The strap still in the air.

-“Did I do alright?” She asked. She wiped the sweat from her brow.

-You look up at her towering form and massive fake cock staring you down and say, “Karlach, you are a fucking amazing. Please- Please, will you fuck me again?”

-And she did.

-That was the night Karlach discovered she was the STRAP GOD.

-Karlach would get a big black strap if she had any day in what she wanted. She wanted something that seemed to fit her body, which happened to be big.

Shadowheart

-Shadowheart blushes when she comes inside the pleasure house with you and sees all the items for sale.

-She looks on with wonder and excitement at items for pain that caused pleasure. Nipple clamps, bondage rope of satin and silk, or wands made for shocking a person with a command word. It was all interesting to her, although she kept calm as she walked beside you.

-You look at her, and she meets your eyes silently. Your eyes point to a strap-on and back at her. You secretly speak to her about your wants.

-Shadowheart blushes and looks back at you. You can tell she says yes back to you. She loved this new secret language you two have created to speak intimately in public.

-You sneakily buy the strap-on without Lae’zel or Astarian noticing, keeping this secret for her. Which she dramatically approves of.

-You two act as though nothing has happened, and it is an ordinary day, an average day of adventuring through your quest. Shadowheart watched your behind all day, wondering what taking you from the back would be like. It excited her and made her happy.

-The day ended with conversation and planning the next move, where you will go tomorrow, and who to kill. You finally come over to her tent.

-Shadowheart smiles and asks, “I have been waiting for you this evening. Do I have you to myself now?”

-You didn’t even say anything else before you kissed her lips. You softly push the two of you into your shared tent and want to use this now. The anticipation was killing you.

-The two of you make out on the sheets of the ground passionately, but you two fail to stop kissing each other when you move to open your bag.

-Shadowheart surprisingly wants to use it on you first as she takes it from your hands and puts it on herself. She looks down at you as she puts herself together, “I want to have you. First, I want to see your face twist for me,” she says as she slowly lowers to kiss you again.

-She flipped you around out of nowhere. As she grabbed onto your hips, she kissed the back of your neck. She rubs herself against you as she gently enters you from behind.

-She watched in fascination at the way your ass jiggled and bounced with her thrusts, she liked the way your thighs slapped against hers, and she could just watch it all. Watching your wetness spread on your cheeks and thighs as she fucks you passionately.

-When you have cummed on the fake cock, she kisses your neck and begs for you to do the same. She takes it off, helps you put it on yourself, and lays it down for you to be on top of her. You passionately kiss her and fuck her back as her soft moans filled the tent.

-You take turns with the strap; sometimes it’s her using it, or you are using it on her. It was a reoccurring character in your sheets, and it becomes beloved very quickly upon both of your first climaxes with it together.

-Shadowheart would get a purple glittery strap if she had any day in it because it was simply pretty and did its job while being pretty.

Minthara

-Minthara doesn’t react much to the pleasure house or the inside items. She glanced over the items with a carefree attitude that made your heart beat fast in your chest for some reason. She surprises you by asking the employee to let her see this item beyond the display case, and she, without shame, “(Y/n), come here.” She softly orders in front of your party. You blush softly as you do as she commands, and she asks to see the different sizes and colors.

-Minthara Baenre was raised to be a proud Matron of Menzoberranzan and has the qualities similar to nobility of Faerûn, She was bold with her sexuality and desires. She actuallly gets a kick out of embarrassing you in a manner like this, to her it was amusing how people without status acts towards sex.

-She asks you for the size you would like and smirks as she asks for one a size bigger. She picked a deep red strap with satin ropes and added it to her bag like it was nothing at all. You leave the interaction and shop with heat pooling in between your thighs.

-Minthara doesn’t waste time with her new item. She waits for that night. It doesn’t matter what happened or what needs to be discussed with the party members, and you need to gag on her cock.

-Minthara waits in your shared tent and has it proudly on herself, adjusting the straps as you walk in.

-she has you on your knees in obedience and has her hands running through your hair as she thrusts into your mouth to see how it looks.

-Minthara says, “Such a good lover, so obedient with those eyes looking at me, just like that.” As she bucks her hips into your open mouth.

-Minthara has you propped in her lap in a death grip on your hips, thrusting up into you with the strap. Minthara had her eyes fixated on your face, watching it twist in helpless pleasure to her manhandling.

-Minthara kisses and sucks on your breasts as she listens to you writhe. She wanted to be covered in you, wanted to be stained in you, forever scarred by your love and lust.

-Minthara is the queen of overstimulated and mocking pouts, “I know, Ust-nor, I know. You got a little more to give me. I want it.”

-Minthara has you cum on the strap a total of four times before she feels settled and ready to let you off her strap. But she would steal one more after seeing your spent face as you lazily lay on the pillows of your bedroll

-Minthara happily cuddles you after. She loves you intensely and lays her head on your chest. She pets your body tenderly as she whispers to you about how well you did, how powerful she feels after, and how the two of you will dominate the under dark hand in hand.

-There is no surprise that Minthara is a brutal mean dom without mercy. She likes to be in power and be actively

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir." 

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit." 

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair. 

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-" 

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?" 

"What, now you care?" 

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs. 

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?" 

*

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like- 

"Watch out!" 

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him. 

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph. 

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-" 

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time." 

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way. 

For a second, nobody says anything. 

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful." 

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!" 

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …" 

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide. 

"I, erm … Dustin." 

"I'll stay here with Dustin." 

*

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick. 

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids." 

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light. 

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though." 

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee. 

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs. 

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-" 

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-" 

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon." 

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly. 

Dustin sighs and stands. 

"Coming, Hop." 

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-" 

And then it clicks. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says. 

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat. 

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise." 

The door clicks shut. 

The car glides away. 

Eddie buries his face in his palms. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit." 

Eddie groans. 

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day. 

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[riderborn]

✧   ⸻   [  grace van patten,  cis woman,  she / her  ]     ;     congratulations on surviving the parapet,  cadet  waverly dunbar, and welcome to the rider’s quadrant !  at  twenty - five years old, you should know exactly what it takes to make it to graduation, especially being so warm and selfless. though, i do suppose your tendencies to be callow and paranoid may make it hard to survive until threshing. other cadets say you remind them of watercolor bruises blossoming against your fair skin from hours in sparring, weeping into your palms after your first kill, the stark contrast of floral scented shampoo and the metallic scent of blood, but we’ll have to see how true that is. remember: if you want a dragon — earn one. 

I.   BASICS .

full  name.   waverly  rose  dunbar. age.  twenty - five. gender.  cis  woman. pronouns.   she  /  her. current  location.   rider’s  quadrant. status.  single ;  unattached. orientation.   bisexual,  biromantic. siblings.   two  older  brothers. signet.  not  yet  manifested. dragon.  not  yet  bonded. allegiance.   the  rider’s  quadrant.

II.   APPEARANCE .

hair.   golden  hair  that  falls  to  her  collarbones,  typically  worn  in  a  french  braid,  a  tight  ponytail,  or  in  loose  waves. eyes.   the  color  of  dark  chocolate. height.   five  feet  six  inches. scars.   none  yet. relics.   none  yet.

III.   MISCELLANOUS.

position.   first  year.  second  wing,  flame  section,  first  squad  member. strengths.  warm,  selfless,  approachable. weaknesses.  callow,  paranoid,  uncertain. hogwarts  house.   hufflepuff. alignment.  lawful  good. zodiac  sign.   pisces. media  inspirations.   violet  sorrengail  ( fourth  wing ),  beth  greene  ( the  walking  dead ),  lexie  grey  ( greys  anatomy ),  dani  clayton  ( bly  manor ),  missandei  ( game  of  thrones ),  jennifer  jareau  ( criminal  minds ),  primrose  everdeen  ( thg ).

IV.   BIOGRAPHY.

raised  by  a  rider  family,  waverly  always  knew  she  was  destined  to  be  a  rider.  from  a  young  age,  she  watched  with  envy  as  both  her  parents  &  both  her  older  brothers  experienced  the  inexplicable  bond  between  a  dragon  &  its  rider  &  she  always  knew  that  that’s  what  she  wanted.  growing  up,  people  often  told  her  she  should  plan  for  something  else  instead  --  she  was  tender-hearted,  empathetic,  &  soft,  &  everyone  insisted  that  those  qualities  wouldn’t  make  a  good  rider.  in  response,  she  simply  held  her  head  higher,  shutting  them  all  out  &  leaning  on  her  family’s  support  to  chase  her  own  dreams.  she  didn’t  spend  her  childhood  training  to  be  a  rider,  however.  her  interest  in  being  a  rider  is  one  thousand  percent  about  an  insatiable  admiration  &  need  to  appreciate  a  dragon  up  close  &  wanting  to  experience  that  bonding,  &  has  literally  nothing  to  do  with  the  thrill,  the  stakes,  the  gore,  or  the  power  that  comes  with  being  a  rider.  all  of  those  things  are  moreso  the  negatives  in  waverly’s  brain,  the  things  she  has  to  ‘tough  it  out’  through  in  order  to  achieve  her  dreams  of  seeing  the  world  through  the  clouds.  for  that  reason,  much  to  the  quadrant’s  dismay  after  her  two  stellar  rider  brothers  have  passed  through,  waverly  isn’t  much  of  a  fighter  &  has  continuously  come  out  on  the  bottom  in  every  way  that  counts  so  far  in  basgiath.  she  barely  made  it  across  the  parapet,  i  imagine  she  was  one  of  the  last  few,  limbs  trembling  &  collapsed  once  she  got  across...  but  she  still  made  it  !  where  she  lacks  in  brawn,  she  makes  up  for  in  dedication.  she  works  hard  in  her  classes  to  learn  all  she  can  about  being  a  rider,  &  volunteers  at  every  opportunity  to  take  on  more  duties  or  more  learning.  she’s  optimistic  about  it  all,  despite  the  fact  that  she’s  literally....  getting  &  going  to  get  the  crap  pummeled  out  of  her  &  has  a  very  slim  chance  of  survival  but  tbh  she  thinks  the  chance  of  bonding  with  a  dragon  is  worth  it. 

personality - wise,  she’s  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  that  doesn’t  know  when  to  stop.  she’s  like  prim  everdeen  crying  over  that  mean  cat....  &  she  probably  barfs  at  the  things  she  sees  at  basgiath  even  more  than  violet  did  tbh...  but  she’s  also  captain  america  getting  the  shit  kicked  out  of  him  &  then  standing  up  &  being  like  ‘i  could  do  this  all  day !’  even  when  it’s  like  baby  no  you  really  can’t....  she’s  sensitive  but  hides  it,  both  out  of  fear  of  being  targeted  by  other  cadets  &  bc  fake  it  til  you  make  it.  in  the  same  vein,  she  can  be  super  naive  bc  she  just  genuinely  wants  to  see  the  best  in  ppl,  but  is  also  a  Paranoid  Pisces  so  like.  she’s  in  a  constant  dilemma  &  anxious  quite  a  lot  but  yanno  that’s  how  i  like  my  muses :  suffering < 3

V.   WANTED  CONNECTIONS.

other  cadets  who  give  a  found  family  vibe~  people  she  feels...  semi-safe  around

the  rhiannon  to  her  violet,  someone  who  wants  to  show  her  the  ropes  &  help  her  not  seem  so  helpless...  or  simply  can’t  stand  to  see  her  get  her  shit  rocked  lol

corruption  moment...  someone  who  is  kind  of  like  ‘grow  up’.  bad  stuff  happens.  get  used  to  it !  a  little  tough  love  if  you  will

someone  super  protective  over  her  please  please  i  will  give  my  first  born

ppl  to  kind  of  play  with  her  feelings  a  little  bit...  make  her  your  fiddle  &  PLAY  HER

i’d  LOVE  a  professor  who  is  kind  of  helping  her  out  a  little  more  whether  it’s  bc  they  pity  her  or  because  they’re  skeptical  of  whether  she  deserves  to  be  here  or  not

anyone  who  doesn’t  like  her  simply  bc  they  think  she  doesn’t  have  what  it  takes  ( she  probably  doesnt )  or  because  they  just  annoy  each  other...  i  want  someone  to  bring  out  a  meaner  side  to  her

anything  &  everything  else !

[fl5793]

Karini: What if?

Title: All In

Explanation: First ep to my what if my OC character was in UA high hope you like

Summary: OC just arrived at UA High and she’s not holding back at all. The only thing is that she’s hiding a little secret from them…and it’s kind’ve a family thing

Description: Brown hair to her collar bone white bangs, Wears braids majority of the time mostly cornrows, Emerald green eyes similar to Midoriya’s, Aliyah is mixed but you can tell she’s darker compared to Emily, she’s about 5’7, she tends to be chaotic but that’s cause she just overall wants to be seen, I wear contacts just cause I don’t to want to wear glasses.

♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎♒︎

OC POV

Names Aliyah Sheresko got 2.5 mil on YouTube with 200k on TikTok just for being a bilingual psycho.

I’m fourteen years and going to some high school in Japan for personal reasons.

You may have heard of me in since I visited my sister for Christmas and let’s just say it wasn’t very

“Normal, no c-c-calm, or maybe… good a-a-at all,” Someone said with sass

I was sitting in a black car just staring out the window when someone rudely interrupted my thoughts

I a few minutes ago I waved goodbye to my sister Zuri while she headed off to school

Now I have an annoying person talking in my head

“That a-a-annoying per-rson’s name i-is Alexandra. AND I CAN HEAR YOU!” Alexandra yells

“Oh yeah did I forget to tell you I’ve had this annoying person talk to me in my head since I was 8 and told no one about this cause they might think I’m crazy,” I explained

“We all know crazy,” Alexandra says to me making me roll my eyes

I look into the rear view mirror and sigh

My life in the Bronx may have been ghetto but I still got to live now I’m gonna be in some stupid boarding school

“I need a new mom and for Brayton to be alive again,” I said opening the window

I poke my head just cause I need to breathe

“E-e-everybody c-c-comes a-a-a *takes a breath* comes and goes,” Alexandra says

“But why did Brayton have to leave me. Even if he wasn’t my biological dad I still loved him like one… he also kept my mo- Avery in check and ever since he died Avery’s been batshit crazy,” I said to myself then look at the bruises on my arm and hand

“While also being violent,” I whispered the last part while pulling my sleeves down and gloves up to the point you couldn’t see the bruises

I’ve always wanted my life to be something great something extraordinary but instead I was always taught to accept what I get and don’t get upset

But I’m not your average boujee girl from the hood I’m a wannabe hero and of course will be the-

“Most popular hero out there,” Alexandra says with an uninspired tone

“Y-you say the s-s-same shit all the th-th-time get over yours-self,” Alexandra said with attitude

“Didn’t I tell you the same thing when you rejected by Darren?” I asked sarcastically

“Well too be honest that is an entirely different convo- and look at we are here,” Alexandra said and I looked outside to see a giant gate

“My god this looks like something out of those rich white people movie like mean girls,” Aliyah said

I opened the door and let myself out. The driver took out my luggage

“Damn this place is fire,” I said surprised

in front of the gate was some emo man and a rat with a scar on its face

“Yep this is for sure Japan,” I said to myself

I walked to them as I bowed only cause I think it’s a think you do as a way of saying hello- look I know the language I just don’t know the gestures or the body language

“ Ah Ms. Sheresko welcome to UA High. I am Principal Nezu Founder of this academy and this is your homeroom teacher Mr. Aizawa,“ Principal Nezu introduced them both and they also bowed

Mr. Aizawa hands me some card

“Here. Since your license from America had to be updated,“ Mr. Aizawa said handing me my license

Yeah I went to a hero highschool in America but the one here in Japan just happens to be better

We all walk inside as the gate opens “This school is hot and so big I’ve never been in something like this before,“ I said impressed by the way it looks

Aizawa took into another building away from the school

It was the place I was staying at

“Got five floors too I’m taking the fourth,“ I called out and used my quirk speed to give myself a quick tour around the place and of course drop my stuff at a random door

Before coming right back down

Aizawa wasn’t surprised about my speed cause my grandma who I’m staying with probably told him about my quirk

We walked towards the school and next towards the classroom

As soon as we made it inside the classroom I had an emotional less face

Okay time to play this right all I need to do is act like how I do online since me actin as anything else sucks

Let’s begin

“You know I can hear you right?“ Alexandra asked with such sass in her voice

“ This is Aliyah Sheresko she is a transfer student from America and your permanent classmate,“ Aiwa introduced and oddly enough the class was quiet

The hell I do now? All I did was nothing and I’m still- wait a minute, why is there a girl staring at me which such excitement holy shit what is she gonna-...

I look down and see some boy under my skirt and that’s why you wear shorts kids

“Damn I’ve never see anyone this short before besides my sister but you make Kevin Heart seem like the average man,“ I said picking him up

I saw his fave and put him back

“Ooh no you looked better when I didn’t see your face,“ I said out loud and someone laughed a little too loud

“Classic from a psycho,“ A pink skinned girl said

“Oh my- you...you know who I am?“ I asked so happy and accidentally threw the midget outside since I left the door open

“Who doesn’t your pretty popular for your voice and for having a hot sister,“ A girl with Raven hair said

Holy crap people actually know me- I mean whenever I’m outside people look at me as if I’m ready to break the law or they know me because I’m Emily’s sister but never for... Hold up

“What’chu you by-“ Aizawa interrupted me

“Right now I need to leave for something important. Sheresko you may take your seat in the back,“ Aizawa instructed and I went to my seat

But as soon as he left I went to that raven haired girl

“What do you mean by my voice?“ I asked the girl then she pulled up a video of me my friends and my sister doing a cover of Lady Marmalade

I took her phone and looked into the comments and someone time stamped Mya’s part

I WAS SINGING- HOLD UP I CAN SING barely above average

“Girl what’s your name?“ I asked her

“It’s Jirou-“ I interrupted Jirou

“Well Jirou you found yourself possibly the famous friend you will ever have in eternity,“ I said to her and she didn’t respond at all

Mina jumps up in front of me

“Hi I’m Mina Ashido and of course your biggest fan!!“ Mina excitedly said hugging me randomly

“Oh wow... Okay,“ I said confused

“I watched all your videos and followed you on TikTok and YouTube and even watched you since the beginning,“ Mina all hyper and what not

“Wow Mina I’m so glad to have a fan and potential friend like you,“ I said to her and she got even more hyper

Different people started introducing themselves towards me but I recognized one person

“Broccoli boy?“ I said to myself while looking at him and he responded

“Yeah it’s me,“ Midoriya responded

I hugged him

“Yo it’s been too damn long how has it been,“ I said hugging him tightly

“Like five years exactly,“ Midoriya says while squeezing him to hard

I stop hugging him and memories comeback

“I remeber back in the old days when we were friends and how saved you from some dick head and than that dick head became my bestie forevies but then I forgot his name over time because he was a dick head and now I know he’s somewhere out there,“ I explained the whole story and oddly enough Midoriya looked scared with my words

“I-I- I don’t think-“ Midoriya was interrupted by someone who yelled randomly out of no where

“WHO THE HELL YOU CALLING DICK HEAD?!?“ Some blonde guy yelled

“K-kacchan please calm down,“ Midoriya said

“Shut up Deku!“ He clapped back again

But then I turned around and I looked at him pissed off

“Yo asshole who the hell you think you are talking shit to my best friend?“ I asked him in anger

“ Names Katsuki Bakugou and I’m the one that should be asking you that question if you think your something more than a-“ I interrupted him by throwing a blade his direction hitting the wall behind him and missing his head by inches

I walked to him

“Listen up ass hole. I suggest you shut your pretty face right now before I cut it. I’ve hurt teachers before, what? you think I’m not gonna-“ I said to him with nothing more than sinister thoughts

“Did I ask?“ Bakugou asked sarcastically and I was impressed by that

“Oh I see how you play. Why don’t we take this outside cause when I go ghetto I stay ghetto,“ I threatened

That is in fact kinda true since right if I wasn’t playing my side I would’ve killed this guy within seconds. If you think I’m playing well I’m not I’ll to jail if it meant shutting him up

“We got gym a few periods from now I’ll kick your ass then,“ Bakugou said with a smirk while I had nothing but an angry face

The bell rang and the tension was way up past the ceiling.

“Challenge accepted!“ I said with a smile nothing I kick his ass within seconds

We both left while the class just looked at us in fear

“What is wring with that new gurl she’s gonna get herself killed,“ Tsyuu said

“I think she has a chance at actually winning especially since she was very close to stabbing Bakugou in the face,“ Ochako said

Still pray for her,“ Tsyuu said

Gym period

We was told to change into our hero suits

I was given a necklace by Avery to make sure I could change with ease into my costume.

As I turned my necklace and changed the girls looked at me in shock

Oh god what did I do now? Is it because of my body, yeah I already no my body is weirdly shaped but at least I have a butt- wait could it be the way the shoes look I thought yellow and black looked good together

“How did you change like that it’s so cool?!” Mina was excited

“What-?” I asked so confused

“Yeah is that apart of your quirk or just something you did?” Jirou asked

“I turned my necklace and then I was able to change into my hero suit a woman named Avery made this for me,” I explained before putting my contacts in my locker and shutting it

Right now I had someone’s ass to kick and his name starts with a k

During gym half of the class were assigned to a name from a hat and brawl against that person since one person was sick

Luckily I was able to pick Bakugou’s name from the hat and that made people “ooh “

“Look at that dynamite boy guess fate always wanted us to fight,” I said sahking the piece of paper with his name on it while I rolled on my roller skates towards him

“ I’m gonna kick your ass watch out,” Bakugou threatened as I stood next to him

Everyone stood next to their partner and turns out whoever won would get get an extra 10% added to their grade for gym and that got everyone ready

“Guess we’re last give you more time to prepare dynamite boy,” I said and watched as the first pair go against each other

Mina against some girl named Uraraka

“Who is that?” I asked myself while looking at the girl

“That’s Uraraka! One of the pretty popular ones here destroy Mina,” Alexandra said

I was impressed I’ve heard of telekinesis but that’s not what she had but she destroyed Mina

“Yo Scarlet witch but not pretty GREAT JOB!” I shouted towards her and she smiled at me

I wanna challenge her she's interesting, especially her quirk but still I have a feeling that UA High’s students aren’t as great as I thought of them to be

I mean sure they quirks are unique but back in America High school Teachers don’t take shit from anyone especially the heroes in the Bronx even if there was a few

That’s what I loved about the Bronx it taught me to be real and to live life in some make-believe dream especially since these people wanna become pro heroes pretty much what I hear twenty-four seven especially out of broccoli boy's mouth

“Y’all talk about any other thing besides being a hero, gosh it sounds like I’m in a cult right now,” I said out loud watching as Midoriya go against some guy named Todoroki

“Yeah how you two met each other?” Mina asked

“Dynamite boy bullied broccoli boy I saved broccoli boy now we all besties,” I said getting faster and faster with every word

As I saw Midoriya use his quirk I was surprised by what I saw

“Midoriya never had a quirk. Wait- did he?” Alexandra asks

You didn’t stutter? But yeah last time I met him he never had a quirk he was quirkless now look at this. Midoriya is using some black thing to go after Todoroki then he uses somehow walks on air

I thought to myself while looking at him. I turned to Bakugou

When did Broccoli boy get a quirk? and why is there so many?” I asked and Bakugou looked at me

“He got his quirk last year,” Bakugou said and I smirk

“Sure that you're not hiding something about his quirks. I mean it has a lot of potentials and look at what it can do. You know since you two knew each other longer you’d think he’d tell you something about his quirks....” I said and watch as people cheer for Midoriya

It was me against Bakugou now

I walk towards Midoriya

“Wow Midoriya I’ve never seen anything like your quirk before,” I said and suddenly he replied

“Thanks!” Midoriya replied

“I was just wondering since not only have I never seen a person inherit a quirk so late in their lives, never seen anyone not inherit at least partial of their own parents quirk, but I’ve also thought I would never see anyone use black whip again,” I said in his ear and Midoriya was frozen to the ground

I smirked at his appearance

“I just wanna know how you did it. And why you did it? Someone as innocent as you still only sees one side of being a pro hero when in reality your seeing the wrong side,” I said to him and he was confused

“What do you mean by wrong side?” Midoriya asked

“OI SHERESKO HURRY YOUR ASS UP!!” Bakugou yelled at me

“I’m just warning you right now about the danger, neglect, and the amount of social drama that comes when you're a pro hero,” I warned him not looking in his direction

“If it's so bad then why are you here?” Midoriya asked

“Cause I forced too,” I said to myself but by the way Midoriya reacted I could tell he heard

I got ready and put on my mask

Suddenly Bakugou just jumped and got ready to attack me.

He set off a chain reaction off explosions blinding me

I had to get out of there I flew up out of the smoke but then he kicked me in the face and I went flying back o the floor as the smoke went away

I saw his face full of happiness

I threw up to ten knives in his direction but be blew them back

I can’t go too fast I already used up my speed quirk while putting my bags away

I had to use enough speed to the point that I won’t break my legs agains.

I got off the floor as Bakugou tried to blast me but I moved

I took out my wings- Well what was left amd sharpened them

I prepared my skates because I wasn't gonna hold back

I didn’t even notice but my eyes turned yellow as I went and used my speed

As I rolled towards him I used my skates to not only kick him in chest cause if I kick him in the face I would kill him especialy with how fast I was moving

As many time as Bakugou moved out of the way and blasted me away I was still able to get a few hit on him

As long I didn’t let him think and kept attacking him I was good suddenly

As I threw a blade at I used my speed to move away but then Bakugou somehow knew exactly where I was going and blasted me

That blade left a cut on his arm and now I realised the only way I was gonna win was if I killed him or at least knocked him out

“I already know your going for my neck you can knock someone out if a blade goes into someone's neck,” Bakugou said when suddenly I took out all of my remaining blades and ones he blew away and started to attack him with them

I have up to 40 off those do to the fact that they are handheld blades and how big my wings are

“Yo leader knife make sure they keep him distracted while go after him kay,” I assigned and it went around Bakugou staying far enough from him where hd couldn’t attack it but close enough to watch the other blades

My knives/blades can’t talk but they do have a mind of it’s own which is why if you ever become the holder of this quitk you must make sure you have a leader knife/blade to that is prepared to always watched the other blades

The leader blade/knife is the most valuable one not only because the knife if connected to a core body part like the other blades and if it breaks I could potentially die but it's connected to my heart and I could have a heart attack if it breaks

I stay in my and go on my knee and watched as my leader knife/blade goes farther and farther down until it signals me to go for below

Everything after that was all in slow motion because of how fast I was moving using my quirk

I sped and went through a small space but then I saw him again raise his gauntlet up towards my face but he just barely missed me as he blasted a few blades away

He kicked hit me in the jaw but I was able to oush through it all

I was able to kick him in the face with my rollerskate I could see him close his eyes as if he was knocked out

My leader knife/blade came from hiding and went into my hand I saw Aizawa standing up

I still have a chance at winning I can’t have him stopping it now

I saw him barely open his eyes as I swung around him and wrapped my legs around his chest tightly but then I heard a crack and I dropped my blade

Bakugou fell back and now he was laying on me which made my leg hurt even more

Bakugou was knocked out laying on my chest while my leg was broken

I pushed him off and saw my leg was in the wrong direction

I had to lay back down on the ground because of how much pain I was in I was literally crying just cause of how scared I was

The last time I tried to go that fast I did break my leg but that was back when I was nine years old

After that incident, my leg was healed but not all the way it needed to make a full recovery

I was sitting next to Bakugou waiting for recovery girl to give me a past

“If it wasn’t for your stupid rollerskates I wouldn’t be here,” Bakugou muttered

“Just can’t even admit the fact that you lost,” I teased

“No one won because Aizawa said we tied!” Bakugou clapped back

“God, you listen to that emo man like get over yourself we all know I won,” I said smirking

“Dumb ass no freaking won get that in your thick skull,” Bakugou said and flicked my head

“I could kick you in the skull right now and kill you,” I said, and he growled at me

“I’m gonna kill you-” Bakugou was interrupted by me

“Did. I. Ask?” I said and that guy pounced on me

Someone that tiny recovery girl separated us

“Now listen, you two are both weak if you let someone of my separate two giants,” Recovery girl says

Recovery girl gave me a note and Bakugou carried me

Now you may be asking why he’s carrying me well before that incident I made a bet with him saying “whoever was alive or at least still breathing is considered the winner. And that the winner shall be carried by the loser”

Yeah since I was still breathing I was being carried to arts class by Bakugou

“Well Bakugou I didn’t know you was such a sly fox,” Midnights teased and we both reacted with a disgusted face

“I like men not boys,” I said glipping my hair back

“She’s too ghetto for me,” Bakugou said and that surprised me

Not because he called me ghetto I already know I am but that he used it correctly in a sentence is just astonishing

“Aw~ you looked up Black slang to understand me,” I teased

“You say stupid shit that makes no sense,” Bakugou said and then just dropped me on the ground

“I hate you so much,” Bakugou muttered as he walked towards his seat

“Love ya too my brotha,” I said while getting up

Life is one pain in the ass but even if that question is solved I still have one more that needs to be answered

After school in my dorm

I was calling someone hoping they would answer

“What do you want right now I’m on patrol?” My sister Emily asked on the other side of the phone

“Emily do you have the book?” I asked

“What book?” Emily asked

“The book about those certain quirks and the what makes them so interesting,” I said to her

“Aliyah I gave you that book when you was leaving. I put it in your book bag before you left,” Emily said

“Wha-” I was interrupted by my sister hanging up the phone

I looked through my book bag and saw the book

It looked brand new even though this book was created when Emily was just five

This was originally a journal Avery made about the different kinds of quirks out there and what they can do but just mainly the kind of quirk they are combat wise whether they’re useful or not

But Avery did a whole research about a certain kind of quirk where one of them was black whip for sure

As I was flipping through it I saw a few pages talking about AFO yet they were ripped out

I ignored those pages knowing they would only bring back bad memories.

I kept going until I read something that said OFA

“This is it,” I said to myself and read as fast as I could but then someone entered the room

“Aliyah we have to talk about something,” Midoriya said to me and I looked up at him and closed the book

“Midoriya why didn’t you tell me?” I said putting the book away

I walked up to him and he was confused

“What do you mean?” Midoriya asked acting so naive

“Why didn’t you tell me... That you got your quirk from All might,” I said to him and he was in fact shocked with my words

“Midoriya your quirk is One For All and I know it too,” I said while holding him by the shoulders

“I-I-I-” Midoriya styttered the entire time propbavly confused on how I knew that

I saw behind him was Bakugou and I could tell he was listening on as he was walking into his room

I pushed Midoriya away and looked at him angrily

“How could you not tell me something like this?” I asked him angrily

“Because it has bothing to do with you!” Bakugou angrily says and was about to slam the door shut but then I caught it and slammed the door back open

“Bakugou you're my best friend and I guess it’s been so long but nothing will change that between us. Same goes for you Midoriya. I don't my own best friends keeping secrets from me,” I said to both of them

We were all quiet everyone starring away from each other

“You are all going into my room to discuss this situation and exactly what you two know!” I demanded then held both of their hands

“Because y’all are like brothers to me and I love you both,” I said in a calmer tone

In the end we all did go into the room but we got to learn more about each other

Even though Bakugou always had to fight with Midoriya but I still know that they see each other like best friends

Guess now I can finally use my saying in the end of part 1

“This psycho is out,” Aliyah says with a wink

[ms0milk]

a scent like spiced flowers

| virgin!tanjiro x reader

a/n: the virgin Sun Hashira brainrot is real folks

warnings: inexperienced ! tan, accidental peeping, boners, a big old messy blowjob, lots of whimpering, semi-public <- teammates are outside the door at one point, all characters 21+ MDNI

3.7k

Imagine Tanjiro, the Sun Hashira, all grown up and much too busy for romance. That is obviously, until he met you. The fight in your eyes when you stand between a demon and it’s prey. The strength of your stance when you wield your sword– the dip of your hips–

You're outgoing with his noisy teammates and professional in battle. You were protective of his sister, and competitive at the bar when celebratory drinks were in order. But he doesn't even think about the possibility of falling for someone. Of being attracted to someone. It doesn't actually even cross his mind, not with all the training that needed to get done and all of the civilians he needed to save.

Not even when he catches himself staring while you huff and snort and laugh at Zenitsu’s stupid jokes. Or when he nearly fell down the stairs a few months ago, distracted by your quiet singing instead of focusing on your breath when you thought you were training alone. Not when you always stay up late trying to braid Nezuko’s hair the way she likes. Or even when Tanjiro finds himself getting shamefully aggressive in battle when you’re in danger.

Actually, he found himself getting more and more aggressive when it came to you.

Forcing thoughts of your shining eyes out of his mind. Jumping to your defense when Sanemi or Obanai chose you to pick on at Hashira meetings. Even just tonight, when an unruly teammate was too impatient to wait his turn for the bath.

“Inosuke nooo!” Zenitsu sobbed from the other side of the Beast Hashira. Tanjiro helped to grip his shoulders and the pair of them failed miserably at slowing down the rampage.

“They’re taking too damn long!”

“It’s the girls’ turn in the bath, Inosuke! Please calm down!”

“Tanjirooo! Do something!”

The three Hashira looked anything but pillar-like as they wrestled in the hallways of the wisteria manor. Images of you after that night’s battle bullied their way across Tanjiro’s brain: bruised, bloody, laughing with relief. Nezuko practically carried you through the forest path as the sun rose, so that the woman of the mansion with the wisteria crest could tend to everyone’s wounds. You slept side by side for nearly the entire day in recovery and you deserved this bath.

“Inosuke I don’t want to hurt–!”

But the boar headed boy had dragged the group far enough down the hallway to reach the sliding bathroom door, and by god he’d already ripped it off its tracks. Zenitsu shrieked and gave up his grip on Inosuke in favor of covering his eyes. Tanjiro gave up the fight for a different reason; he was too stunned by the smell of you to move.

“What the fuck!” Aoi screamed and hurled anything she could get her hands on at the intruders. A bucket flew past Zenitsu’s head and clattered into the hallway. Nezuko shielded Kanao’s body with two big hands and you sank deep into the spiced water, cackling.

“Yeah guys what the fuck?” You teased as Inosuke stripped– boar’s head and all– and leapt into the bath water.

You covered your ears to protect from Aoi’s wails. Kanao physically held her back from trying to claw at scratch at him while also trying to keep her face from heating up so much that it killed her. Inosuke had always been shameless and you playfully hid Nezuko behind you when he ducked his head under the water.

“ ‘takin too fuckin long,” he gurgled and closed his eyes to finally relax.

“Tan, are you getting in too?”

Your voice chimed over the intoxicating smell of wet wood and whatever medicinal herbs were being used. But it was mostly.. you. That spicy floral scent that followed you around everywhere. Like you yourself were a charm to ward off demons.

“You’re a little overdressed don’t you think?”

Tanjiro startled from his standing daydream and gawked in a panic. When he spun to find Zenitsu, the Thunder Hashira laid unconscious in the hallway and he realized that you, you– you must be talking to him.

“I’m so sorry!” He cried and scrambled to reattach the door to the bathroom. If the smell of you was enough to stop him in his tracks, the sight of you was enough to kill him. Your injuries from the battle long gone.

Soft light from the setting sun made bathwater glow and the droplets of water that skipped down your body turned to gold. He’d never seen you with your hair pulled up so messily before and attempted to ignore the knot your smiling, sleepy eyes tied in his gut.

About five seconds of failing to reinstall the door later Tanjiro abandoned his mission, kicked Zenitsu's body away and leaned the door against the frame. Finally able to open his eyes without getting so flustered he went blind.

“A-Again I’m so sorry!”

“You should be!” Aoi shouted back, although Inosuke was fast asleep and everyone had already crawled out from the corners of the bath where they shirked away at his sudden intrusion.

As Tanjiro dragged Zenitsu down the hall (and failed to remember that Inosuke was in fact currently flashing his little sister) he heard your voice ringing like bells again.

“C’mon leave him alone. Or am I the only pillar who can handle a little nudity?”

He didn’t quite laugh, but smiled, at the indignant responses immediately hurled back to you and over each other. And then his face fell when he realized that you might genuinely be the only one who could handle it because, in a horrifying turn of events, his dick started to twitch.

No no, no no no no.

Tanjiro had gotten boners before. He’d been a teenager once. And on top of that, Mitsuri’s breasts had been spilling out of her uniform for years– but to think he’d get aroused by peeping? He must be sick. He dropped Zenitsu with a thud and rushed to their room.

It was fine, he told himself. One too many late nights– maybe the adrenaline from battle was wearing off weirdly. He sat in concentration and tried to clear his mind. All this breath training and he couldn’t even stave off a little hard-on? He had to calm down.

But then he smelled you again. That scent of you from the bath, floral and heavy, and wet– wet– he needed to focus.

“Monjiro~”

Your voice rang out and he wasn’t sure if it was real or just another sick, perverted fantasy of his. But then your head peeked into his room through the space in the door and he startled, wrapping his robes around himself.

“The bath is free.” You tried again, more gently and less teasing this time.

The light from your candle illuminated the highs of your cheekbones and cast a shadow over the bridge of your nose from your sleep heavy eyelashes. Not helping.

“Thank you!”

“Shh, Tan why are you shouting?”

“I’m not!”

You giggled and looked both ways before stepping into his room and closed the door behind you, “You gotta be quiet, ’s late.”

His entire body heaved, like a magnet trying to find its match, when you scurried over to him. And the smell of you, christ alive, like being pelted with potpourri from all side. He was too distracted to even beg you not to come in and then you touched him.

You sat behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, reaching forward to set your candle on the kotatsu. Tanjiro didn’t budge or turn around to face you, but he did do a bit more shouting, “I’ll j–just be a minute!”

He always got a little weird when there was too much downtime between missions; he was an active man and felt guilty for relaxing. You didn’t think much of his poor volume control and stretched out on the ground beside him, happy to get the rare moment alone.

“Why is Zenitsu in the hallway?”

When he didn’t respond immediately you rolled closer and pressed your shoulder against one of his legs. How was he going to escape?

He crumpled his discarded haori in his lap and turned to stand but you tugged on the hem of his robe, “Tanjiro?”

The murmur of his name from your lips surged from his ears down to the lost cause throbbing in his lap. How had he ever survived you?

How had he fought alongside you all this time? He could barely manage to breathe. You sat up, noticing the glass of his wide eyes.

“You get a little funky when you relax for too long, are you okay?”

“Mhm!” He responded too quickly. Sitting up, a fresh wave of you wafted through the air.

“Is this about earlier? Don’t feel bad, Inosuke gets naked all the time. And Aoi isn’t actually mad at you Tan–”

“Don’t–! say that.”

You would have been mad at him for snapping at you if it wasn’t more of a plea than a command. Why was he being so strange? You reached for his arm. Putting your silly little crush on the backburner for a moment so that warmth of his skin didn’t send you into a spiral later when you were trying to fall asleep without him.

But when you reached him this time he snatched your wrist in his hand and pinned it to the ground above you. You yelped at your sudden contact with the floor.

A jerk reaction from his training no doubt, but you'd never known him to lose his temper. And still there you were, clutching your own robes closed with your free hand and spread out underneath him.

“Tan?”

“I.. I’m sorry I..” He hovered over you on all fours, the right side of his face illuminated by candlelight. God, the first night of good rest in months and suddenly the sight of you alone could ruddy the peace of his clear mind.

Your eyes traveled from his ever-sparkling eyes down to where his legs caged you in at the hip. Oh-

“Tanjiro, you–”

“I’m so sorry,” He murmured again, unmoving. He was in a haze. He loosened his grip on your hand and leaned down into the crook of your shoulder. He apologized again. Tucked his cheek against your neck and finally drank in the smell of you, two deep breaths, and a shaky exhale onto the prickling skin above your jaw. The feeling of him so close to you sent chills across your back.

He seemed to realize what he was doing after he had his fill of you, and reeled backwards so hard he hit his head against the far wall.

“I’m sorry!”

“Stop apologizing.”

Ignoring the trembling of your hands you marched over to his spot on the floor. This fucking guy. Acting strange all day then pinning you the ground and sobbing about it. You knelt in front of him and ghosted a hand over his lap while he stared at you, dumbly trying to figure out what you were planning.

You weren’t stupid. His erection pressed into your stomach when he dipped you into the floor. Was this the reason for his bizarre attitude? Were– were you the reason?

“I’m–it’s not–”

You grazed his thigh from your seat in front of him, cutting him off when his breath hitched in his throat at the faint tickle.

“Don’t–”

“You don’t want me to?” You murmured and pulled one fold of his robe aside while resting your hand back in your lap. His comically hard dick was hidden under only one layer of material now and it twitched as he tried to sit up and looked around nervously.

He rushed to cover himself after a few glances between your eyes and his lap, but you reached under his hem and ran your hands up his legs to lean closer into him. Now it was your turn to cage him in.

“You can tell me to stop Tanjiro, I promise you’re safe.”

For as loud as he had been earlier, he was dead silent now. You scooted between his legs on your knees and waited patiently for a response, pulsing your fingernails over the meat of his thigh in warm rhythms.

“Tan, I want to.”

“You– auh!”

You made sure not to break eye contact as your hand left his leg and brushed over the bulge in his robe. The cloth was damp when you grazed it and you smiled, “I’ve really wanted to for a long time.”

Something about the man before you– the strongest demon slayer, the hero of the country, built like a brick house, renowned for his might– god, something about having him whimper at your touch made you fucking feral. He could throw you fifteen feet in the air if you asked him to, hell he’d just pinned you to the ground with one hand, and still you had him trapped with a few delicate flicks of your fingertips.

“Y/n, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

And then it dawned on you. That this man might be a virgin. An honest to god virgin. When would he have had the time for romance? You knew him, he wasn’t like Zenitsu or Inosuke– he couldn’t spend the night with just anyone to let off some steam before a mission. Tanjiro was so disciplined, oh my god did he even masturbate? You suddenly felt a little guilty about your eagerness.

“Is it okay that I’m touching you, Tanjiro?”

“I– I really like it when you say my name.”

The honestly in his response had you suddenly flustered. You looked down to distract yourself with the growing mess in his lap. And growing was the perfect word, you never thought Tanjiro would be so big.

“Can I?” The question barely fell off your lips before Tanjiro whispered,

“Please.”

You wasted no time folding your hands under his robe and grasping his length with gentle fingers. He stifled a sound from deep in his chest and shuddered with a sigh instead. Pulling his robes open, you finally freed his erection of its soft confines and stared at strawberry brown hair, trailing neatly from his stomach to the tuft at the base of his cock. It had two prominent veins traveling up either side to a flushed pink tip, and when you pulled his foreskin down his pink melted to eager red.

Every slight move of your hand elicited a grunt from the Hashira, or an accidental buck of his hips into your fist. His shoulder-length hair fell messily from its ties and shrouded his eyes in shadow. You shivered. As putty as he was in your hands, you still felt so small compared to him. Small and like you were in a dream, a dream where the man you loved finally wanted you to touch him.

“Y/n,” Tanjiro’s voice shook you from your thoughts, “P-please don’t slow down.”

You smiled at him apologetically and without saying anything gave his leaking tip a few quick pumps of your hand. Precum wet your palms and Tanjiro had to ball his haori up in his fists to keep from moaning out loud.

You scooted back a breath and leaned down close to his lap, “I know for a fact you can be louder than this.” You stuck your tongue out and gave the length of his shaft one wet lick from the base before closing your lips around him.

Tanjiro did moan at this– a desperate sound that broke when he tried to hold it back.

Fuck. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know how to keep quiet, he didn’t even know if you were okay– if, if you liked this. He hadn’t bathed all day– But the swirling of your tongue around his sensitive tip was enough to elicit feverish whimpers from him.

You liked that sound, and you like to tease him. But what you really wanted was his cum to paint the roof of your mouth.

You cupped his heavy balls with one hand and rolled them around in your fingers as you finally took his entire length down your throat. There was no stifling the sounds he made now, not that he was trying anymore.

“Y-Y/n! Fuck fuck– I- this–mmph”

The uncharacteristic cursing you forced out of him pooled alongside the wet between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together for any type of friction as you milked his cock with your mouth.

He wanted to touch you too, so badly, but he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d never even imagined something like this, even after hearing all the obnoxious stories Zenitsu told about his 'wild love affairs.' And he certainly never imagined you of all people, asking for permission to do it. The wet warmth from your throat paired with a lewd squelch of saliva dripping from your lips was enough to do him in. Every hum or perfectly paced bob of your head choked a whimper from him.

“Y/n I–I- shit– can I t-touch you?”

Without slowing your rhythm you guided his hand to the back of your head. Instinctively he tangled his fingers in your hair and when you hummed in satisfaction he cried out at the vibration. He grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled you up for a moment with an uncontrollable jerk of his arm.

He was immediately ready to apologize again, but when he saw your face it was all he could do not to cum right there. Your eyes were glassy and your lips were pink from friction. Drool dribbled from your open mouth and down your chin, and best of all you were panting. Sucking him off so hard you, a pillar, were forgetting to come up for air.

You leaned back down with his hands still in your hair and moaned softly when he pushed his cock through your lips again. His grip became less tense with every press of himself into your throat and the two of you naturally found a rhythm. His hand guiding you up and down his dripping length, thanking every god in heaven.

As soon as he could breathe again he’d repay the favor, he swore. If you could even call it repayment; the thought of burying himself inside of you was so fucking tantalizing he almost felt guilty about it.

And he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Y/n please wait– I’m gonna– it’s–”

“Oi! Kamado!” Aoi’s voice shattered the quiet of the night from the hallway outside. Tanjiro could have screamed. “Get this yellow fuck out of the hallway before Oku-sama trips!”

You weren’t slowing down.

He raised his hands to his mouth to stifle feeble whimpers. A whimper was all he could compress it into. If he was being honest he wanted to cry from how good you were making him feel. If he had an ounce less self control he’d be a fucked out babbling mess, begging you to keep going.

“Tanjirooo!” Zenitsu cried when Kanao kicked him awake. A third set of footsteps approached as well, and he still couldn’t bring himself to stop you. Fuck, not when he was so close.

“Tan,” you breathed heavily and pulled up, speaking his name at barely a whisper, so that no one else would hear you. He hissed at the loss of friction and cupped your face in two large, calloused hands, as if to ask why, why?

You blinked at him sleepily and opened your mouth “Cum in me Tanjiro.” He nodded furiously and silently, and glanced between you and the growing crowd outside the door battling with poor Zenitsu.

You lolled your tongue out and balanced his cock on your lower lip. With your other hand you flicked your wrist quickly at his tip, the way you knew made him stutter, and plunged his shaft into your throat a final time. He bit the back of his hand to contain his incoherent gasps.

Your eyes rolled back as he finally unloaded his hot seed into the back of your throat. His balls seized against your face as he poured and poured into your mouth while his other hand gripped the back of your head as gently as he could manage. He hissed your name over and over again, stroking your hair in praise until his hips finally stopped bucking.

When you finished a noisy swallow and pulled away to catch your breath his cock hung heavy and limp underneath you. Nothing could have prepared you for the bolt of electricity that sparked in your gut at the sigh of the Sun Hashira, flushed and panting. He had his own thread of drool hanging from his lips and a blissfully clouded gaze. He still cupped your face and you smiled dreamily at him.

“T-thank you,” he whimpered, and thumbed your cheek. Holy shit, was he crying?

“Thank who?! Get out here and get these boys!” Aoi stomped around outside, although you knew she was much too shy to open the door to the boys’ room.

Tanjiro took another second to stare at you before Kanao knocked on the door asking for him as well, albeit more politely. He stood to answer them and then seemed to remember the situation. Right. He helped you to your feet and rushed to wrap his unsoiled haori around your shoulders.

“I-I’m so sorry! I’ll help you clean up in a moment!”

“By all means,” you giggled sleepily, and stood next to him, “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

And then the door flew open. Nezuko rolled her eyes and stood in the doorway, pointing to Zenitsu who was somehow unconscious again.

“I’ll leave it to you.” You saluted the group and smoothed down your hair as you left, butterflies practically pouring from your stomach and flooding the corridor.

No one else noticed the skip in your step or the smell of sex you tried to clear from your throat, except for Tanjiro. As he knelt to pick up his friend, he watched you sway down the hall towards the bathroom and swore he saw a trail of flowers blooming everywhere your scent bounced off the walls.

He needed his hands on you.

part two >>

[redorich]

to those who carried on

A fic for @petrichormeraki​ and their Hermit!Tommy AU.

-------

The hermits know Tommy as a quiet young man who is very sad and contemplative. The more time they spend with him (against his will, but they know he needs the company) the more they learn of the little details. His favorite block is cobblestone, he likes building towers, and apparently his favorite woman is the Queen. They don’t ask why he wears a smiley mask even though he never seems happy. They don’t ask why he hides important things in his ender chest. They don’t ask why he wears a shattered compass on a chain about his neck.

(Once, he died in lava and lost his absolute mind. He was so upset about the compass that he didn’t even mention the stack and a half of diamond ore he had on him. Xisuma ended up manually rolling back the server just so Tommy could have it back.)

As time goes on, the tremors in Tommy's hands grow lesser. His dull blond hair seems a bit brighter, his bruises fade quicker, he doesn’t look quite so skinny-- he spends his time serenely building, resource gathering instead of running and fighting. He has a sense of humor under all that trauma, which the hermits unfortunately find out after another massive-scale prank war thought to be instigated by Grian actually turns out to be Tommy's fault.

Tommy starts swearing more. Doc gets the stink eye from Stress for this, but Doc insists he’s never once sworn around the young man. (That’s an absolute lie, but it wasn’t anything Tommy hadn’t heard before. Tommy thinks Doc is remarkably unoriginal in his cursing. He does take note of the German ones, though.)

Inviting Tommy to PvP minigames can be touchy, they learn. He likes to fight, but he fights like an animal with nothing to lose. Grian once chanted, “It stays in the pit!” and everyone present had to spend the next five minutes wrangling Tommy’s soul back into his body from wherever it’d floated off to.

Tommy likes to glide with his elytra. He claims he’s never had one before, but he flies like such a natural that a few people have their doubts. On a dark desert night, with dark blue eyes watching the night sky, he confides to Cub that it reminds him of the way his dad used to fly. He hates rockets, though. He does not confide to Cub that it reminds him of what his brother did to his best friend. He says enough that Cub can guess, though.

Scar gets fed up with Tommy’s creeper holes and makes Tommy help him fix them. At first, Tommy has no clue why Scar is breaking out things like coarse dirt and birch leaves and making the ground all fancy, but he’s not afraid of a little hard work and Scar makes it fun. He learns a lot about terraforming that day, and awkwardly comes back a few days later asking if Scar needs any more help terraforming. Tommy still hasn’t built a real base, not by Hermitcraft standards, but the small hill he’s built his dirt hut near now has a very beautiful, if amateurish, waterfall. He doesn’t tell Scar about this, but Scar finds out anyway. Tommy wakes up one morning to find that someone has left a shulker box in his house. Instead of iron-gripped paranoia, he just feels wonder that someone would give him a gift-- to the hermits, a single shulker box is nothing. To Tommy, it’s everything.

The shulker box contains coarse dirt, birch leaves, and a silk touch shovel.

Tommy helps Xisuma mine a giant hole in the ground near bedrock, because he realizes that he’s never thanked the admin for getting him his compass back. Well, that and the fact that instamining with a haste two beacon and an efficiency five pickaxe is a novelty. Xisuma lets him keep the cobble, since everyone knows it’s Tommy’s favorite block, but also insists he keep some of the other blocks like andesite and diorite. He pats Tommy on the head and tells him to talk to Bdubs about building a house some time. Tommy nods. He's taken aback by how tall Xisuma is, completely contrasting his mild nature. He reminds Tommy of Wilbur, on one of his good days before... Before. Not Ghostbur, though-- the admin is much too alive.

Tommy waits too long, so eventually Bdubs comes to him. The man is silly and outrageous, playing everything for laughs and unexpectedly tender. Bdubs plays up how beautiful he thinks Tommy’s hideous dirt shack is, then offers to help him build a house that’s better. For Tommy, building a house means settling down, accepting that this is his home now. Bdubs doesn’t know this. Tommy builds cobblestone dicks while Bdubs tries to lecture him about depth and block variation. Nothing gets done and Bdubs feels like he might have failed, but come next week Bdubs is flying over the area and sees the dicks are gone; so is the dirt house. In its place is a spruce-and-cobble cottage nestled near the tiny waterfall. Off to the side, he’s made a cozy doghouse for his fox, Theo. Bdubs doesn’t know how close that fox came to being named Fundy.

He spars with False, and she very pointedly does not mention how his stances are uniquely suited to a piglin. There’s only one renowned fighter who’s a piglin, after all. It's Tommy’s story to tell, if he ever does, why he’s seen enough of the legendary Technoblade’s fights to pick up on his stances, yet he’s not experienced enough to know that they don’t suit him. Instead, False gives him different stances suited more for tall, skinny people like the two of them. She’s got blond hair and blue eyes just like him. (Not that she’d know. She’s never seen his eyes, hidden behind his mask as they are.) Every now and then, he imagines her as an older sister, and the one time he says so, she smiles. When Tommy’s at home, looking at his own distorted reflection in his waterfall (he’s improved it since he built it), he muses that their eyes aren’t the same, their hair colors are subtly off. It’s close enough, he thinks.

Stress dies from fall damage and Tommy goes out of his way to pick up her stuff, because the hermits do these things out of the kindness of their hearts. The thought never even crosses their minds to steal. It crosses his mind. He doesn’t do it. Stealing from Stress would be like stealing from Niki.

He shows up at Cleo’s base unannounced and demands to see the “cool shit”. He is appropriately enthused by the giant armor-stand-bugs. She tries teaching him her armor stand magic, but it doesn’t really sink in. It’s okay, she assures him, most people don’t have the knack for it. He does, however, learn that buttons make excellent decorations. He also learns how to braid hair, bribed by ice cream. He is terrible at it, to the point where Joe has to come by to help the two untangle her hair so Tommy can start again. Watching the two bicker over capitalism and six million armor stands and a whole host of other inside jokes he doesn’t get, he thinks he’s starting to understand what friendship is supposed to be like. Joe and Cleo don’t see him clutching his compass. He and Tubbo weren’t too far off from this, given their circumstances. Maybe...

Maybe Tubbo can be forgiven.

Tommy makes minigames of his own, ones that don’t just kill you and steal your stuff. He builds things that are pretty instead of just functional, brews potions with Stress and only calls them drugs once (again, upsetting her is like upsetting Niki. Best not done), and sets up chicken bombs above people’s bases instead of just lavacasting them. (As Grian saw the hundreds of chickens slowly raining down upon his mansion, he got such a peculiar look on his face that Tommy feared he’d fucked up. The shorter, stronger (much stronger oh god why is he so strong despite being so small) man nearly crushed Tommy’s lungs in a hug, proclaiming how proud he was of Tommy. Tommy was proud of himself for not accidentally murdering Grian out of reflex. Was this what healing was like?)

Yes. It is what healing is like. Tommy knows this because that wound gets ripped open again. Tango shows him how to build the most obnoxious redstone-powered noise machine the two can think of. Tango digs a small pit, and asks Tommy to throw down his axe. Suddenly, Tommy’s in Logstedshire again; it’s not Tango asking, it’s Dream. His hands don’t shake when he tosses his axe into the pit, followed by his sword and his armor. It isn't until he’s placed the TNT down that Tango grabs his wrist and asks him what he’s doing. Tommy’s eyes clear enough that he can see past the blond hair and freckles. Tango isn’t green, he’s red. He's shorter than Dream, and his worried eyes are unhidden. Tommy shudders, then tells Tango everything.

Tango has no pity for Tommy, just understanding and sympathy. He doesn’t push Tommy to talk about it, but when Tommy’s done telling his story, Impulse and Zedaph show up. They all pretend that Tommy’s voice isn’t hoarse, that they all didn’t conveniently happen to look away when Tommy took off his mask just long enough to wipe his eyes. The men bake a cake together, fool around with honey blocks, and don’t talk about it.

Tommy knows very little about redstone, considers himself more of a builder and a fighter than an engineer. Still, Mumbo’s living base is inspiring, and Tommy often hangs around the man’s industrial district just to watch Mumbo work. Mumbo knows that Tommy hasn’t purchased a day pass, but it’s nice having someone around to talk to while he works. It’s not like Tommy is stealing anything. (Tommy totally steals from Mumbo’s industrial district storage system. The man’s farms are so efficient that he doesn’t even notice, so Tommy assumes it’s fine. What Mumbo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Lava still isn’t his favorite thing in the world. He stays far away from it, instead of imagining what it would be like to hurtle towards it. Ren doesn’t really notice this, but he does notice that Tommy doesn’t seem to like his mustafarian base. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, Ren whips up some absurd plotline in which he is a lone weary traveller seeking refuge at Tommy’s base from strange alien overlords. The two have fun together, and the young man cracks more absurd jokes about it than the hermits have ever seen him do. When Ren leaves a week later to return to his own base, Tommy keeps being absurd, if a bit more subdued without someone to play off of. He builds a shrine to the “prime log”, which grows more elaborate each day. Beef and xB pretend to be his acolytes, despite having no clue what a “twitch prime” is.

They can’t see his face, but the smile in his voice is a far cry from the despondency he once wore like a heavy cloak. He is so much more animated and alive, full of motivation. He builds an entire island in three days, and hand-delivers an invitation to each and every hermit for his beach party. Everyone shows up, even those with packed schedules (Iskall) and those with introverted tendencies (Etho). Tommy is nearly moved to tears when they show up in groups of twos and threes, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to come. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, but there is more than enough cake to go around. Tango brings drinks, Impulse brings meat to barbecue, and Zedaph makes an elaborate jump-powered grill. Keralis brings way too much confetti and several handfuls of cheap, obnoxious party noisemakers. Stress brings Tommy a crown made out of alliums. It shines far less than his brother’s gold crown, and it’ll die in a few days, but he wears it all night and keeps it in his ender chest until it withers away.

He spends five days teaching himself to make flower crowns. Even his best attempt is awful, nowhere near as pretty as the crowns Stress makes, but when he gives it to her, she takes off the one she was wearing and wears his until it falls apart.

He dies fighting a creeper on Grian’s behalf, and doesn’t even panic, because he trusts that however many times he dies, no matter how stupid or ignominious or revolutionary or important, Xisuma will always let him respawn.

He spends a grand total of nine diamonds to buy a single plot of land in the shopping district. He builds a cute little bench facing the sunset, with warmly glowing street lights on either side and a small garden. At the end of the bench he places a jukebox, and buys every single disc that Beef’s music shop sells, including Pigstep. He sits on the bench while Mellohi plays and watches the tiny silhouettes of his friends flying in the evening sky. Tommy looks alone on that bench, even if he seems happy, so sometimes other people stop by to sit with him. Scar declares the bench area a public park, since everyone likes it so much, and refunds Tommy his nine diamonds straight from the throne.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter 6

ok, I know it's been a while. I'm sorry for the long time in between posts. I'm working on several stories at once, or at least trying to, while also trying to get accustomed to a promotion and new job responsibilities at work. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me. I really appreciate you all. My work is no to be reposted anywhere without my permission.

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Violence, panic, Poe being soft, Bryce being a dick. I think we can just assume that will be a permanent tag.

Series Master List

Chapter Five

You try to sit up with a strangled scream, but you end up bouncing your head off the plastic dome monitoring your vitals.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A voice to your left says. The voice is… familiar, but it’s not the one you really wanted to hear. But at the same time, you’re grateful you don’t hear that voice.

You roll your head to see Bryce, your boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. He won’t hurt you. You can relax.

Why aren’t you relaxing?

“You’re safe now. Back home where you belong.” He says gently, reaching for your hand. You flinch away and he frowns, pausing.

“S-sorry.” You rasp, closing your eyes.

“It’s cool.” He lifts the dome and moves to get your clothes at the foot of the table. “Come on. Get dressed, we’ll get you something to eat.” He says, setting them next to you.

You try to speak again, but your voice is just as rough, only this time you don’t know if it’s from being quiet for so long, or the raw emotions destroying you. You clear your throat painfully. “H-how’s Poe?” You ask, nearly stuttering over his name.

“Dameron is fine. Been annoying all the women ever since he got back.” Bryce rolls his eyes. He doesn’t catch the way you shrink in on yourself as you sit up.

So, Poe doesn’t...want to...see you. The words struggle in your mind. He’s… he’s probably trying to forget what you did to him. No wonder he doesn’t want to see you.

“Can you step outside so I can get dressed?” You ask quietly.

“Babe, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” He says and you lower your head. “Fine. Just, don’t take too long. I’m starving.” He says, walking out and shutting the door loudly behind you. You jump at the sudden snap of it and squeeze your eyes shut.

You can’t handle the commissary right now. It’s always packed full of people, loud, claustrophobic. You carefully get dressed, trying not to notice all the new marks on your body. You’re careful of the fresh stitches covering your arms, legs, stomach, and back. Careful not to pull the bandages holding you together.

You’re dressed faster than you want to be, stepping carefully out of the room. It still doesn’t feel safe, it feels like you should be hiding. You tug the long sleeves down further, wishing you had more to cover you.

“Come on.” He slings his arm around your shoulders and you tense as the weight settles on you. “I missed you.” He says softly, but you don’t feel comforted by his words. They turn to ice in your veins. He practically has to drag you along, your nerves stretching and spiking with each step, with every noise.

“I-I’m not hungry.” You protest, trying to dig your heels in. You can hear the loud room from here.

“Y/N, you have to eat.” He says firmly.

“N-n—“ you stammer, trying to push away from him. He sighs and scoops you up over his shoulder, carrying you along easily. Pain flares through you as your stitches pull. He’s not careful with you. Either he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t care. You try to struggle, you don’t care if he drops you. At least then you could get away.

“Y/N, I swear to the Maker, stop struggling. These are your friends. They want to know you’re okay.”

“What if I’m not?” You snap, the fear boiling over. You want to go to your room. You want to hide. You want to be alone. You want Poe.

He stops and considers for a minute before continuing on. “You can’t hide forever, Y/N.”

“Bryce, please, please!”

He walks inside and sets you down none too gently in a chair at a table full of people. “Look who’s finally awake.” He says loudly. Your teeth jar, biting down on your tongue from the abrupt impact.

There are five whole heartbeats where everyone is just staring at you. Something claws its way up your throat in the eerie silence, and then everything just explodes.

Voices, chairs moving, hands touching you, patting you on the shoulder, or touching your leg. The lights get too bright, you can’t see anything. You feel like they’re all climbing on top of you, too much weight. You can’t breathe. You try to suck in a breath, but it’s like your lungs won’t expand.

You bolt.

You’re not proud of it, but you shove through all the people and fly for the door. Blind twists and turns down hallways you don’t remember seeing, and couldn’t remember in the moment. You can barely hear your name being shouted behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back. You just know you’ve ripped stitches in your thighs, and stomach. You don’t care. Your only thought is escape. Hyper flight mode.

A hand grabs you from the darkness, pulling you in and pinning you against the wall. You fight, slapping and hitting against your assailant as you sob, gasping raggedly.

“Y/N! It’s me, stop it!!” Poe shouts, grabbing your wrists. “It’s Poe, it’s me. Stop.” He says, holding your hands against his chest until you stop fighting him.

You think you gasp his name, your legs give out on you and you sink to your knees in front of him, sobbing. He doesn’t let go of your wrists, just loosens his grip. Relief washes through you as you realize who it is.

“Breathe. Just breathe. Big, slow breaths for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, slowly kneeling in front of you.

“P-Poe—“

“I know. Sh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He wraps his arms around you tightly, hugging you to him.

He shouldn’t be doing this for you, not after everything you put him through. Guilt roils through you, choking off your air. You start to pull away but he doesn’t let go. His fingers braid in your disheveled hair and you can’t help but sink into him a little more.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I wanted to be.” He exhales in a rush, burying his face in your hair.

“Why—why would you want that?” You hiccup, keeping your face away from him.

“Because you’re my best friend? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to be there?”

“B-because,” you try taking a deep breath.

He seems to realize that you’re shivering on the cold ground. “Let’s get out of here. Do you wanna go back to medbay or your room?” He asks, easing you out of his arms and standing up.

You hesitate, suddenly not knowing how to ask him to stay. It’s selfish, you know it is, after everything you’ve put him through, to want him to suffer even longer.

“I don’t think I was actually discharged.” You mumble, pulling yourself to your feet on your own. It’s a massive effort.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and steps to the door. He looks up and down the hallway before looking back at you. “It’s all clear.”

“I don’t even know what part of the complex I’m in.” You admit, dropping your head back. In the forest, you knew exactly where to go. But on a planet you’ve called home for how long? You’re lost.

Useless.

“Okay. Come on.” He holds out his hand and you’re so tempted to take it. But you don’t. Instead, you walk to the door with him and carefully slip out without touching him. You’ve done enough damage.

He follows after a small minute and leads you down the hallway. “You never answered my question.” He starts suddenly and you look up at him. His face has too many cuts, a deep bruise under his eye, a split lip. It hurts you to look at him. More guilt.

It’s your fault.

You could pretend to be ignorant. Not remember the question to stall for time. Claim sudden hearing loss. But you never could lie to him, and you don’t want to start now. You know exactly what question.

“I didn’t think you would want to be there. Not when this whole thing is my fa-fault.” You mumble, your voice cracking on the last word. You hate yourself for putting him through this. You hate yourself for feeling like a damsel in distress and not being able to fight back the way you should have.

He stops walking and stares at you. His forehead crinkled in confusion.

“You think—“ he starts, his voice incredulous, but is promptly cut off by a medical droid beeping angrily at you.

“Yeah, got it. Back to bed.” You mumble, taking one last look at a stunned Poe before following the droid the rest of the way.

The droid gets you back into a medical bed, looking almost as if it wants to restrain you to keep you there. You clutch your hands to your chest, not wanting to be restrained.

“I won’t go anywhere.” You promise. The droid beeps and rolls away, the door sliding shut behind it. You cross your legs and lay back, wincing at the pull in your ribs. On the list of things that hurt, the ribs are kind of low. But they’re drawing the most attention at the moment. The droid comes back after a moment, making quick work of fixing your stitches, hopefully for the last time. It rolls away and you’re left in agonizing silence. You stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks.

The door opens again and Leia walks in. You freeze, wondering what she could possibly want from you. Poe’s words flash through your mind. Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now? She certainly looks tired, but not necessarily like she was heartbroken that you were gone for… for… you can’t remember how long you were in that place. You break out into a sweat. What else have you forgotten?

“Y/N,” she starts solemnly. “I’m so glad you’re back with us and awake.” She sits on the edge of your bed and you don’t know if this is protocol or not. Is it normal? You don’t say anything, you simply wait for her to continue, she’ll get to her point eventually. “Poe told me about what happened, I’d like your report as well, whenever you feel up to it. I know you must still be exhausted.” She says.

So, all business.

She probably didn’t even notice you weren’t there.

You nod once. You can be all business, too. “I’ll have it for you by tomorrow.” You say and she blinks.

“I didn’t mean—“

“You need it. You’ll have it.”

“Poe told me you were incredibly brave.” She says, watching your face as she speaks. She’s clearly looking for something.

“He—“ you cut off. You had been about to say that he exaggerates, or was lying. But then she would think that she can’t trust her most loyal commander. She slowly arches an eyebrow as you struggle to think. “He’s too kind. I was terrified. Did more harm than good.”

“Hmm. Well, in any case. I know you’re still healing. Bacta is useful, but it can’t heal everything overnight. Get some rest.” She stands up. “And,” she pauses and turns back to you. “If you need to talk, about anything at all, I’m here to listen.” She says pointedly. You nod once and she heads for the door, stopping only long enough for it to hiss open.

You slump back against the pillows, gritting your teeth against the sudden pain. It’s odd how sometimes you don’t feel it at all, and other times it’s all you can feel. You feel like you’ve been going nonstop for days and days. You need to think, to rest. You need to stand up to Bryce next time. You’re not just a scientist, you’re a damn good pilot-only second to Poe, and you’re one of the best shots on base. He can’t just push you around like he did.

You need to think, sort out what was real and what was panic. You close your eyes and try to hold as still as possible. The faces are the faces of your friends, this isn’t some First Order trick. They aren’t trying to hurt you.

But… then… Why was Poe shouting when he got off the ship? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Maybe you really are losing your mind.

The door hisses open and you jerk upright, instantly grabbing your side. Bryce tosses his jacket onto the chair next to your bed and crosses his arms, turning slowly to glare at you.

“Was that fun for you? You made me look like an idiot out there.” He snaps and you want to hurl something heavy at his head.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m tired.” You say, wishing there was a more final way to say that, like shutting a door in his face.

“You just slept for three days!” He shouts, throwing his hands up.

“Get. Out!” You shove yourself off your bed, ignoring the screaming pain in your ribs and back. “Get the fucking fuck out! I told you I wasn’t kriffing ready but you didn’t fucking listen. You never fucking listen! I just want some peace. Maker!” You shove him backwards through the door, bouncing it off its track. You feel the pop in your wrist, burning hot pain flares up your arm. “For once in your life, try to see things from someone else’s perspective.” You snap, going back into your room.

“Whoa, hey. I’m sorry, okay?”

You pick up the heavy decoration on the side table and throw it as hard as you can. If he hadn’t moved his stupidly perfect head, it would have hit him right in the face. Unfortunately, he does move and it crashes into the floor behind him, breaking into pieces. Good, more ammo for next time.

“I don’t want to hear your apologies! I want. To be. Alone!”

He holds up his hands and backs down the hallway. You walk around to the other side of the bed, sinking to the floor so that no one will see you. Your hands are trembling as you try to breathe. Your sides begin to ache for another reason altogether, and you realize you aren’t even breathing because you’re trying not to cry.

You let out a ragged gasp, covering your face in humiliation. Rocking forward, you rest your face on the ground, letting yourself hurt with every silent sob. You deserve all the pain. A curious beep reaches your ears and you cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep quiet. You know, somewhere in the back of your mind, you need to get your new injuries checked out. You definitely did damage to your wrist. You feel a droid roll to a stop next to you, but you're not under control yet.

They beep softly again and nudge you with their big round base. You lift your head to see the familiar orange and white pattern of Poe’s droid, BB8. He rotates his lens up to look at you, and somehow, despite being metal and made of parts, he shows sympathy, worry, concern. He wants to know if you’re okay, if his friend is okay. Your vision goes blurry as your eyes flood with tears all over and he rolls forward, nestling right against your chest. You grip his headpiece, lowering your forehead against it and resting there, shoulders shaking and stomach cramping from the uncomfortable position. But you can’t bring yourself to move just yet.

***

Your head slips to the side and you jerk up, hitting your head against the edge of your bed. BB8 looks up at you, bless his circuit board. He would have stayed there with you for hours if you hadn’t woken yourself up. You wipe your tears and drool off his head.

“Sorry, buddy.” You whisper, voice not wanting to go higher than that. “You should get back to Poe. I’m sure he’s looking for you.”

His head tilts, question unasked in the quiet air.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, for checking on me, I mean.”

He beeps a rapid-fire and rolls away in search of his master, or is friend a better description at this point? You twist, pulling yourself up and seeing Bryce sitting on the floor in the hallway. His eyes are closed as he rests his head against the wall.

With a sigh, you page for a med droid to come in and check on you. You lay back on your bed, closing your eyes while you wait. You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the poor droid.

Your wrist is checked out and bound. Already on the edge of breaking, shoving your stupid boyfriend pushed it over the edge. The droid tsks about not getting it taken care of right away before wheeling away.

“Can I come in now?” Bryce asks from the hallway.

“No. I’m still mad.” You reply, rolling over. It’s cool in here, settling in your bones in an unfamiliar way. You reach towards the end of the bed for a blanket before you realize there isn’t one there. With a huff, you get up and look around for one with no success.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, pushing himself up with a quiet grunt.

“A blanket. I’m freezing.” You reply, digging through the supply locker in the room.

“I’ll go get you one.” He turns around and disappears, leaving you to settle back down. You can hear those familiar beeps coming down the hallway and that voice you’ve come to depend on since you were taken follows it.

“Yeah, buddy, I know. Always rubbing it in.” Poe sighs.

Bryce comes back, spreading a heavy blanket over you before stepping back awkwardly. “Thanks. I’m sure you have something you need to be doing, Bryce. I’ll be here.” You say, more gently this time and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll come see you after my shift. We’ll talk then and you can yell at me all you want, okay?” He promises.

You nod, laying your head down on the pillow as he leaves. You can see his shoulders tense as he sees Poe coming towards him. You can hear the little droid beeping in outrage but Poe shushes him.

“Is she awake?” He asks.

“She’s resting. You shouldn’t be here, anyway. Haven’t you done enough, Dameron?” Bryce snaps.

What? No. He’s not to blame! You are!

“Bryce. Go to work.” You call and he looks over his shoulder at you, unable to get rid of the coldness completely before he turns on his heel and storms off.

Poe waits until he can’t see him anymore before coming into your room. “Hi.” He says after a minute and your lips twitch.

“Hi.”

“Have a good nap?” He asks as BB8 chirps next to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep him here for so long.” You mumble.

Poe snorts. “He’s not sorry, bragged about it for at least ten minutes.” He rolls his eyes and you scoot over on the bed carefully. He eases himself down and takes your newly bandaged hand. “What happened?” He asks with a frown.

“I wasn’t careful. Typical me.” You scoff derisively.

He’s quiet for a long time, his handsome face going through a wide range of emotions as he traces the outline of your fingers. The feeling of it is relaxing, soothing you. Everything about him is comforting, just like he’s always been. Even though you don’t deserve his compassion, his forgiveness.

“Poe,” you start, capturing his hand, even though you could conceivably let him keep doing that forever.

“I have so many things I want to say to you.” He starts, his voice crumpled.

You take a deep breath and nod, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It’s going to hurt, it will break your heart, but he should say it. Tell you he hates you for kissing him, for distracting him, for getting him caught, and all the terrible things that came after it.

“You sa-said before that this is all your fault.” He starts, his eyes very firmly on your hands wrapped around his.

“Because it is.” You answer and his beautiful brown eyes squeeze shut.

“How can you even think that?” His voice cracks and you’ve never seen him so close to tears before. This is the man that’s perpetually in a good mood, everything is an opportunity to make you laugh. Even in the face of certain harm, he’s making jokes.

“Poe, I distracted you. I—“ you glance at the door to look for potential eavesdroppers. “In the river, I ki—“

He covers your mouth softly. You could easily pull his hand away, but you don’t. “We were on a planet where the most dangerous thing was supposed to be a giant butterfly. There was no way to know, no indication of anyone else being on the planet. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” He says. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, but you can’t stop the feeling that he’s wrong. You did everything wrong. “And… we don’t have to… to talk about that thing in the river… if you don’t want to.” He stammers, scratching at the back of his neck.

You want to. You want to do it again. But you can’t. Your fingers flex in his before pulling them back against your torso, cutting off all touch with his warm body.

“Leia came to see me earlier.” You change the subject without giving him an answer. You’re not ready to close the book yet, but you can’t open it yet, either.

“Yeah. I gave my debrief.” He says, sounding a little deflated.

“You lied.” You correct and his head snaps up.

“What?”

“You told her I was brave. That was a big, fat lie.” You say and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.” He takes your hand again. His touch is feather-light, soft, and delicate as he strokes the back of your hand, following the length of your fingers.

“I don’t think she cried.” You say suddenly and he looks up at you.

“Come again?”

“You asked if I thought Leia sobbed uncontrollably while we were gone. I don’t think she even got a stuffy nose.” Your voice turns dark, your secret angry thought slipping out before you can stop it.

“You think she didn’t care?” Poe asks.

“Did you find out how long we were gone?”

“Yeah. Three weeks.” He says, practically choking on it.

“Two weeks over what we were supposed to be gone. You don’t think that’s odd? She didn’t send anyone after her best pilot?”

“Y/N, she has a lot of different responsibilities, to more than just us. We had no contact with anyone prior. How would they have found us? They didn’t have our information yet. They would have been just as lost as we were.” He reasons.

“Ground exploration on a new planet should have more than two people. No matter how good one of them is.” You pull your hand back, angry now.

You don’t want to be angry, not with Poe, of all people. But you can’t stop yourself. He’s rolling over and playing lapdog for his perfect princess, same as he always does. Your cheeks burn with anger.

Hurt crosses his face, his hands suspended where they were. “Both. She sent two of her best people. She sent you, and me because we work so well together. Because we could get it done much faster, quieter, better than anyone else on this base.” He says and your heart wavers.

You don’t want to cause him any more pain. You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I think I just need sleep.” The words sound stiff, forced.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“No. I’m just gonna catch a few hours and then get to work on the report for Leia.”

“No, I already did that.” He corrects.

“She asked me for one.”

“I debriefed so you wouldn’t have to go through it again.” He clenches his hands. “I’ll take care of it.” He promises.

“I don’t mind. It might give her a better idea of what a rotten liar you are.” You say, trying to joke.

“I didn’t lie.” He huffs, leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. “I’ll leave BB8 with you if you need anything. Come find me when you wake up?”

“Promise.” Your voice cracks at just the wrong moment and he stills, looking down at you.

“I can stay. Just like in the cave.” He offers.

“Go away.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and stands up. “What happened to the door?” He asks.

“I shoved Bryce through it.” You admit and he breaks out into a grin.

“That’s my girl.” He praises before walking through it.

You have to stop yourself from calling him back, from begging him to stay with you. It’s not that you don’t trust anyone else here, they are your friends. But, Poe would understand. He knows what you went through, he understands what it was like. He won’t judge you for being upset. When you lost your temper with him just now, he didn’t get mad, he talked you down.

No, Poe Dameron understands better than anyone what emotions you’re going through right now. He goes through them on a daily basis and has for a long time.

***

You can’t look at him. Every time you do, another wave of guilt threatens to drown you. You kissed him. You kissed him. You have a boyfriend back home, missing you and you went and kissed your best friend. And worse, got said best friend captured by the enemy.

Now, he’s furious with you. Hasn’t said a word in hours. You can’t remember the last thing he said. Did he shush you? Was it your name? You can’t remember. Tears blur your vision as you try to twist your face away from him.

“Shit. Y/N,” he starts. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll get us out of this.” He promises.

And just the fact that he thinks that’s what you’re upset about is blindingly frustrating. And that he feels the need to fix your fuck up.

“Why don’t they just kill us?” You ask, forcing the tears not to fall.

“They probably want information on the Resistance.” He clenches his jaw. “Y/N, I never wanted to have to say this to you, but no matter what they do to you, you can’t talk. You can’t tell them anything.” He pleads.

You nod. “Okay. I won’t say anything.” You promise weakly. The idea of being tortured is so out of your realm, you don’t know what to expect. But Poe seems to know something at the very least.

He curses again and you look back at his face. “I promise. I promise I’ll get us out of this.” He thrashes against the metal restraints on the upright table and you worry he’s going to hurt himself.

“I’ll be okay, Poe.” You whisper, but he squeezes his eyes shut.

The door behind you opens and a StormTrooper walks in. You can’t tell if it’s one of the same ones from the forest, but it doesn’t matter. This one is carrying a tray with a cloth covering it.

“Ready to begin?” He asks, voice modulated to fit your nightmares. “Where is your base of rebel scum?” He asks, slowly removing the cloth and picking up a thin blade. He turns towards Poe, sliding the knife under the silver chain around your partner’s neck. His mother’s ring, beautiful as it glints in the light, slowly rotates into view. Poe struggles slightly, giving his restraints another hard yank, but he gets nowhere. The stormtrooper curls his fingers around it, tugging and popping the chain free. He tosses it into the dank corner and it disappears from view. Poe snarls until the trooper lifts the glittering knife again and turns his helmet towards you. You can feel him studying you, sizing you up.

“I said, where is your base of rebel scum?”

Poe looks over at you, and you can see the worry in his eyes. Will he start with you? Or with Poe? When neither of you answers, he turns and slashes out at your best friend. You cry out, thinking he cut his throat, but instead, there’s a small cut on his cheekbone.

“I haven’t got anywhere to be. Let’s begin again.” He says evenly and your stomach clenches uncomfortably.

***

You sit up with a ragged gasp, clutching at your face. Blindly, you find the medical droid and sign yourself out, grabbing the blanket and heading through the halls for the one person you want to see. BB8 rolls after you, chirping quietly. You feel for the chain in your pocket, the weight of it is comforting.

You knock quietly on the door. It’s so late, you shouldn’t be here. The door slides open and he's there in front of you, exhausted and very much alive. He holds out his arms and you step easily into them, heartbeat finally settling.

Poe.

He walks you back inside and lays down on his bed without a single word. No teasing, no jokes. Just him being there for you like always. You wait until he’s comfortable before crawling into bed next to him and laying down, your head resting against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

“Sh. Go to sleep. I’m here.” He says gently, his big, warm hands rubbing your back.

Chapter 7

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[emperor-palpaminty]

Bruh I am SOFT can I have Western Tech with Fluff prompt 20?

DOCTOR VICTOR TRECH THE THIRD HAS MY HEART, bless you anon, especially this prompt? i’m melting

Also I had to changhe names again, Shaeeah isn’t a very “western” name, Suu became “Sue”, and Jek is close enough I think so he’s good!

And for those of you who don't know the AMAZING creator of this AU @hellothere-generalangsty has started that Tech was GOING TO PROPOSE but the woman turned him down. Ouch. Naturally I will use this to make myself sad.

Prompt 20: “My, oh my. You’re such a beautiful creature.”

Tech rolled up his sleeves, tying off the stitch. “There.” He slowly clipped the string and set his needle in the sanitization bowl. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mrs. Laquwane smiled, her thick hair being tugged at by her son, Jek. “Are you feeling better, Shay?”

The girl nodded, glancing down at the puckered wound. "Will I get better?"

"Of course you will." Tech smiled gently, watching as Jek admired his sister's wound. "Ah, don't touch it, Jek." Sue tossed her son a frown, before turning back to Tech. "Here." He handed her a small jar, tapping on the lid. "Apply that to the cleaned surface every night. If you need more, let me know. I'll drop by next week to examine the stitches."

Sue smiled, pushing one of her thick braids over her shoulders. "Thank you, Tech."

“Of course, Mrs. Laquwane.” Tech smiled politely, nodding, as Shay grabbed her bonnet, examining the stitched in her arm again. “You have brave children.”

Jek tugged on his mother’s second braid, eyes gleaming in their sly, childish way. “Can I get stitches too?”

“Oh, heavens, I hope not.” Sue sighed as Tech chuckled, shaking his head slightly, waving politely as the trio left. He leaned on the doorway, chest swelling with pride- another long day of good work was done. A grin that only emerged when he felt like he had a genuine job well done fought its way onto his face as he ducked back into his office.

Tech slowly rolled up his things. He tugged the curtains shut and picked up his bag, sighing softly as he plunked his hat onto his head. Tech tucked his key into his pocket, shutting the door as he slowly began the trek home - just a few streets away.

It was only beginning to darken when he reached the inn. He nodded to Cid and tugged the watch from his pocket. He swelled with pride, examining the elaborate design on the clasp and the cover of the face. The time stated it was only now past six-fifteen, and he was late.

Cid frowned, puffing on her cigar. "You're late."

He offered a small smile, taking the little stack of mail she offered him. "I understand that."

She chuckled, tucking the cigar into her mouth. "Need some company? I bet one of the girls would-"

"No, I am quite alright." Tech spoke quickly, face flushing. "Thank you." Her laughter followed him up the stairs.

He unlocked his room, walking in, pausing briefly to light the oil lamp. The flame caught, and he blew out the match gently. He dropped the medical bag on his bed, sinking into the mattress with a soft creak. 

He turned over envelopes, skimming the names on them. Some were letters from family, a letter from one of his Universities (probably inviting him to lecture), and one was...

The light spilled on the cream envelope, dripping like blood. The name alone made his throat dry. Miss Sawyer, he swallowed, fingers trembling. He opened the letter, shakily.

His face was warm, eyes unbearably hot reading the words- palaces of paragraphs, telling Victor how wonderful life was and how it wasn't the same without him. She had told him he wasn't enough when he had gotten on one knee. That being a doctor's wife was not suitable for a woman of her stature- and here she was, months later, pouring an arsenic-laced honeyed apology into a leaf of paper.

Tech stood, abandoning the letter on his bed. He took no time to try and tug his overcoat back on, or button his waistcoat- he just flew down the stairs, past Cid, tears blearing his eyes, throat chapped as he tore towards the stables.

It was about twenty minutes into the ride when he knew where he was going, horse slowly manuvering up the red hills, caked with rocks. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the mane of the horse, inhaling its scent of alfalfa and leather. The horse knickered softly, pausing in it's canter as a dog barked.

Tech glanced up, pushing a hand in his sweat-slicked hair. The door to the house was thrown open, warm light pouring out into the falling night, and the herbalist ran out, a bulky jacket thrown on over her coat. She ran towards him, not walked, ran, her hair loose instead of pulled into a bun or braids. Her eyes shone even in the darkness as Tech climbed off the horse. "Doc, what-"

No words came from him. He reached out, collapsing against her, leaning down aw(wardky and pressing his face into her shoulder, every shaky breath inhaling the old smell of her jacket- smoke, pipe smoke, and vanilla. He clutched her, his breathing hitching.

She was secure, safe. He needed only her.

The herbalist only paused for a moment before closing her arms around him, vocalizing no objections. They stood together, the light at her back, and he steadily found his shakey feet on the steady ground of her.

Tenderly, she tugged away. "Let's go inside." She said, gently. "I have some tea, and a fire." Her lips pressed into a smile, and she nodded in encouragement, leading him to the warmth of her house, her home.

___

The couch was comfortable, Tech found, curled up, with the Herbalist handing him a cup of tea. He took a small sip, mumbling his thanks as she plopped down next to him, the heavy coat still on her shoulders. She watched him, eyes softened in the glow of the fire. "You've been crying."

He drew in a sharp breathe and started into the tea, the water bruising with leaves and their colors and he nodded. "Yes," He managed. He blinked to help bring some comfort to his dry eyes.

She crossed her legs, watching him. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tech glanced up from the cup, eyes scanning her face. "No," The doctor rasped. "I don't."

"Mm," She hummed, standing softly. Tech stared up at her as she moved, lowering her cup. "I can leave you alone-"

"No." Tech moved quicker than he could think, moving to her, crashing to his knees and grasping the skirt of her nightgown. "I can't be alone," His words were short of air, shallow. "Not again, not again."

He didn't want to look up. He just wanted to keep his face in her nightgown skirts, holding them- holding her- and forget what he had been running from. Hell, he had forgotten, the moment he saw her riding up to his stagecoach, like an angel of battle, and the only thing stirring in him was an overwhelming sense of her.

She moved her hands in his hair, shushing his cries. "Victor," She said, and the way she said it broke him. That concern, that love-

Quietly, she slid to her knees, too, and hugged him to her. "I'll stay, I'll stay with you. Or you can come sleep with me again." A rack happened in her lungs and she shook her head quickly. "Like last time. When I put my head in your lap-"

Tech picked his head up and kissed her, fingers winding in her coat. Her words were cut short by his kiss, the fire, the need in it. She hummed and pressed her hands in his hair, tugging him closer, tighter, and Tech felt like the fire- warm, hot, needy, comforting- his lust and his love were an oxymoron within themselves.

She pressed herself away, chest rising and falling against Tech's as her fingers brushed down to his waistcoat. Her eyes darted to his own, and she licked her lips, the delectible tongue peeking out from the supple fresh-kissed lips.

Tech ran his hand down the side of her face, the warmth exploding in his heart. "My, oh my," He sighed. Her skin was rosy, flushed from the kiss, cheeks the tint of rose-hips. "You're such a beautiful creature."

She sighed, leaning into him as he tugged her close, surrendering to his kisses.

Tech was done running for his past- he had found his future, here, in his arms.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Regular: Part 1 - Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you’re a dancer at a club, but that doesn’t mean you have to put on a show for everyone. Especially not if Geto’s paying. 

word count: 2.6K

tw: nudity, small nsfw thoughts

Lipstick? Check. 

Eyeshadow? Check.

Eyelashes? Check. 

The eyes that stare back at you are your own, but for a minute, you’re lost in your own brown, doe-eyed gaze. Transfixed, you wish you could see what they saw when they looked at you. You wish someone would fix every mirror in your vicinity to display the person people thought you were. Maybe then you’d understand. 

“Y/n!” The manager of the club - Mrs. Lampton - bursts through the dressing room door eagerly, pushing against the weighted frame with ease. “We have a lot of new faces out there. Are you ready to go on in ten?” The look in Mrs. Lampton’s eyes had never been brighter, and you blink at her twice, wondering if the woman had forgotten that you walked into the strip club without coercion, and you would do your job just the same. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” The rhetorical question makes Mrs. Lampton laugh, her amusement ringing out in the mostly empty dressing room. 

“You’re funny, girl. I’ll make sure they play your favorite songs.” Without another word, she leaves, and you’re alone again, placing a single pastie on each nipple. New faces… 

You hadn’t seen very many new people in the club since you’d been hired three months ago. It was always the same four men that came to see you during your weekday four o’clock shift, and a mix of the same faces during your ten o’clock dance on Friday evenings, when the club was full of men looking for an escape between the valley of your B-cups. 

There was Aiko, the man who had completely given up on love and decided to get his affection from you when he got paid every two weeks with a simple lap dance. Then you helped Kohi with his fantasies: he had admitted to you that he could only fuck his girlfriend with his eyes closed and couldn’t think of anyone else except the girls in the club, you especially. Takeru was no different, just a little more handsy than you had originally expected when allowing him into the VIP room. And finally, you had the pleasure of meeting a new regular named Yuma just last month. Yuma was young, bright-eyed, and had a carefree attitude that also affected his wallet. Out of the four, he was the best tipper and admittedly, the sweetest… but those were your only four regulars. 

The rest of the dancers at the club had at least enough regulars to count on both hands, but you were stuck with the smallest group. As such, you were given the shittiest shift, but you didn’t mind. The pay was enough to make up for rent and some extra expenses, but during the day, you were dedicated to working with your aunt in her flower shop. 

You saw an array of men there, too, and the regulars there were almost as frequent as the ones here. Thankfully, this club was on the other side of town - the richer side - and you would go unnoticed in your ink black wig and heavy makeup in the dim lights. 

You adjust your garters in the mirror, and slide the matching black lace bra over your pasty covered breasts. Tonight, there are new customers, and one of the new faces might potentially become a regular. Your regular. 

You swing the door open and walk through the blue-lighted hallway to the carpeted space before the stage steps, watching the girl before you - a tall, thin blonde named Hannah - slide down the pole upside down, earning a few cheers from the gathered crowd. You don’t get to see her finish due to the obstructed view as you gather your towel and spray it with rubbing alcohol, but you do hear the DJ call her name as she exits. Hannah brushes past you without speaking, shaking her head at the wad of cash and solid red bra in her hands. 

“Slow night?” you ask, and she turns around to face you, her blonde braid swinging over her shoulder. She raises a brow and then - in a rare show of kindness - mumbles: 

“There’s a real spender in that crowd, but he wants nothing to do with me. Watch out for those blue eyes; they’re really distracting.” You whip your head back to look at the pole, your fingers tightening around the damp terry cloth. When you look back, Hannah is disappearing into the dressing room, too far gone to ask about the blue eyes comment. 

Barefoot, you step up the stairs, and the DJ croons, “Next up is our loveliest newbie, y/n…” A slow song begins as you work your way around the pole with your towel, cleaning off any and all dirt and grime left behind from the previous girls with seduction. It was simple, really: twirling your hips and dancing around the pole was enough to make even the most stoic man soften. You were every man’s fantasy in that moment: a cleaning whore. When you finish your work, you find the cold, slick surface of the spin pole, and work your way up, feeling the pressure against the tops of your bare feet. It wasn’t unusual for you to leave with slightly bruised ankles or a “pole kiss” at your thigh. But it was all worth the extra money. Bruises faded away. Bills did not.

When you invert and grab the pole behind you, there is a sense of calm as you spin around like a siren, looking for the infamous blue eyes. It isn’t until you’re back on the floor that you see them - he’s across the room, eyes staring directly at you with white furrowed brows perched precariously above them. 

As you keep track of the single dollar bills being deposited on the stage in front of you, you notice another new face beside him, leaning in to whisper something while his eyes flick away. When you fan kick around the pole twice, you see the face - black eyes and black hair in a half-bun - turn towards you with a smile. The smile isn’t innocent, but when were smiles in the club anything less? You return the smile with sincerity, finding the two men completely captivating. 

But you have other customers to attend to; most notably, Yuma. His cherub face and tender green eyes are watching you from the bottom of the stage, his face in an entranced smile. 

“Y/n!” he yells over the music, holding up a one-hundred dollar bill. You dismount from the pole and crawl on your hands and knees toward the youth, whose lips quirk up in a playful smirk. 

“It’s good to see you here,” you breathe, dropping your voice an octave to seem more alluring. Yuma buys it hook, line, and sinker - as he always did - and slides the dollar bill between the garter and your see-through stockings. “See any good movies lately?” you wonder, letting him pet your leg tenderly. 

“You’ll really like the newest addition to the Hanged Man trilogy,” he begins, eyes roving over your figure salaciously. Yuma hooks a finger around your garter and gives it a gentle snap;  you huff out a laugh before rolling your neck around. “I’ll take you to see it, if you want.” 

“That would be so nice,” you purr back, arching your hips until he can practically feel your ass pushing into his hand. “I would love nothing more than that.” 

“I’ll buy a dance tonight and give you the details.” Yuma knows his time is short and waves a hand over your spine before retreating, his eyes staying with you as you unfurl from the floor. You have no intention of meeting Yuma outside of the club, but you have to admit that if you hadn’t met him in here, you probably would have attempted to pursue him. 

A fast song means that you’re coming to the second part of your three-part dance, and your fingers make quick work of your pointless bra. When it drops to the ground, you can feel eyes drawn to your unclothed upper body grinding on the pole. Your eyes flick back to the blue-eyes man in the corner, and you find he’s alone staring at his phone in the darkness. 

Why is he even here? you wonder, hooking a leg around the metal before swinging your back leg up. As you swing around with your head leaned back, you catch his handsome companion at the bottom of the stage, arm muscles rippling under his white button down. He’s counting his money, you realize, and take that as a sign that he might be beholden to making a generous donation. It isn’t until he holds out two hundred dollar bills that you stop, and he places it on the stage, patting it twice. You make your way back over to the stranger, eyeing him carefully under your heavy eyelashes as he leans in to speak. 

“Very generous,” you note, and he gives a sheepish smile as he tucks the bills into the side of your g-string. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You can call me Geto.” His voice, calm and strong, washes over you like a burst of fresh air, and you notice he doesn’t seem nervous at all, despite appearing shy. 

“You can touch me,” you offer, but he places both hands back on the stage, staring into your eyes. 

“I’d rather do that privately. How much for a VIP room with you for the evening?” Your eyes flick to Yuma, who is happily downing a drink at the bar and settling his tab. 

“I… have one dance I have to --” 

“He hasn’t paid yet.” Another one-hundred dollar bill slides across the stage. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Another bill. “All of this,” Two more bills. “for one night.

Six hundred dollars. That was three times as much as you made on a regular night.

“And take this off.” You think he’s going to tug at your lingerie, but instead, he tugs a strand of your wig, and you frown. 

“I…” 

“Your real hair is brown.” He offers, raising his brows as if to challenge the denial working its way up your throat. You are a brunette. 

“P-pay the red-haired lady at the bar. Tell her you’re requesting the VIP room with me,” you stammer.

“I’d rather make sure all the money makes it into your pocket.” Your mouth dries up, but you have to finish your last song. The man notices your nerves, and jerks his chin at you slightly, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “No worries. I’ll see you in there.” 

As you’re wiping down, you feel your chest constrict slightly. Takeru and Yuma were the only ones who had actually been in the VIP room with you, but that had only been twice in your three months there. They had paid the bare minimum - two hundred dollars - to see you fully naked, touching yourself in front of them and allowing them to spread you bare for observation. There were no holds barred in there except fucking, but if this man could afford to drop three times the amount it cost to reserve the room for himself… Mrs. Lampton would most likely let him do as he pleased. For a moment, you consider Yuma being disappointed and downtrodden that you couldn’t give him at least one lap dance before the end of the night, but you had to go with this new stranger, if just for tonight. 

“Hey, y/n…” Mrs. Lampton pokes her head into the dressing room again. “The VIP room is ready for you. Your client is in there; you’ll be alone, as requested.” Not even a fucking security guard.

The stairs up to the absolutely private area are steep, but you somehow wobble your way up there in your red, satin teddy and black robe. When you open the door to the room, the wall maps give a soft golden glow to the space, illuminating the couches and mirror on the back wall. One-way glass separates you from view of the other patrons down below, now enjoying another show from another girl. Usually, a security guard would post himself on this side of the wall, observing the free show with the stoicism of a statue. 

But tonight, it’s you and Geto. He lazes on a couch, both arms splayed across the light brown fabric as you enter the room. His black eyes follow you as you pad toward him, watching his every move. You stop in front of the man, locking eyes with him as you undo the tie at your waist and let the silk robe fall to the ground. His lips part and he spreads his legs, beckoning you forward with his right forefinger and middle finger. 

Silently, you make your way to him, planting yourself between his long legs and looking down. “Kneel.” Your breath hitches in your throat, but you sink to your knees anyways, keeping your eyes on him. As he leans over you, you think the worst is about to happen and squeeze your eyes and mouth shut. When his fingers find the nape of your neck, you flinch, but feel your hair tie slide off of the braid in your hair. He smells like sandalwood - you note - much unlike the other men you encountered in the club. They often reeked of booze and smoke, or something much grimer. 

His fingers work their way through your locks, separating the strands with ease before retracting. Your hair cascades around your face like a curtain, and he leans back, resuming his previous position. “You can dance if you’d like.” Instantly, you rise from the wooden floor and begin running your hands up your waist and to your chest, swirling your hips around to the sensual music playing through the speakers. Geto observes you with a tilted head, squinting his eyes when you play with the feathered hem of your teddy. You don’t lift it over your head, opting to tease him to his limit instead of giving him exactly what he wanted right away. 

His black eyes roam over your figure repeatedly, watching your hips sway and fingers wind into your hair without changing. He leans forward when you take a step back, lacing his fingers together in front of him calmly. You step back into his reach, and he shifts suddenly, startling you so bad that you stop moving entirely. 

“Sorry,” he hisses, adjusting his seating. “It’s a little uncomfortable to sit like that right now.” You let out a nervous chuckle and resume your movements, unsure if you’re ready to remove your lingerie or not. “I’m not going to ask you to take it off.” The admission makes you pause, but you continue to dance anyways. 

“Why?”

“Why would I?” He tosses back, shrugging.

“You get to see everything in here. That’s what you paid for, right?” 

“I paid for you to dance for me alone. I want a private show; not something anyone can watch for free.” 

“Do you want to touch me?” 

“Not yet.” 

And he didn’t for the rest of the time he spent there that night. Before he left the room, he pressed a couple of hundreds into your palm then opened the door and walked out. You had never experienced anything quite like it, but with the extra cash in your hand as you walked out of the club, you prayed to the stars that you would see this unicorn just one more time.

[awritingtree]

Never Enough (4/7)

Sirius Black x daughter!reader

Summary: In the previous chapter, Y/N Black saved her father from death. What is the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries?

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of violence, hospital, medical stuff, mentions of death, sadness, self-deprecation thoughts

A/N: You have @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ to thank. She’s the reason I decided not to end the series here 😂 But I am so excited for all of you to read this. GAH

Also if you want, LISTEN TO THIS SONG as you read on repeat. I swear it makes it so much better. I think of the song as Sirius’ POV. Start it at the point where I've put **

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ofCZObsnOo

Series Masterlist

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

It had been two weeks since Harry Potter and his friends had broken into the Ministry of Magic. Two weeks since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Two weeks since all twelve Death Eaters, except Bellatrix Lestrange, were captured and sent to Azkaban. Two weeks since the Ministry witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. Two weeks since Umbridge was removed from Hogwarts and Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster. Two weeks during which Cornelius Fudge started to face backlash, ultimately stepping back as Minister of Magic. One week since it was decided that Sirius Black would be given a fair and just retrial for his ‘crimes’.

It had been two weeks since Y/N Black was admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Two weeks since Y/N Black had saved her father, Sirius Black, from death.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“What are you doing here!?” Ted Tonks glowered.

Sirius glanced away from Y/N, seeming to just realize that there were other people in the room.

“I’m here to see my daughter, Ted,” he spoke, confused at the hostile manner he was addressed in.

“Really? One could have never known,” Ted scoffed back.

Sirius’ eyebrows furrowed in irritation. He didn’t understand why Ted had such a problem with him visiting his own daughter, his own blood.

Andromeda placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder, “Calm down, dear.”

“Calm down, Andromeda!? I will not calm down! This man is the reason our baby girl has been hurting these past few years. He’s the reason she questions her worth as a human being. He’s the reason she cried all summer. He’s the reason she’s here in the first place!”

Sirius snapped, “Your baby girl? She’s my daughter!”

“Of course that’s all you’d get out of this. I ought to-”

“What is going on!?” Molly shrieked at the scene in front of her. Sirius and Ted were almost at each other’s throats, wands out ready to throw curses.

“Come on, let’s get you some fresh air,” Andromeda softly said as she dragged Ted away, but not before throwing a nasty look towards her cousin.

Sirius continued to glare in their direction until they disappeared.

“Can you believe them? Just because they’ve taken care of Y/N when I went to Azkaban doesn’t mean she miraculously becomes their daughter,” he huffed.

Tonks looked at Sirius disapprovingly, “She might as well be.”

Sirius watched Tonks storm out, turning around to see Remus, Molly and Arthur looking at him disapprovingly.

“They’ve taken care of her since she was a baby as one of their own. They’ve watched her grow up. Instead of feeling jealous, you should be grateful to them. If it wasn’t for Andromeda and Ted, she would’ve surely been sent to live with the Malfoys.”

Sirius grimaced at the thought of his daughter being raised by such vile people. He sighed before settling down on the chair next to Y/N’s bed. He gingerly grabbed her hand to hold in between both of his.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Y/N laid in the bed, bandages wrapped around her head and various parts of her body. The bruises inflicted due to the Cruciatus Curse were visible, exposed for all to see. Her body twitched occasionally, an aftermath of the curse and head trauma. The Healers didn’t know if this twitch would become permanent or if it was a temporary thing; only time would tell.

“She hit her head pretty hard. Twice from what we've been told. That doesn’t include the hits she took to her head and other parts of her body from the stone surroundings when she was being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse. There was some internal bleeding that we’ve managed to fix. But all of that blunt trauma damaged her brain.”

“The twitches… will they…?”

“We don’t know the full extent of her injuries. There is only so much we can tell while she is unconscious. We can think about doing anything further only after she is no longer unconscious. We’ve done all we can for now.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Ted and Andromeda walked in to see Sirius sitting next to Y/N’s bed. They paused in front of the bed as he looked up. All three of them stared at each other tensely before Andromeda and Ted moved to sit on the other side of the bed. Sirius watched Andromeda run a hand through Y/N’s black hair, as a mother would. He watched as she untangled her hair and proceeded to braid it to her side, with tears brimming her eyes. The sight of Y/N - the girl who she always felt was her daughter - bandaged, bruised and twitching seemed to start the waterworks. She sobbed into Ted’s chest as he collected his wife in his hands. He held her tightly to himself, trying to keep himself together for her sake. He couldn’t break down now, he needed to be brave for her. He needed to be brave for Y/N.

Sirius watched his cousin being led away by her husband. It was only when they were no longer in sight did he allow his own tears to flow.

**Sirius didn’t regret anything in life, but this was one of those rare moments when he did. His biggest regret was the way he treated his own daughter.

Sirius sat there well into the night, guilt-ridden. It was his fault for her being here at St. Mungo’s. It was his fault for being such a bad father. It was his fault that his daughter had grown up with his cousin, had a parental relationship with someone who wasn’t him. It was his fault for not escaping earlier, or not going to look for her after. His fault for not trying to build a relationship with her once he escaped.

Truth be told he was scared; scared that he’d end up being like his father, scared that she would end up like his family. It was not justified; he knew it wasn’t. It shouldn't have mattered to him that she was a Slytherin, he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. He didn’t know her; he didn’t even try to get to know her. Sirius knew what he did was wrong. If Lily was alive, she surely would’ve beaten some sense into him. He could just imagine his brother and sister-in-law chastising him for his decisions. Sirius had made too many mistakes; mistakes he was now paying dearly for. He let his own fears and assumptions be his and Y/N’s downfall. Now, she couldn’t even bear to live in the same house with him. He had royally screwed up and he knew it.

Sirius wished he could unsay all that he had spoken. She was his daughter and even though they had some bad blood between them, he hoped she would give him another chance. He hoped she would give him a one-in-a-million chance because he wanted to build their relationship back up again. He wanted a chance to get to know his daughter, and for her to get to know him. The probability of any of it happening was extremely low but he would take those odds.

Sirius wanted a chance to right his wrongs, show how sorry he was. But he couldn’t because she was here, unconscious and gravely injured at St. Mungo’s, because of him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” Sirius sobbed over and over again to an unconscious Y/N through the night until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

“I swear I’ll be better.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Three weeks after the battle, Remus walked over to Y/N’s bed at St. Mungo’s. Sirius was sleeping on a chair next to Y/N’s bed, his head resting on her bed. Her hand had found its way into his hair, holding onto it lightly in a fist. Remus was instantly taken back to a fond memory when she was no older than one and half years old.

Remus walked into the apartment of Sirius Black. He carefully made his way through the corridor, to the living room. As he got closer, the sound of adorable babbles filled his ears. Baby toys littered the floor, a miniature toy broom, stuffed toys, dolls, and many other things. But Remus took no notice of the mess as he could only pay attention to the most heartwarming sight he’d ever seen in his entire life.

There was baby Y/N sitting on the sofa in a blush-coloured onesie. Her bright grey eyes were shining with happiness, a familiar twinkle of mischief already visible. Near her tiny legs, that were kicking in a small jagged motion, was Sirius laying on the sofa. He was facing the ceiling, his legs draped over the arm of the sofa. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain old white t-shirt stained with food; no doubt from Y/N being picky and not eating her food. One of Y/N’s tiny hands was bunched up in Sirius’ shoulder-length black curly hair whilst the other petted his head as best as a one-year-old could. Sirius lay with his eyes shut. The affectionate smile on his face giving away that he was indeed listening to the nonsensical babbling of his daughter.

The sight of you both right now reminded him of the good old days. Remus dearly missed those days, when things seemed much simpler and happier - when James and Lily were alive.

“He’s been here since yesterday, refuses to leave her alone for even a moment. Dad tried kicking him out again, but he wouldn't budge.”

Remus turned around to look at Tonks.

“He has always cared for her greatly.”

“He’s never done a good job of showing it though has he? But now that she’s here, injured,” she said, bitterly.

Remus remained silent, pursing his lips together. He didn’t have any argument to defend his best friend. He couldn’t even deny what she had said, they had every reason to resent him and his actions.

Remus stepped up to the bed to shake Sirius awake.

“Padfoot. Wake up. It’s morning, we have to go. We can’t be late.”

Sirius woke up groaning. He carefully removed Y/N’s clutch on his hair before sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“Your trail starts in an hour. You need to leave now if you want to shower and change into something else to look more presentable.”

“Right, of course,” Sirius said. He got up and leaned over Y/N, brushing a stray strand of her hair out of her face.

“I’ll be right back, my baby girl. I love you,” he whispered, a loving look on his face. Though, his eyes were swimming with regret at the sight of his daughter laying there injured all because of him.

He pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead trying not to hurt her any more than he already did before hastily making his way out, not sparing anyone a glance.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sirius marched back to St. Mungo’s, a slight skip in his steps and a wide grin on his face. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. However, the grin dropped right off when his eyes fell upon the utter chaos ongoing around the room he was heading towards. Healers were rushing in and out urgently. Sirius started to panic, fearing something had happened to Y/N. His eyes moved around the hall to look for someone, anyone. His eyes fell on Ted and Andromeda, the latter sobbing. Ted was unable to hold his tears back as well.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Sirius asked as soon as he reached them.

Andromeda sobbed out louder at his questions.

The sound of a bed being wheeled on the floor drew his attention towards the door. Sirius felt his heart drop to his stomach. There was Y/N, her body twitching and trembling. He could see dark red blood staining the back of her bandage and pillow as her head moved around.

“We’ll have to use the body-bind curse,” he heard one of the Healers say as they passed by him in a hurry.

Sirius did not realize that he was trembling, tears streaming down his face, until Y/N and the Healers disappeared around the corner.

“She- we don’t know what happened. She was fine one minute and the n- next… She started twitching and thrashing around and we didn’t know what to do,” Ted informed Sirius in a hoarse voice.

Sirius, Ted and Andromeda sat in the waiting room for what seemed like hours, awaiting any news from the Healers. Andromeda, exhausting herself from all the crying, had fallen asleep on one of the chairs, cuddled up to her husband’s side. Ted’s leg kept shaking, moving up and down. He was becoming restless; it had been too long since the incident and they still hadn’t received any word on what was happening. But no one was as restless as Sirius who had been pacing back and forth the entire time. He didn’t pause for one second, no matter how much Remus tried to convince him to sit down. Nothing anyone said or did would ease his mind. No one except a Healer.

The heavens above seemed to have granted his wish, a Healer walked into the waiting room with a slight smile, “Mr. Black? Mr. and Mrs. Tonks?”

Ted quickly shook Andromeda awake who abruptly woke up. They all rushed towards the Healer.

“Her brain had started to bleed again-”

“You said that you fixed that,” Sirius interrupted in anger.

“Yes, we had. But sometimes the bleeding can start up again when there is substantial damage.”

“Will she be okay?” asked Andromeda worriedly.

The Healer sighed, “She is stable for now. The damage to her neurons is extensive.”

“What- what will happen if she doesn’t get better?” Ted questioned, his voice trembling afraid of the answer he was going to receive.

“We do believe she will. But if she doesn’t wake up within a few days, we can only presume the worst. I am sorry. We can only hope for now. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Can we go see her?” Remus spoke up as the others seemed too shocked to do anything.

“Yes, of course,” the Healer gave them a reassuring smile, which didn’t fulfil its purpose the least bit, before heading out the door.

Sirius, Andromeda, and Ted regained their senses and proceeded to head towards their baby girl.

Sirius felt sluggish as he approached Y/N’s bed. Her body was thin and frail, having lost weight in the past few weeks. Her pasty skin stood out against the greasy, unwashed long dark hair. Her chest moved up and down in a rhythm that matched her ragged breathing. Her body continued to twitch from time to time.

Ted couldn’t help but break down at the sight in front of her. Y/N looked so close to death. He sat down on the bed next to Y/N, stroking her hair back, tracing the beautiful features of his baby girl’s face.

“You can’t leave me. Not yet okay? Who's going to wake up early with me to go on walks and pick flowers? Who am I going to spend the whole afternoon baking and having food fights with? You can’t leave me here alone with Dro and Dora. Who else is going to save me from their craziness, huh?” he said, weakly chuckling through his tears. “I- I’d be so lonely if you left. You can’t go. Hold on, Y/N/N. Please. If not for yourself then for me. Ple- please don’t leave me.”

Andromeda’s sobs filled the otherwise silence of the hospital room. Ted continued to quietly plead, choking on his own words, “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Sirius sat there in silence, his unblinking eyes fixed on Y/N’s form; watching her chest rise up and fall back down with each breath - a sign that she was still alive and breathing.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Ted and Andromeda had left once visiting hours were over, but Sirius remained. No one, not even the Healers, could force convince him to leave.

He remained perched on the seat beside Y/N’s side well into the night. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, but he refused to give in. He couldn’t sleep, not when she could need him at any moment. What if he fell asleep and didn’t realize something wrong in time to call for help? No, he would not allow that. Sleep could wait till he was completely sure she would be alright.

Sirius stared at his daughter, his battling-for-life daughter. Her protruding bones made her more visibly sickly under the shadows cast by the pale moonlight shining through the window positioned at the head of her bed.

Sirius leaned forward, his hand shakily caressing Y/N’s cheek. He brushed back the hair that covered her face. A choked sob echoed through the silent, dark room. The tears he kept at bay all day long fell at last.

“Y/N/N, my baby girl. I’m so sorry for all I have done. And haven’t done. But you need to fight. You need to make it through this. You have so much to live for. You need to wake up okay? You need to wake up so I can make this right. I still want you. I need you. I can't imagine a world without you. I’ll make it right; I solemnly swear to love you all my life. Please just fight. Live.”

Sirius sat there watching Y/N, not daring to close his eyes for a moment in case something happened; in case she stopped breathing. He sat in silence praying that someone would wake him up from this nightmare. If he could only see her sparkling grey eyes that were so much like his; filled with the same mischief, once again he would die a happy man. He wished he could take her place, for he would happily die if it meant she got to live.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sirius did not know when he had fallen asleep. His head rested against the edge of the bed and Y/N’s hand had once again made its way to his hair, holding on to it in a loose grip. Sirius was startled awake by the whimper that left Y/N’s mouth as her body twitched once again.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Sirius spoke in a rush, hoping his mind was not playing tricks on his ears. A groan left Y/N’s mouth as she moved around in her bed.

“Healer! Healer! Someone! Anyone!? Please, I think she’s waking up!” Sirius yelled, not caring about the other patients still fast asleep in the same room.

“It’s okay, baby girl. You can open your eyes now. You’re fine. I’m here. I’m here,” Sirius said softly.

Y/N’s eyelashes fluttered, her eyes moving under her eyelids. She slowly opened her eyes. She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, groaning at the sudden increase in brightness. Gradually, she opened her eyes again, blinking to adjust to the sun lighting up the room.

Y/N shivered as a cold draft swept through the unfamiliar room. She looked around the white-walled room. There were around seven other beds in the room, plain white curtains adorning the railings to hide away the bed if needed.

“Y/N?”

Y/N brought her attention to the man standing next to her bed. He was tall and well-built. Shiny black shoulder-length hair framing his fair-skinned face. His unfamiliar-familiar striking grey eyes were scanning her face, concern and worry shining through them as clear as the daylight seeping through the closed curtains. A slight stubble shadowed his face from having spent the night in the hospital. The man oozed a form of casual elegance, tattoos covering his chest and arms. He was handsome, but this was dampened by his prematurely aged face and wrinkled clothes.

“I’m sorry. But who are you?”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

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[oogaboogasphincter]

A Magpie, a Goose and a Sparrow Walk into a Found Family Trope (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: A nightmare caused by trauma he endured before and on The Green haunts Ezra one night, his fear bleeding into reality. Under the fog of sleep, he hurts you, thinking you are the monster that is endangering you, Cee and himself while on your next trip. He apologizes by doing something that terrifies him: opening his heart up to another person.

Word Count: 10.7k+ (holy shit i deeply apologize for putting my readers through this agonizingly long junk)

Rating: M (mature) just to be safe (some pretty intense themes but i don’t think there’s anything too explicit)

Warnings: non-fatal manual strangulation and bruises from it, swearing, sexualization of two adults, mild references to sex, mild allusions to sexual arousal, discussion of trauma and its effects, Prospect (2018) spoilers, some argument, hair braiding, one (1) ✨neck✨ kiss, one use of (y/n), sprinkles of that sexual tension we all love, a resolved ending!

Author’s Note: first off, thank you SO much to @martinsmomo​ for this request!💜💕 this was so creative, i hope i did it justice :). second, AHHH!!!!! my first piece ever!!! i haven’t written anything on my own time for my own enjoyment since i was like 13, which may or may not be apparent by my comma splices, repetitive sentence structure/word choice and disagreeing verb tense💀. the thought of i have no idea what i'm doing never left my mind while i was writing this, but i just tried to go with it and have fun :). ALSO, i had so much fun reading all of the lore about the world that Prospect (2018) takes place in. Here is a link to a pamphlet about a lot of stuff that is featured in the movie, which i used while writing this piece. i highly recommend you check it out! i tried to stick to as much canon stuff as i could, but 🦋The Blue🦋 is something that i made up. also this is not beta’d, i just wanted to throw this into the void and see what happens✨. i also also want to point out that in no way am i trying to romanticize or sexualize domestic violence. i know that the subject matter in this piece can be triggering, and even though the violence wasn’t intentional and it’s resolved through love, i don’t want it to be misconstrued as something that it’s not. with that being said, i hope you enjoy it! :)

gif by @anakin-skywalker​

A grunt stirs you from your deep slumber. Your eyes open easily, a treat that you weren’t given often due to the dryness of the pod’s recirculated air. The inside of your shared galactic chamber is as dark as your mind; no illumination to shine on your thoughts and wake them up or to show you how Ezra is doing. You know the grunt had come from him, as the only other passenger was his adopted daughter, Cee. You turn in your pilot’s chair, looking over your shoulder to try and make him out through the impossible darkness.

Parcel-Class Planetary Drop Pods were designed to fit only two travelers, however the three of you had decided to embark on your next journey together. To save on costs, your partners opted for a model without cots. Being the gentleman that he is, Ezra insisted that you and Cee sleep in the pilots’ chairs. He had thrown a few blankets on the cold, flat floor and had proudly announced, “Sleeping quarters fit for a king!”, eliciting pitiful laughter from you and Cee.

Now, your eyes can’t find the sad bundle of warmth that is his sleeping figure. He is a restless sleeper, and every time he made a noise that was more than a good-natured hum or a soft swish of rearranging his blankets, you would wake and turn to make sure that he was okay. You would do the same for Cee, but she was a fantastic sleeper. Not too deep, not too light, and never made a peep. You turn back around, giving up on trying to spot Ezra in the dark, when you hear another grunt.

This one is louder than the last.

You turn back around yet again, your own blanket falling off of your chest and into your lap. Eyebrows furrowing together and eyes squinting, your pupils strain themselves to find any shred of light to let you see. The noises increase in abundance and volume. Ezra’s sleeping fit has transformed from a halfhearted rustling to an aggravated clamor in less than a minute. Your eyes stay on the dark patch of space where you know his “bed” is situated while Cee arises from her sleep. Her chair lets out the slightest creak as she follows your gaze and attempts herself to see what all of the commotion is about. She asks you, “Is he okay?” Ezra answers her with an irritated growl through his teeth. You say to her, “I don’t know, I can’t see him, should we-”

Your suggestion of waking him up is cut short as two hands wrap around your throat. The hands twist your head to face forward, and you’re greeted with Ezra’s sweat-slicken face. Instinctively, you grasp at his forearms in an effort to ease the constriction of your neck.

Cee screams, “Ezra, let go of her!” 

He defies her command and puts one of his knees in between yours on the seat of the pilot’s chair and leans closer to you. The brown eyes that you had grown to love now bore into yours with unwavering menace as the pads of his fingers press harder into the sides of your neck. His palms are flush with your larynx, threatening to crush it. You want to let out sobs of heartbreak, but are unable to. He’s restricted your actions to only being able to watch him attempt to strangle you. Your fingers aren’t able to get a grip on his limbs due to his angry sweat and your panicked claminess. Your mouth hangs open as his is shut tight, his jaw muscles stuttering with intense rage. He starts to growl through his teeth again, but a flash of light turns it into a howl.

His entire body falls back, his hands losing their purchase on your neck. You suck in a harsh breath and lean forward as Cee grabs your hand and pulls you out of the pilot’s chair. In her other hand she grips a Boscelot Frontiersman: the source of the light that had extracted Ezra’s shriek and drilled its way into his thigh. He sat on the floor in front of your chair and laced his hands just above his injury, throwing his head back and wincing. 

Cee puts some feet in between the two of you and guides you across the floor to the other side of the impossibly small pod. Hoarse coughs begin to rise from your surprised larynx, accompanied by trembling of your entire body. Cee, still holding you by your arm with one hand and the Thrower in the other, yells your thoughts at Ezra, “What the fuck was that for?!” She flicks the lights on, allowing everyone to see each other’s face for the first time all night. 

Ezra stares at the two of you in disbelief. Both brunette and blonde strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes depressed from the subsiding adrenaline, his whole body drenched in distressed perspiration. You and him lock eyes, even through your flailing about as you continue to choke on air and delicately place your own hands over where his just had you in a vice grip. He knows what he’s done as soon as he sees you. He begins to cry and opens his mouth to start an apology that can never be adequate, but Cee hurls a field kit at his head. It hits him and he takes the blow without complaint. His devastated eyes keep to your bloodshot ones as he opens up the kit and starts to treat his justified wound. Cee stares at him with aggravation, and so do you, but her expression is void of confusion. 

You are confused as all hell. What could have possibly made him do that? He seemed to be having a nightmare, but that didn’t give him the excuse to nearly strangle you to death. 

Your coughs and stress start to dwindle as all of you sit there, not saying a word, the only other noise in the room being Ezra opening and closing medical supplies. He squirts a sanitizing solution over his wound, hissing, and then he takes out a Patch Gun. This sets your heart racing. The strangling was unpredicted and almost successful, would he get up once he was healed enough and try to do it again? You push yourself back against the wall and keep your widening eyes on him as he sprays the medicated foam into the hole the Thrower had burned through his trousers. He squeezes his eyes shut, winces intensely, and then fails to keep a painful wail inside his chest. You’ve seen him treat himself before, and usually his next step is to throw more than the recommended amount of pain relievers into his mouth and chew on the tablets, redirecting the pain from his injury to his mouth. He doesn’t do that this time.

Instead he throws the used Patch Gun to the side, closes the field kit and pushes it Cee’s way. He breathes your name out of his mouth, causing you to retreat further into the wall. You bring your legs to your chest and wrap your hands around the back of your neck, resting your elbows on your quaking kneecaps. Burrowing your face into the cavity you’ve created, you start bawling. Pain sears your throat, and is only intensified by your sobs, but you can’t help it. You’re absolutely terrified. Ezra says your name again, genuine with care, in an effort to get you to look at him. You shake your head once and continue to gasp into yourself. Cee startles you by touching your shoulder, and she quells your worries, “He won’t do it again.” 

Her five simple words plant a seedling of peace in your heart, but it is nowhere near close to blooming. You don’t look up as she gets up and goes over to your pilot chair and grabs your blankets. Her footsteps return to you quickly, and within moments her warm, calm hands are draping the fabric over your shoulders. She rests her chin on your shoulder, moving with your heaves. A softening tone takes over her beautiful voice as she murmurs “It’s okay”s, “I’m here”s and “You’re safe”s into your blankets. Before you know it, your body succumbs to the overwhelming desire to heal mentally, emotionally and physically with sleep. Your trust in Ezra may be broken right now, but you know that Cee will watch over you. Despite her lack of size and experience compared to Ezra, you know she has the upper hand on him intellectually. He may be full of wondrous prose, a never-ending vocabulary and sharp wit, but Cee has had him in the palm of her hand ever since they met. You can sleep knowing that she can protect you and herself, if need be.

You peek out underneath your arm to qualify to yourself that Ezra is in no shape to attack again. 

He sits where he landed when he fell, slouching with exhaustion. His eyes sparkle with tears of regret, his eyebrows quirked in a way that reads “There aren’t enough ways to apologize, but I’ll try every one until you forgive me.” You close your eyes, lay your head against the wall and beg the Sandman to bring you all a night of peace as you rest until the Sun comes up. 

The pale blue morning light penetrates your eyelids and alerts your brain that it is time to get up. You awake to find Cee and Ezra sound asleep, her in her pilot’s chair and him in his “bed”. You are still huddled up against the wall, opposite to Ezra, and look upon him with a wary gaze. The fear he inserted into you last night makes your nerves feel like static, but at the same time you can’t help but be relaxed by his presence. It’s obvious he didn’t cause any more damage during rest of the night, so maybe his eyebrows were telling the truth: that he is sorry.

The muted sunshine washes his complexion out and dulls the warmth that his chestnut locks hold. It makes the blonde patch in his hair and the arc scar on his cheek glisten cerulean. His expression is relaxed, eyelids fidgeting under the controls of REM sleep. 

The sound of Cee’s alarm clock distracts you, and moments later her hand reaches out and pushes the ‘stop’ button. Awakening limbs appear above the back of her chair, accompanied by a yawn. Your eyes dart to Ezra. He’s still asleep. She turns to you first and smiles, “Are you alright?” You nod once, return her smile, and you both turn to the slumbering man. She says, folding her blanket, “He’s fine. Calmed down after you fell asleep. He said he had a nightmare that you had turned against us. He said he wants to apologize but understands if you don’t want to speak to him.” You sigh through your nose, glancing over at him, “That’s okay. I think I would like some time away from him though. Just to process things, y’know?” Cee turns to face you, “That’s what I figured. I told him that.” You look at her and nod once. 

She gets up and stretches again, folded blanket still in hand. She puts it on her seat and looks up at you excitedly, “Want to come look for aurelac with me today?” 

“Definitely.”

Her face lights up with a wide smile and you mirror her reaction. Getting up and dropping your blankets to the floor, you go over to the compartment in the wall that holds your equipment. You take out what you’ll need - suit, helmet, air filter and a few Slurry Packs - and close the latch. The door slams shut harder than you intended, the resulting crash jolting Ezra awake.

A shy, apologetic smile graces his face as he meets your eyes, and you return the expression. You were still tightly wound, but were ready to start dispelling the fear, and that began by being cordial with him. His smile fades when his eyes lower to your hands and take in what you are holding. He gets up off the floor and inquires, “What do you have all that for?” His expression is neutral, but you worry that you will anger him by telling him what your plans are.

He had made it very clear since you joined him and Cee that he did not want you to prospect. He had told you that it was too dangerous of a task in itself, let alone the implications that came along with it: bartering, lying, gambling, stealing, killing. He didn’t want you or Cee to be subjected to any any of the horrors that accompanied prospecting, but Cee had been stubborn about her desires and had proven her abilities. She was great at prospecting, possessing an attention to tedium and an unwavering sense of calmness while performing the task. For a man who seeps with wisdom, Ezra wasn’t all that good of a prospector. He had the tendency to lose patience and cripple under pressure, which sometimes led to compromised digs. 

“I’m going to look for aurelac deposits with Cee.” You nudge your head in her direction and she smiles at Ezra. He waves his hand dismissively, “That’s all fine and dandy,” now pointing a lazy yet warning finger at you, “But don’t you dare let prospecting dance upon those beautiful brain waves of yours.” His comment irritated you. You had never shown any signs of true disobedience to his wishes, besides the casual sigh of boredom or the bratty roll of your eyes. The words also set your heart aflutter. As you try to hide your blush and bury your annoyance, Cee says to him, “We don’t be doing any prospecting if we can’t find any aurelac.” His head tilts in agreement. He pads over to you and gingerly puts a hand on your shoulder. He had sensed your irritation and repeats his mantra of why he doesn’t want you prospecting, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Your anger became fiery again. Shoulder jerking to flick his hand off, you jab at him, “Because I’m safe in the confines of the pod?”

He points a finger at you again, this time accusatory, “That was purely an accident. Do not take it as anything but.” 

Cee commands, “Both of you, stop, now. I’m not dealing with this all day. It was an accident. An inexcusable one, but an accident.” 

Your and Ezra’s eyebrows had shifted to take on the same irate slope, however you both decide to just let it drop. You visibly signal your concession by dropping your shoulders and Ezra reflects you. He spins on his heels to open his own equipment hatch, and you turn to the wall yours is on. You all face the walls and change into your suits, a ritual of trust and time efficiency you decided on when the three of you agreed to work as a group. 

Once dressed, you exit the pod, Ezra being first and Cee being last, and embark on your daily journey. The Sun had retreated behind some dark grey clouds. The sky was a royal blue, the ground was greige and the dark foliage that surround you drips with dew. You were stationed on the Blue Moon, an orbiting moon in the Bakhroma System. This place wasn’t highly traveled like its permanent sister (the Green Moon), due to the popular aftermath of the Aurelac Rush. Although Cee and Ezra had been there and left, many people in the galaxy still went to try and scoop up some valuable remains. Unlike The Green, The Blue wasn’t known for its abundant aurelac deposits, which is precisely why your partners chose to come here. 

Their original plan was to travel to The Blue with just themselves, but while on a stop to Puggart Bench you had entranced Ezra while Cee tried to scope out her old friends and catch up with them before she set off on another mission. Demonstrating your eagerness to explore the galaxy and your expansive knowledge of it, Ezra decided to add you to his partnership. It didn’t hurt that you also tried to express your attraction to him, complimenting the rugged floater on his impressive vocabulary. He had complimented you on your willingness to listen to his ramblings, and it had been love ever since. Neither of you had come out directly and said “I love you”, and you hadn’t partaken in any physical affection, but your yearning for each other could not be more understood. His adoration for you only deepened when he saw how you interacted with Cee. Being closer to her generation than Ezra’s, you were able to connect with her like contemporaries. However, you were far enough away from her age group to the point where Ezra couldn’t act as a father figure to you. This duality made you irresistible to him.

Back to the present, you gaze at the back of his helmet intently, waiting to see what his plan of action for the day is. The Green requires visitors to wear air-tight suits and breathe through air filtration systems at all times because of harmful spores that float in the atmosphere. The Blue’s spores are far less harmful, and helmets can be taken off for 45 minute intervals, but the three of you only took them off when the confinement of the helmets became a little too much. The glass window of Ezra’s helmet swivels to you and he asks, “Split up, hourly check-ins, reconvene for lunch?” 

As you’re thinking of your answer, you notice his eyes dart repeatedly up and down your body. You can tell by the way his mouth is slightly parted that he isn’t assessing your body language to predict your response. He’s thinking about all of the ways he would devour you for apology’s sake. 

You look to Cee in the middle of your answer, “Sure. I’ll go with Cee today.” She smiles at you and turns to him. His mouth closes and he looks down to fiddle with his radio with thick-gloved fingers, “I’ll be on channel one.” Cee says, “Okay,” and beckons you to follow her as she sets off on a worn path. You and Ezra look at each other one more time before you turn in opposite directions and begin your divergent treks.

Catching up to Cee by jogging, your steps slow to match her pace once you are by her side. There’s silence between the two of you for a little while as you weave your way through trees of varying heights, eyes keeping to the ground to spot humps in the dirt. Humps gave away the location of aurelac deposits. A couple of slips were shared between the two of you as you climbed over hills and shuffled through valleys, the forest floor littered with puddles. What The Green has in vegetation, The Blue has in water. There were multiple lakes, some touting depths that are only achievable by advanced marine technology. Rainstorms are common, but they never grow to something like a hurricane. Everything was doused in a blue hue, whether it was the air, the water or the plants. The spores in the air resembled stagnant raindrops, peculiar in the way that they seemed to stay in their place in the atmosphere. 

Cee broke the silence, “So, are you okay?” You know exactly what she is referring to and answer, “Yeah. Still a bit shaken up and confused, but other than that I guess I’m fine. I can feel bruises where his hands were.” She turns around to look at you and you lift your chin for her to see. She grimaces and says, “Yeah, you can see where each finger was and everything.” You look down, feeling disappointed that the event even happened. You ask her, “So he had a nightmare about me?” You watch the back of her helmet as she nods, “Yep. He just said that he thought you were going to endanger the three of us. He didn’t say in what way, really, just that you were a threat.” You take a moment to process the information and then fire off another question, “So, I have nightmares too, but I don’t act on them in real life. So why did he do what he did? Is there, like, an underlying feeling of distrust that he has for me, or...?” She started shaking her head halfway through your last sentence, “No, no, not at all. It’s just that The Green was so traumatic that I can understand just how vivid nightmares about it can be. And even though I don’t know much about what he went through before I met him on The Green, I’m sure prospecting was just as dangerous as it is now. I wouldn’t be surprised if at one point, or at a million points, someone that he trusted backstabbed him. But it’s nothing personal against you at all.” You nod and take in her words, trying to reassure yourself that you can trust him, even though he had done everything he could to prove you otherwise the night prior.

Cee stops and turns to you, chuckling, “If anything-”

A short sound on your radios cuts her off, and Ezra’s voice comes through the speakers, “How are you little birds coming along?” 

Cee answers, “Fine. No deposits yet. What about you?” She grins at you, not forgetting to finish her comment as soon as he leaves the two of you alone. 

“Nothing. I’ll be shocked if we stumble across any hint of a deposit today. Like every day. Over and out.” 

You look at her, eager to hear what she has to say. This only widens her smile, and she rolls her eyes as she begins, “Like I was saying.” You both laugh as she continues, “If anything, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. I’ve never seen his eyes light up so much at anything like they do when he looks at you.” You blush and look down at your feet shyly. She gives you a playful shove and knocks you out of your butterfly-ridden trance. Her tone changes serious as she sighs, her pitch dropping a little bit lower than normal, “You really don’t have to worry about him hurting you or me. He’s just fucked up from our time on The Green. I am too, but I experienced it in a slightly different way, and deal with it differently too. I mean, I lost my father, but he killed two other people. It got us out of there, but that’s probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life. And since it was recent, he’s still trying to figure out how to handle the whole thing. I’m not making any excuses for him, because he didn’t have any reason to attack you, regardless of any dream, but he seriously wouldn’t do that under any other circumstances.” She puts an assuring hand on your shoulder and smiles. You smile back and nod once in understanding, saying, “I believe you.” She pats your back, and you both turn to continue on your walk. A few moments pass, and she lets out another laugh. You teasingly ask her with a smile on your face, “What is it now?” 

“I mean, it’s obvious that Ezra’s been through some shit, because the guy’s fucking weird as hell.” Your helmets are filled with your cackling as thoughts of the strange man play out in your head. Cee jokes, “I mean, little bird? His confusing speech pattern in general? Someone who talks in crosswords is either an ancient person who is trying to be clever in their last days because that’s the only form of strength they have left or just some asshole who finds enjoyment in verbally tricking people.” Another few moments of giggling pass before she ends with, “And what’s with the drawl?” She turns to you, the injuries in your throat burning from laughing so hard, “Have you ever heard someone else, in the entire Bakhroma System, talk like that?” You shake your head while wheezing and she says, “I haven’t either. So how did that weirdo even get here?” 

The surrounding forests may be quiet, but the inside of your suits are filled with the joyful laughter of two friends who continue on their merry way to find some aurelac.

What yesterday lacked in aurelac, it made up for in emotional gains. You had spent the rest of the day with Cee, strengthening your tender bond, exploring the terrain that The Blue had to offer. Ezra kept to his promise and checked in on you two hourly, making sure that you hadn’t run into any other travelers or went too far off the grid. Your group hadn’t crossed paths with any other citizens of the galaxy since you landed, which didn’t surprise or disappoint any of you; the three of you needed some peacetime for regrouping. 

You start today by scanning the pod’s dashboard of lights to make sure nothing is out of order. Because of his contempt to the idea of you prospecting, Ezra had assigned you to be the pod’s programmer. Pods were cheap to rent, so they were justifiably subject to malfunctions. Given that Cee and Ezra were tasked with mapping out The Blue and harvesting aurelac, you obliged to take the responsibility of operating the astronomical vehicle. The other job you had been given was keeper of the harvested aurelac. Once in its containers, you were to check on the gems every day and make sure that none had cracked during transport. The problem is that you haven’t had any luck at finding such valuables. It has been documented that The Blue does contain aurelac, but that it is extremely difficult to find. However, the average gem on The Blue is thrice the size of that which The Green holds. So the size and abundance differences are a lawful tradeoff. 

While you’re analyzing a digital screen on the dashboard, an expressive yawn escapes a man’s mouth. You twist to see Ezra stretching his arm out, eyes and nose scrunched in delight at the wringing out of his muscles. A smile graces your face as you take in his exaggerated display of awakening, and he mirrors your smile when he opens his eyes. His arm relaxes at his side, and a raspy morning voice greets you, “Hi.” You smirk at his unadorned statement and say back, “Hi.” He holds your gaze for a moment before turning to pick his mechanical arm up off the floor next to him. After losing his arm on The Green, his prospecting abilities fell drastically. He had to take out a loan to pay for the artificial limb, but it would restore his talents, so it was a fair deal. That’s why the three of you had gone on this mission, rather than building your friendship on Puggart Bench: to harvest aurelac to repay the loan.

Cee grabs both you and Ezra’s attention as she wakes with a start. Getting up and out of her pilot’s chair, she merrily folds her blankets and marches over to her equipment hatch. You and Ezra share a look of bewilderment, and he questions, “Good morning?” She flips around to you both, forgetting that you were in the pod with her. She cheers, “Good morning!” Reading the two confused expressions that watch her, she explains, “I want to go and look at this area that we missed yesterday. It has a lot of hills, so maybe that’s an indicator of more deposits. I was going to look at it yesterday, but then we came together for lunch, and I completely forgot about it until now.” Noting that she is the only one in the pod that is anywhere near awake, she asks both you and Ezra, “Is it okay if I go by myself?”

Memories of the last 36 hours flicker in your head, discomforting your nerves. It’s not that you don’t trust Ezra, but you don’t trust Ezra. The outburst that he had the other night frightened the shit out of you, and you’ve been wary to interact with him at all, let alone without Cee present to diffuse the situation if it got too tense. The fear he had shoved upon you was still fresh, but the excitement in Cee’s face and your tiresome brain convinced you that it would be okay. Maybe during this time alone you could patch things up with him. Him and Cee had given you a general rundown of what had happened on The Green when you first met, but you could prod Ezra about the details. Hopefully you could uncover some explanations to his night terrors. 

You look over at him to gauge his reaction to her proposition, and he’s staring at you with puppy-dog eyes. His mouth is turned up in a soft smile, and you can’t help but grin at the way his hair is still unruly from his sleep. Suddenly you feel a pleasant heat between your legs, and you can’t tell if it’s just your body waking up or the overwhelming desire to pepper a million kisses over the sleepy man’s face. Refusing to admit to yourself that the latter is the true culprit of your wetness, you shake your head slightly to rock you out of your trance and say to Cee, “Yeah, that would be fine.” Ezra’s smile at you widens before he turns to Cee and inputs, “I concur. Like always, just be sure to watch your surroundings carefully. You’ll find us here when you return.” She nods once and turns to her equipment hatch, signaling you and Ezra to turn to yours as well to give her some privacy as she changes. Once changed, she closes her hatch, puts her helmet on and departs, “I’ll be on channel one. See you guys later!” You and Ezra both give halfhearted waves, still too tired to formulate any meaningful words. The door to the pod closes behind her, and you are alone with Ezra. 

The anticipation of being alone with him made you more anxious than how you feel now, letting your eyes fall to the man still on the floor. He’s already looking up at you, the lazy smile still pulling at his cheeks. The desire to invite yourself into his bed, wrap yourself in his blankets and limbs in order to match the warmth that is flooding your genitals, and doze off into a lustful nap tries to take over your mind. You fight it with everything you have and make your way over to your pilot’s chair. Positioning yourself so that you’re facing Ezra, he simply asks you, “Hungry?” You nod your head and he reaches behind himself. His hand reappears with a Bits Bar, tossing it to you. The only sounds that fill the pod are the crinkling of the wrappers and your respective chewing. Although you’re both preoccupied with eating, Ezra’s silence is deafening. He tended to drop his confusing lingo when talking to you, since he wasn’t trying to trick you. He hadn’t had the courage to reveal his true feelings to you yet, which will be so poetic and heartfelt it will make you sick to your stomach, so he stuck to simple statements. He wanted you to note the difference between his conversations with you and other people, so he made it a very clear point to forgo his prose and expansive vocabulary. He wanted you to note that he revealed his truest sentiments to you and tried his best to hide them from others. 

The peaceful nature of the morning encouraged you to bring up an irritating topic with him, “I only want to prospect because I want to help you guys.” He tries to keep his eyes on his food, knowing that looking into your eyes will ignite his possessive and protective nature, “I know that. And it doesn’t matter how many motives you come up with, birdie, there will never be a time when you’re in my care that you will prospect. That’s the extent that I will let this conversation fester to.” His dismissive demeanor infuriates you. You fire back at him, trying not to let your tension leak into your voice, “I’m not Cee. You are not my parent or my guardian, you’re my partner. So there’s no social expectation that I have to submit to your desires.” His irritation grows, entertaining his fingers by folding the wrapper, “That is technically true. But a good partner will never put their partner at risk. And I have deemed it risky for you to prospect.” His retaliation sets you off. You didn’t want this to turn into an argument, but you also don’t want to back down from this. Your eyebrows crease together in frustration, your arms cross and your mouth sets itself in a frown. 

He looks up from his distraction and becomes infuriated by your look. Now he’s pissed. He begins a verbal knife fight, “Maybe if you had experienced what it’s like to have a shitty partner, you would appreciate my efforts to protect you.”

“I’m not ungrateful.”

“In a way, you are. You abandoned everything you had on Puggart Bench once you met me and Cee. You had friends, a nice family, a stable living situation, a good education. Don’t blame me for a position that you put yourself in.”

“First of all, that’s how it looked to you. Second, a good education in prospecting! Maybe if you weren’t staring at my ass every second of every day, you would have asked me what I was studying. I can probably prospect better than you can.”

“I’d find pure, mocking enjoyment in seeing you try to harvest. I would bet my life that I can prospect better than you can, even with my impediment!” He motions to his mechanical arm.

“You wouldn’t have the impediment if you weren’t so fucking devious! And don’t even get me started on the arrogance, or the fucking pretentiousness!”

Your overheated exchange comes to a halt when the pod’s door opens. Cee climbs in, and you and Ezra try to mask your fury for each other as much as you can. She acknowledges the two of you and says, “Just need an air filter.” The atmosphere turns awkward as you watch her get what she needs out of her hatch. She’s leaving as soon as she came in, and you hold up a parting hand and say, “Be safe. Have fun.” She tilts her chin at you, and Ezra chimes in, “Be safe, Sparrow.” She exits, disappearing into The Blue.

Her interruption quelled the fire that burned between you and Ezra, subsequently drowning you in a wave of guilt over your words. Ezra’s looking down at his hands, shadows keeping his expression unreadable. You uncross your arms in defeat as you feel tears gather on your bottom eyelids. Opening your mouth to apologize, Ezra puts his hand up and directs, “Don’t apologize.” You protest, “But-” He cuts you off, “Don’t. Apologize.” You audibly sigh and sit back in your chair, not facing him anymore. You wish you could just kiss him. It would shut the both of you up and finally bring your shared, passionate feelings to the surface. Instead you opt to stare at the program board in front of you. How sexy. Such allure. You roll your eyes at your own naivety. 

Both of you sit and replay all of the moments that led you to the peak that you sit atop, questioning how to safely start the descent. You decide to break the silence with a neutral topic, “Why do you call her Sparrow?” Staying turned away from each other, Ezra answers, “Well, now that I have two little birds in my life, I have to distinguish them.” Your heart glows at his comment, but it’s not enough to wipe the somber expression off of your face. 

“Why Sparrow though?”

“She’s adaptable. She’s been able to keep a sane mind while traveling through Puggart Bench, The Green, The Ephrate, The Blue. The presence of others doesn’t deter her from her work, yet she’s not aloof to their existence.”

His musings entertain you. Your anger begins to become a thing of the past as you get off of your chair and sit down on the floor a few feet away from him. Being on a literal level playing field only increases your ease. 

“What are you?”

He smirks, “A magpie.”

“I should’ve known.”

You share a bit of laughter before he explains, “I’m intelligent in trickery. I take pride in my illusions, but that’s not all I possess. Once I find my mate, I become protective of them, sometimes to the point of absurdity. A magpie male and female share the brunt of building a nest; as all great relationships should split the responsibility of reconciliation equally.” Regarding his last sentence, he raises one eyebrow at you. You stretch your legs out so that the soles of your shoes touch his.

“Magpies mate for life.”

You break your eye contact. You have grown shy from his pointed allusions, so you playfully fiddle his feet with yours. A moment passes before he says, “You’re a snow goose.” Confused, you look up at him, “A snow goose?” He nods enthusiastically, “Yes, a snow goose.” You shake your head, giggling, “I’ve never heard of those.” He leans forward with shock, “Really?” “Yep.” He shakes his head once and stands up to open his equipment hatch above you. He pulls out a book and sits back down, this time beside you. All About Birds. You assume the birds are alphabetized as you watch him flip the book open about 4/5 of the way through, and he presents you with a page: “Snow Goose”. Amused by the fact that he wasn’t lying, you let out a laugh. He laughs with you, “My Goose needs to brush up on her avian animal knowledge.” A minute has to pass before the cackling subsides. Then he paraphrases, “Snow geese are another adaptable bird, preferring to travel in packs. They roost mainly in bodies of water: marshes, ponds, the like. Ringing true to stereotypes of the general breed, they are very territorial of their property once they claim what is theirs. Snow geese have a brilliant white coat, which I equate to your magnificent aura. They are similar to magpies in that they mate for life.”

You look up from the book and are greeted with chocolate eyes glazed in infatuation. Thighs and arms pressed together, you turn to rest your chin on Ezra’s shoulder. Flickering eyes go back and forth between his eyes and his lips, signaling to him that if he wanted to kiss you, you wouldn’t object. He inserts, “Snow geese also don’t lack in paying homage to their reputation of being loud bitches.” You gasp and lay a swat on his chest as he chuckles away at his poking. After he has had his fill of laughing, you return to your resting place on his shoulder and let out a sigh. 

A few quiet moments go by before you look up at him and admire the handsome, irritating, brave, stubborn, loving man who are you enamored with. You reach your hand up and comb your fingers through his hair once, twice. He leans into your hand as you continue to brush his locks, “Ezra?” He hums, eyes closing rapidly from the lulling pleasure you’re giving him, “Mm-hm?” You whisper, “I’m sorry.” A stark contrast from earlier, he allows your apology. He opens his eyes and they’re dripping with honest remorse and helpless romance, “I’m sorry too.”

Yesterday didn’t amount to what you had originally planned to accomplish, but it was still a good day. Despite all of the insult hurling and badmouthing, you and Ezra ended the day on a nice note. Getting to the bottom of his nightmares could wait for another time. You both had needed a day of fun together to put aside your hostilities before you embarked on discussing trauma. Cee had returned without a problem, hands void of aurelac but filled with notes of The Blue’s landscape. 

You wake up, startled, All About Birds slipping off of your lap and onto the floor. You had sliced it out of Ezra’s dormant fingers after he had fallen asleep, your curiosity piqued from his earlier paraphrasing. Cee’s awake and bustling about in the pod, trying to find something, anything, to eat that isn’t a Bits Bar or a Slurry Pack. As you lean over to pick the book up from the floor, you catch Ezra’s eyes on you. 

He’s standing at his equipment hatch, doing some much needed cleaning up. He’s a traveler who believes in organized chaos, that putting things in their “right” place takes up too much valuable time. 

You smile up at him shyly and as you sit back upright with the book in your hands he says, “Did you find any specimens that better suit us?” You shake your head, “No, you were pretty damn spot on with your choices.” He flashes a smug grin, one that paints your face pink with amusement. Cee plops down in her chair with a huff of defeat, unwrapping a Bits Bar. Ezra hears her and says, “(Y/N) and I will take today’s assignment, Cee. You’ve warranted yourself a break after your ingenious expeditioning yesterday.” She says, “Good, because my legs feel like jelly.” The three of you laugh and you get up and rush to your equipment hatch. With your and Ezra’s friendship on its way to restoration, you were excited to find what the day would hold. The two of you get dressed in a flash, and you tell Cee before putting on your helmet, “We’ll be on channel one, like always.” She sticks a thumb up from behind her chair, and with that you and Ezra are on your way out of the pod.

The rays of the Sun today are periwinkle, streaming through small gaps in the overhanging vegetation. The air is tinted royal blue, the trees shimmer with teal sparkles, the soil a shade of navy. You inhale deeply as if you can smell the fresh air through your air filter, imagining a place where you could be with your gang without all of this clumsy equipment, without giving up the majesty that this landscape has. 

Ezra snaps you out of your daydream, “Where to today, Snow Goose?” 

You pull out a map from a pocket on your back and scan it, looking for any uncharted territory. “Let’s go west today. There’s a big chunk of land that we haven’t documented yet.” 

He nods and begins your quest by turning to the left and walking. You follow him, folding the map and keeping it in your hands. Little conversation is shared between the two of you for the first bit of the journey and the silences aren’t awkward. The majority of your time is spent looking up, admiring the scenery as the Sun comes up and illuminates more of the land. Different hues of blue are unearthed as light reaches deeper crevices: the underside of leaves show turquoise veins, the inside of a hollowed tree trunk boasts a purplish-blue hybrid. The puddles on the ground vary in shape, size, depth and color, and are scattered about the ground in an oddly methodical fashion. 

After a while of marveling at the sights, you regret getting dressed so quickly. You hadn’t brushed your hair properly, and the braid you had put it in was loose. Rubbing against your helmet with all of your head turning, the braid had fallen almost completely out of his shape and it was threatening to combine with your sweat to mold to your face. You instinctively put your hands to your helmet to try to push it out of your way, but you are met with glass resistance. Ezra, peeking over his broad shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lost you, notices your frustration, “Let me help you with that.” You furrow your eyebrows at him and wave off his help, “No, it’s okay. I’ll deal with it.” He shook his head quickly and spins on his heels, looking around and spots two conveniently placed tree stumps, one behind the other, that will accommodate te his fantasy. He gestures to them, “Have a seat, Goose.” 

You stand there, not wanting to indulge in the dream. This was just as much of a dream for you as it is for Ezra. He watched you, everyday before you went out of the pod, braid your hair and willed that one day it would be his hands that would twist your smooth locks. And everyday you braided your hair, you would envision him standing behind you, concentrating hard on his handiwork, his hot breath cascading down the back of your neck, his knuckles grazing your back. Ezra starts walking over to the stumps and motions for you to follow. 

You obey his command and sit down on the seat in front of his, scooting back so that he doesn’t have to reach very far to touch you. A depressing gasp fills the air as you detach your helmet and set it in your lap. Ezra’s gloves appear over your shoulder, “Can you hold these for me?” You were already turned on enough by the thought of him braiding your hair, now he would be braiding your hair with naked fingers and you got to hold the battered material that guarded those impossibly large hands almost everyday? Yeah, this is an illusion. You wait to wake up from your slumber. but are reminded that this situation is very real when Ezra’s fingers reach around your head to brush the sweaty hairs out of your face. His touch is gentle, unlike from the incident a few days ago. Now that you aren’t fighting for your life, you can take in the small, romantic details that you didn’t notice before. The pads of his fingers are rough but not scratchy. You see his fingernails, neatly trimmed and free from any sort of grime. How he pulls off that sorcery while being a prospector, regardless of the gloves, you will never know. 

You tense as his fingers glide over your bruised neck, collecting your hair and bringing it all to your back. He holds your hair in one hand while the other stutters on a bruise. He senses your unease and strangles out, “I’m sorry.” You grip his gloves a little tighter, trying to fight your tears from spilling, and shake your head slightly, “It’s okay.” You’re ready to move past it. It’s important to remember that it happened, but you’re ready to rebuild your relationship. Like he jabbed at you the other day, leaving Puggart Bench had been tough for you. You worry that your leaving left behind permanent scars that would impact the relationships you had there. Ezra and Cee feel like the only friendships that you can count on to last. You need them. 

Knocking you out of your despair, Ezra pulls your hair to one of your shoulders and rests his chin on the other. He turns his head so that his breath spills across your bare neck. He runs a finger lightly across a bruise and asks, mouth millimeters away from your skin, “May I?” You nod, and he plants an imperceptibly light kiss on your neck. You let a tear dribble down your cheek, wiping it away as quickly as it ran. 

A thought enters your mind: my god, his lips are soft as fuck. The combination of the softness with the tickling of his patchy facial hair was heavenly, if not orgasmic. You giggle at your own thoughts* (*thots), intriguing Ezra, “What is it?” You decide to be transparent, “Nothing, it’s just that your mouth is soft as fuck.” A hearty laugh erupts from his chest, “Now I don’t want to put an end to your seductive observations, Goose, but I want this to be an innocent affair.” You smile and sit up straight, letting him know that you are willing to drop the flirtation. For now.

His fingers separate your hair into three sections and he says, referencing the other day, “As a treaty to our battles, I would like to clarify that I don’t think you’re ungrateful.” A soft smile graces your face and you input your own treatise, “And I don’t think you’re arrogant or fucking pretentious. You are a little devious though.” 

He chuckles, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be the scoundrel that I am, now would I?”

You shake your head no. No, he wouldn’t be the scoundrel that you are not so secretively in love with. As you sit there, enjoying the limited amount of time you are allowed with your helmet off, the details of your dreams prove to be true: you can feel Ezra’s concentrated breath warm the nape of your neck, his knuckles tap your suit when he twists your hair a certain way. You yearn for the day that you will be able to touch each other, feel each other’s true weight and texture, without the suits getting in the way.

“So, if you’re so good at prospecting, why don’t you tell me how you do it?” 

His tone is playful and your situation could not be more peaceful, so you decide to indulge him, “Well, first you have to find a deposit, which is usually indicated by a lump in the ground.”

He verifies your first step, “Uh-huh...?”

“Then you want to pour a solution into the deposit’s hole. You don’t want to pour too much though, or else it could cause an explosion.”

Ezra’s hands stop. You turn and ask him, “Is everything okay?” He nods, his eyes first staring off into the landscape and then refocusing once they land on you. He continues to involuntarily nod as he says, “That’s what permitted Cee and I to escape The Green. She threw an entire pint of solution into a deposit. Nearly blew the entire place to bits.” 

You feel rude when you realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock. You close your mouth and words about his time on The Green tumble out of his, “I am devious, indeed. But there were people--beings--there that would make me look like an angel. I take responsibility for killing Cee’s father because he tried to hijack my stash. A man’s work is no petty thing, Goose. I ended up having to kill two others there, in the end. I overestimated our luck after the first one, thinking that it would’ve been a simple escape. I killed the other mercilessly. You see now, Goose, the dangers that I encountered on The Green alone. I would never be able to forgive myself if I allowed you into harm’s way, and you became a tragedy.” 

You reach a hand out and cup his face, which he leans into. He still holds onto your hair, your braid halfway done, and you say, “I was ungrateful, and I’m sorry for that.” He shakes his head once, taking your hand from his face and kissing your palm, “Now you see why I wanted to strangle you in my nightmare. I dreamt that you were someone else, some other thing, that was threatening to drag our trio back to that wretched land.” You both breathe out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Even though it was nervous, you are glad that the both of you are taking some steps in the right direction. 

He clears his throat and sits up straight, “Now, after you dodge an eruption, what is the next step of prospecting?” 

You face ahead and let him continue your braid as you speak, “Next you want to remove the husk from the deposit, and cut the cord that connects the two. Then you want to remove the inner membrane from the husk.” 

He quizzes you, “And what’s inside the inner membrane?”

“The aurelac gem.”

“Correct. Continue.” 

“Then you want to cut out any blisters, but if you cut too carelessly you could puncture it, which will release acid. If that happens then the gem ceases to be worth anything.” 

“That’s where my expertise usually falters.” 

“Finally you want to remove the gem from the inner membrane, douse it in fazer solution, and you have your stone.” 

He tests you again, “What is the purpose of the fazer solution?”

“To stabilize the gem and increase its clarity. Higher clarity grants higher payout.”

He pats your shoulder twice and ties your hair off with the hair tie you used for your loose braid, “Fantastic job, Goose. Couldn’t have explained it better myself.” He stands, walks around your stumps and holds a hand out to you. You take it, even though you were perfectly capable of getting up yourself. You got to hand him his gloves, and he stops you, “Wait a minute.” Both of his hands come to the sides of your face and push a few stray hairs behind your ears; the finishing touches to his masterpiece. You can tell he did a good job without having to look at it, since it didn't feel too loose or too tight, and the problem you had before was now solved. His tongue darts out and runs the edge of his bottom lip before he takes a step back, throwing his hands up, “Voila!” You giggle, eliciting a smile from Ezra wide enough to make the skin around his eyes crinkle in happiness. You hand him his gloves, which he puts on before you both secure your helmets back to your suits. 

Ezra checks in with Cee, “Everything alright, Sparrow?” 

A few seconds pass before she answers, “Yep, just listening to my music. Everything alright on your end?” 

“Affirmative. We’ll be staying outside for lunch. Over and out.” 

Ezra’s eyes gaze into yours for a brief moment before they move past your shoulder, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You ask, “What?” before turning and following his stare. A patch of undisturbed soil, littered with lumps. In his rush by you, Ezra grabs your hand and pulls you along with him as you run to the potential aurelac deposits, laughing at his enthusiasm. He halts at the brink of the field, choosing which one he wants to dig up first. You suggest, “Why don’t we start from the outside and work our way in?” He nods, “That’s a great idea,” and drops to his knees. You stare at the mound in front of him as you sink down to the ground, pulling out your map. You mark where this field is located as he preps his harvesting tools. Once he’s prepared, he sighs and takes your hand, “Do you want to help me, Goose?” 

You nearly spring to your feet with excitement, “Would I ever!” 

He beams at your reaction and begins the process by clearing the dirt away from the mound to reveal the deposit. “How about for this first time, you just hand me the tools?” You nod, taking this as slowly as he wants to, “Whatever you’d like.” He grins as he cuts a hole in the deposit, knife already in hand. “Solution,” he requests. You hand him the bottle and he does the honor of pouring it over the deposit. A white steam emits from the hole, and he reaches in and grabs the husk. “Let me cut this cord, you can do the next one.” You agree and watch as he cuts it with his knife. He places the husk on a flat patch of land and requests his next tool, “Scalpel.” You hand him a Ralon Crusader Laser Scalpel and watch him work.

Laser scalpels are primarily used for precision work, like this step and the removal of blisters, while any generic knives will do the job when cutting the cord or opening up the deposit. 

You watch as he makes an incision in the husk, handing you back the tool once he’s done. He wrangles the inner membrane out of the husk and holds his hand out. You know that he wants the scalpel back, and you give it to him. He flashes you a smile for your readiness, but then hands you the scalpel back. You take it, confused, and he says, “I’d like you to cut the blisters off of this one.” 

Your pupils narrow and your muscles grow tense. You know the steps of prospecting backwards and forwards, but you had never carried out a lab experiment, let alone prospected aurelac in the wild. Ezra lays a gentle hand on your forearm, “I have eternal faith in you, Goose.” You move toward the membrane and turn the scalpel on. Ezra holds it steady for you as you go to remove the blister. There’s only one, which is a slight relief. You plunge the scalpel into the membrane, thinking that the skin would be thicker, and a hiss greets you. You pull back as the membrane deflates and an amber liquid seeps from it, the hissing never stopping. Your mortified eyes look up into Ezra’s and you immediately apologize, “I’m so sorry, Ezra, I thought that-” He raises a hand, “It is not a big deal in the slightest, Goose. I’ve never come across a prospector that didn’t puncture the membrane, or fail to mix the fazer solution correctly the first time.” He senses your lingering humiliation and grabs your shoulders, turning you even more towards himself, “Really, it’s fine.” You want to melt into his hands, crawl into his lap and just hide there until you feel better, but you know that you have to move on. 

He points to the mound behind you, “Let’s try that one.” You stay on the ground and move the tools with you, while Ezra stands and walks over before he squats. You hand him the knife, watch him repeat the process and hand him tools as he needs them: slice the deposit, squirt in the solution, remove the husk, sever the cord, open the husk, take the membrane out. He looks to you, “I want you to try again.” Turning the scalpel on, its vibrations feel more vigorous against your heightened nerves than they did last time. Ezra assumes his position of securing the slippery pod, and you begin cutting. Again only one blister, you circle the blemish with the blade. Once the circle is complete, Ezra reminds you, “It’s easiest to pull it off with your fingers.” You follow his directions, turning the instrument off and setting it to the side. You pull on sticky flesh, and the part that you cut comes off easily. Ezra sighs, “Incredible.” Sliding his fingers in between the membrane and the aurelac, he pulls the rock out and discards the pouch. He calls for the fazer solution, which you hand him and watch as he washes the gem with it. Another hissing sound can be heard, much quieter than the one that came when you punctured the membrane. He holds the aurelac up to the blue Sun, and both of you observe, amazed, at how the light shines through the gem. Aurelac is an amber-hued stone, sometimes with ripples in the color, encased in a foggy crystal. The blue light complements the orange shade of the gem exquisitely. 

Ezra turns to you, eyes bright with satisfaction, hands muddied with gristle, “Superb job, Goose!” He leans into you, helmet shields touching and reaches forward to kiss your glass. You smile and laugh with him in gratification. You can’t wait to harvest the rest of the mounds with your partner. 

A warmth you have never felt before bestows itself to you this early morning. It flourishes in your heart and subsequently pumps through your body, reaching from the crown of your head all the way down to the soles of your feet. It stretches from your ribs to the ends of your fingertips, running in cycles back and forth. The cause of this pleasure was not from the large aurelac haul you had pulled yesterday, but from the man that you harvested with. Ezra’s arms encircle you, heavy with sleep. You’re swaddled in his blankets with him, the depths of sleep tempting you to fall back down to their level of subconscious. The Sun hasn’t risen yet. 

You had crawled into Ezra’s awaiting lap after Cee had fallen asleep the night before. It wasn’t that you felt like you had to hide your feelings from her, but the dynamic still made you feel a little bit awkward, even with Ezra’s reassurance and Cee’s encouragement to pursue him. You would feel more comfortable if she were to wake up and find the two of you in your designated sleeping arrangements, and not in an amorous yet innocent entanglement of limbs. 

You can practically feel a rainbow sprout from your chest as you look up at Ezra, finding delight in his relaxed expression. His hair is messy not from the tossing and turning of a restless night’s sleep, but the enamored strokes of a yearning partner’s fingers. The whirlwind of malachite butterflies in your stomach nudges you away from sleep. You press your hands into Ezra’s chest, where they have been resting, and turn to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone before you start to slip out of his embrace. Gently lifting his arms off of you in an effort to keep him asleep, you fail. He cups the side of your face and rubs his thumb back and forth against your cheek a few times before he lets his arm fall to his side. He gives you a smile of understanding, allowing you to leave him only because he will dream about holding onto you for forever once he drifts off again. You give him a playful boop on his nose before you stand and trudge over to your pilot’s chair, sinking down into your own cold blankets. You try your best to recreate the heat you just deserted by bundling yourself up tight, but it’s not the same. However uncomfortable, you quickly succumb to the temptation of sleep. 

The true morning gives rise to an energetic group of prospectors. Still joyful about yesterday’s collection, you, Cee and Ezra are enthusiastic to stroll around The Blue again and see what else could be in store for you. Stretching in your chair, Ezra grabs your raised hands and leans over the back of your seat. You look up into his eyes and he greets you, “Good morning, Goose.” You smile and tease, “Good morning, Magpie.”

Cee blurts out, “Finally, you give her a nickname too!” You and Ezra laugh as he releases your hands, and you turn to face Cee at her equipment hatch. “I like Magpie too. Very fitting,” she raises an eyebrow at Ezra and he shoots you a wink. You get up to fold your blanket, Ezra glides over to his own equipment hatch, and Cee says, “You know, I say you guys last night.” Your face instantly beats red, and Cee notices, “No, it’s fine. It makes me happy to see a couple that can get over obstacles and love each other through it all.” You still feel a bit embarrassed, but shrug it off. 

A word she chose makes you question Ezra, “Are we a couple?” 

“Of course. We’ve always been partners, haven’t we?” 

Suited up, the three of you enter The Blue. After your daily assessment of the land (beautiful, as always) you turn to Cee and wait for her direction. She had mapped out the majority of the Blue Moon the day that you and Ezra stayed inside the pod, so you trusted her guidance the most. Ezra asks, “Where to today, birdies?” Cee analyzes the map before pointing to an area, “This block was filled with hills. It didn’t look like there were many deposits, but then again I’m not the best at spotting them.” Eager to start, you ask, “Which way do we go?” Ezra glances at the map, points to the right and commences your expedition, “This is the way.” 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​ 

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Bad Night, Good Knight

@damianwayneweek day 3: That Wasn't Supposed to Happen

I'm playing a little loose with the prompt since the thing that wasn't supposed to happen takes place before the fic starts but you know what? Sometimes you just want to write a few pages of Damian reacting to a bad patrol instead of experiencing it (and also experiencing more bad patrol).

Summary:

After what Damian would consider a fairly disastrous start to patrol, Spoiler takes over and helps him work out some of the stress and frustration he's still feeling.

AO3 Link

~

Damian kicked his feet out, letting the heels of his boots hit against the brick behind them. He shifted a bit, so he was leaning back on his palms. Below him, the city sparkled on a rare clear night. The city looked bright, glittering almost like Bludhaven did after the rain.

His thoughts were not as carefree or bright. Damian focused on his breathing, attempting to still his heart as it continued to race, even well after the anti-toxin had kicked in. He kept his eyes on the buildings, on shadows moving behind curtains, and an owl that fluttered by. It was much better than closing his eyes.

Closing his eyes meant being back in that warehouse. It meant not knowing the difference between truth or fiction. If the hands on him were friend or foe. It meant worrying--thinking-- believing he’d gotten his family killed.

Sharp pain raced up both wrists and he hissed, pulling forward to lift the weight off them. Careful, Damian tugged at his gloves and pulled them off to examine the skin underneath. His wrists were ringed with red, bruised, with slightly raised lines here and there. Left over from the ropes he’d been tied with for the better part of the night.

“Tt.” he turned his hand over, displeased that he’d come away so affected, in mind and body.

“I’ve got some cream for that.” Stepahnie’s voice preceded her by a moment as Spoiler dropped to the ledge beside him.

A purple glove held out a small bottle to Damian which he took, and eyed. It was what she’d said, bruise cream, the container about half empty, but with plenty left for Damian to use.

“You keep this on hand?”

She shrugged, “You never know when you’ll need it, for us or civilians.”

He hummed, and popped open the top, a light citrusy scent tickled his nose. Stephanie waited while he applied the cream to one wrist, then the other. It made things feel better almost immediately, if only because it felt cool and soothing.

“Thank you.” he said, capping it and handing it back over.

Stephanie ruffled his hair, “No problem.”

Damian scowled and leaned away from her hand, but she followed him, truly messing up his carefully styled hair. Well, it had been carefully styled before they’d left for patrol. He had no idea how it looked after being nabbed by Crane and dangled as bait for the rest of his family. His hair hadn’t been at the top of his priorities for the past few hours.

“Where are the others?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone casual.

“Batman’s wrapping up with Crane. Hood’s already left to finish his route. And Nightwing’s back at the cave resting, and has been for a while. The others are where they’ve been all night.” She mimed dancing and drinking tea, “At the gala we got lucky enough to miss.”

Damian’s heart twinged at Nightwing. He wanted to ask further about Richard, but Stephanie’s tone seemed to indicate he was fine. Still, tone was not enough to still the worry in his stomach. The last he’d seen of Richard was the man sitting up, bleary eyed, with blood trailing down his forehead. And then Damian had been dragged too far away to see him at all.

“Is he--” the words slipped out before Damian could stop himself.

“Wing’s fine, Robin.” Stephanie’s voice softened, “I found him after you disappeared, and he’s been home since under A’s careful eye. Argued up a storm over not being allowed to come help find you, but eventually B talked him down.”

Damian nodded, injured Richard would have only been a further liability in the field. Damian had already made himself enough of one by being captured, Father would not have wanted any more sons in danger.

“And are you here to return me home?”

“Do you want to go home?”

He shook his head.

“Then I say we continue to patrol. Bruce isn’t the boss of us.” She stood, and reached a hand down to Damian, “Come on, grab those gloves, we’ve got stuff to do.”

Damian let a smile slip across his face, the first all night, “Excellent.”

Stephanie took point on their route, and Damian was happy to let her. He wanted action, and movement, and whatever they could do to help shake the fear still lingering over him.

They started by stopping a mugging.

Together, Spoiler and Robin dropped down behind the two men, and broke them up. Damian distracted one, dancing around him to force him to move away from the woman they’d been terrorizing.

Behind the guy, Damian watched as Spoiler kicked over the other man, and he stayed down. Damian ducked a wild swing from his own opponent, and threw a punch at the man’s open side. It landed and sent the guy stumbling backwards.

Damian let his attention slide back over to where Spoiler was. She was leading the terrified woman away from danger. Good, that’d give Damian room to really move if he needed to.

He traded blows with his opponent, before leveraging himself off one of the nearby buildings to slam his feet into the man’s chest and take him down. Damian zip tied him, and stood, turning back to search for Spoiler and the woman again.

Instead he found himself face to face with the other thug. The man loomed over him, and Damian froze. Fear raced through his chest in a sharp wave. He was back where he’d been earlier that night, surrounded by green gas he couldn’t stop breathing in and facing down an enemy too big for him to deal with while Nightwing was hurt, on the floor behind him.

Damian knew what was going to happen next. He’d try to lure the man away only to be knocked out by a lucky swing from the guy’s bat. Then he’d be caught. Dragged away from his family. Trapped. He’d--

Purple flashed across his vision as Spoiler jumped in with a high kick that cracked the man’s jaw so hard Damian heard it clearly. The sound snapped him out of his haze and he lurched back into action. Together, they took the guy down in seconds.

When they were done, Brown eyed him but didn’t comment beyond, “I’ll call it in, let’s keep moving.”

While Spoiler’s voice rattled off the crime and location over the comms to the GCPD Damian mentally worked out how to get them back on their regular route.

They patrolled for another ten minutes, swinging from building to building and occasionally stopping to sweep a street. Worried meows of a cat caught Damian’s ears. He froze, then scanned the street.

It was a residential one, lined with apartments and old trees that climbed close to buildings. After a moment a high, young, voice followed one of the cat’s noises.

“Chance, please get down, boy. I can’t climb up there!”

Damian and Stephanie exchanged looks, then together they moved in the direction of the noises. It was obvious after a moment that Chance, a tabby, was stuck not in a tree, but on a jutting portion of roof overlooking a child’s bedroom window.

The voice belonged to a little girl, with braided pigtails and Wonder Woman themed pajamas. She was leaning precariously out of her window and waving frantically at the cat. At the sound of vigilantes landing on a nearby tree, her attention shifted, and blue eyes widened at them.

“Robin! Batgirl!”

Stephanie winced and muttered, “Spoiler, but close.”

She elbowed Damian indicating he should be the one to rescue the cat. He rolled his eyes behind his domino.

“Don’t worry.” Damian said to the girl, “I’ll get Chance down for you.”

Somehow her eyes went even wider, as if she couldn’t imagine how he might know the cat’s name, despite having yelled it out moments before.

Careful, Damian climbed from the tree to the building’s roof. Then he made his way across shingles to the cat, terrified and clinging to its spot on the roof.

“Here boy,” Damian murmured, slipping a treat from one of his utility belt pouches (Father had once told him that animal treats were a waste of a good space, if only he could see their usefulness now), holding it out to the frightened cat.

Well, Chance seemed to be still a kitten. A growing one, but he had not reached full adulthood yet, which was probably why he was so hesitant to jump the easy distance into the girl's arms.

Damian waited patiently for the scent of food to overcome the kitten’s fear, and when it was distracted enough, he scooped the creature into his arms, and let it have the treat.

He hooked his grapple to the roof and lowered himself carefully down to the window. The girl eagerly reached for her kitten, and Damian made sure she had a secure hold on the creature before fully releasing it.

“I would suggest against opening the window late at night, even a little bit, Chance is still small enough to wiggle through and get stuck again.” he said.

She gave him a serious nod, and then, “Thank you, Robin! And thank Batgirl too, you’re both so cool.”

Damian smiled at her, “Have a good night, you and Chance.”

He pulled himself back up to the roof and then rejoined Spoiler in her tree. The two waved at the girl, and jumped back into patrol.

After that they stopped to help a woman unloading groceries from a late night shopping trip, walked an inebriated young man home, and shooed off teens eager to graffiti a food truck. They were all easy tasks, and somehow they never turned to another mugging or robbery. Damian did not realize that until he was standing beside Spoiler as she helped change a flat tire with the surety of a pro.

“Spoiler,” Damian said, after the car was on its way back down the road, “Are we going to stop any more crime tonight, or act as errand boys for Gotham’s late night citizens?”

“Errand boys and girls.” Stephanie corrected, “And we’ll stop crime if we see it. O hasn’t phoned anything in where we’re at yet, and it’s good to be helpful. We’re preventing crime, rather than stopping it.”

It was a smooth, practiced answer. Like she’d heard it before when questioning Batman or Timothy on a previous patrol. Damian let it slide for the moment, intent on keeping a careful eye out for other crimes.

His hesitance earlier would not be repeated, he would make sure of that. He would prove that he was fine. That the shaky feeling in his chest when he breathed was exertion, not lingering fear or embarrassment over his earlier predicament.

Only, they continued with the easy tasks. They waited with another Gothamite who’s car had overheated, until the tow arrived. Then they found a box of puppies and took them to a local shelter Damian recommended.

Finally Oracle called in an alarm going off at a convenience store nearby where they were patrolling. Damian moved instantly towards it, unwilling to let Spoiler pull him back again.

She didn’t say anything, only fell in beside him as they made their way over to the store. When they arrived, four men were exiting the building in a hurry. One of them carried a register they’d grabbed, two of the others had a huge burlap sack carried between them, and a third carried a smaller one heavy with whatever they’d taken from inside the store.

Damian swung down, a wrecking ball of force and frustration. His feet slammed into the chest of one of the men carrying sacks. The man went flying, the contents of the bag scattering across the concrete around him as he landed.

Before the other three could really figure out what was going on, Damian had turned away from the thief he’d taken out, and was already throwing a batarang at the guy carrying the register. It caught his hand and he yelped, dropping the register with a crash.

By that point, Spoiler jumped into the fray, her cape flowing out in a huge swoop meant to blind the men still on their feet.

Damian turned back to the guy who’d dropped the register and threw himself at him. The element of surprise had faded at this point and the men were rallying, but Damian was trained well, no matter what his failure earlier that night had pointed to.

He swept the man’s feet out from under him in an arc, then came down on his stomach with his elbow.

As Damian stood, someone grabbed him from behind, and hauled him up. Damian scrambled, and grabbed at the hand but whoever had him didn’t seem to care about the way Damian’s fingers scratched at him. Before he knew it, Damian was tumbling backwards, thrown down not into the ground like he’d expected, but into something soft that caught him just before the hard concrete.

One of the bags the men had been using to steal from the shop closed around him and Damian felt his heart speed up. He tried to shove himself up, darkness closing over him as whoever had grabbed him tightened the strings on the large sack. But his hands couldn’t get purchase on the bag. It was taught with his weight, meaning there wasn’t a good area to grab at.

He kicked and shoved, his brain whiting out as the idea that he was trapped closed over him. No. Not again . This couldn’t be happening again. He couldn’t have failed a third time tonight he--He couldn’t breathe.

And then the bag swung. Damian’s stomach lurched, with the movement. He braced himself as best as he could, curling tight to protect himself before the bag slammed into the ground. The impact broke his curl as his knees and elbows cracked into the hard ground and he gasped with the pain of it all.

The only good thing he could take about the jarring action was that it had shaken him from his stupor. Body aching, he dug a batarang out and sliced the bag open. He tumbled out as the man lifted the sack again for a second attack.

Damian rolled over to push himself back to his feet. His arms were shaking, his chest tight. Something curled in his chest that felt vaguely like unshed tears. Damian couldn’t quite name the emotions tossing themselves around his head like he’d been tossed helplessly in that bag, but none of them were good or a call to get up and fight.

Behind him, he heard Spoiler grunt, followed by the smack of weapon against skin, and a thud. Then, for the second time that night, Damian found a purple gloved hand reaching out for him.

“Need a hand?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, but took her hand and let her help him to his feet. His head swam slightly, but otherwise he was fine.

“Thanks.” he murmured.

“No problem.” She said, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

Damian busied himself tugging the unconscious men towards each other and tying them up, while Spoiler made their second call of the evening.

“If you’re ready, I’ve got our next location locked in.” Stephanie said, as Damian stood.

He wasn’t. He was pretty sure the only thing he was ready for was bed. To curl up, safe and sound, with his face pressed into Titus’s flank thoughts of failure long gone in the comfort of home. Instead of admitting that, Damian nodded. He was Robin, and he’d be as useful as possible as long as their patrol lasted. Even if he seemed to keep freezing up. At some point he’d get over it. He always had during training back in the League, eventually he got over his fear. This was no different than that. He just had to keep pushing.

Spoiler led them both to a playground. It was known for late night drug deals between some of Gotham High’s more affluent teens.

The playground was large. It had a swing set with six swings, a couple seesaws, those little animals on springs, and a sand pit. To top it all off it had a huge sprawling play place in the center. Tire swings hung off it, monkey bars and rope bridges connected portions of it. Three slides of various types came off it in different areas. It even had a little rock wall for enterprising kids to use instead of the other stairs to climb up.

“What are we doing here?” Damian asked, looking around.

“Acting as deterrents. Oracle said she’d heard some chatter about a meet up tonight. I figured two vigilantes camped out should be enough to make any wayward teens think twice.”

Damian nodded, relieved that they wouldn’t be moving directly back into action. Mentally he berated himself for that, if he were to get over the night’s failure he needed to be more proactive, not less.

Damian followed Stephanie to a spot on the play place where they could look out onto the park. Stephanie leaned up against one of the walls and Damian kicked his legs over the edge eyes scanning the park.

“So.” Stephanie said, “Ready to talk about it?”

“Tt.” Damian pulled his legs up and towards his chest.

She had given him long enough to calm down a little from the night’s events, and while he was still shaky, the effects of the toxin had at least seemed to fade a bit.

“It was--unpleasant.” he admitted.

He pressed his eyes closed, remembering. On a good day it was not fun to be captured and held as bait. They had an in-joke about how Robin held the honorary title of boy hostage, but in truth none of them enjoyed that role. Robin’s duty was to protect Batman, and being held against him was the exact opposite of that.

But Damian had been held hostage, and used against his family.

He’d been taken on what should have been a routine investigation of a shady warehouse. He, Nightwing, and Spoiler were just supposed to look. Instead, once the three had split up, Crane had attacked. Damian made it to Richard before anything too terrible happened to his brother, but he hadn’t been prepared for the toxin, hadn’t been prepared for the number of goons.

It was pure luck that Crane had only taken him. Though, Damian now assumed that to be Spoiler’s doing, showing up before both Nightwing and Robin could be taken. As the lightest, of course they’d grabbed Robin.

“I--” he started, and shook his head.

Stephanie knew what it was like to be taken. What it was like to be under the effects of Crane’s toxin. He did not have to explain how he’d struggled to escape or the panic that had laced his chest when his family had arrived to rescue him and he’d watched as they fought, were cut down, continued to fight, and were cut down again. His worst fear of them dying because of him playing out on a loop until Father managed to administer the anti-toxin.

Stephanie laid a hand on his shoulder, “It’s never fun to be taken by someone you’re trying to stop, and even worse when they hurt you because of it.”

He squeezed his arms around his legs, old feelings of embarrassment at being so vulnerable tried to claw their way out of him. And another feeling rising up, protectiveness over them, guilt over being why they’d been in danger.

He shook his head again, “I do not care that he hurt me. I put the family in danger. Father, you, Todd. Richard.” he admitted, “You were led into a trap because I was too weak to defend Nightwing. Too slow to catch onto the toxin in the room. I failed, and you all could have died because of it.”

He trained his eyes on the swing set, unwilling to meet his sister’s gaze. He was being far too open with his emotions, but--the talking helped. Stephanie and Richard had drilled that into his head.

Talking. Trusting. Letting himself fall so they could catch him.

But? Should he if it put them in danger? Tonight seemed to blow a wide hole in all those promises. Richard was home, injured, and all because he’d trusted Damian. Stephanie had saved Damian three times this night alone because of his own inability to be better. How many falls were too many?

“First of all, you didn’t fail. No more than any of us did when Scarecrow made his first attack. We were all caught off guard. You were just a little more unlucky than we were.”

“It was Nightwing they attacked.”

Stephanie leaned over, so her face was in Damian’s field of vision, hair hanging over a shoulder, “You protected him. Got him a mask, and kept them from taking him instead. I’d say he was pretty lucky to have a little guardian Robin looking out for him.”

“Tt.”

She poked him in the arm, “Don’t tt at me, you know it’s true. Would you rather Nightwing not have had you there?”

“Never!” Damian spun on her, and Stephanie grinned with victory. She’d tricked him into looking her way.

“There we go, now we can have a proper conversation.”

“We were talking.” he huffed, but maintained eye contact.

Stephanie reached out and cupped his cheek, “You were the one we were worried about. Did you forget that we want to protect you just as much as you want to keep us safe?” She brushed a finger across his cheek, and he felt the spark of pain where a goon had hit him to wake him up.

“I--”

“You matter.” she said, reading his mind, “Your health and safety is as important as the rest of ours. It’s okay to be rescued from time to time.”

He huffed, “I know. But knowing does not help the frustration. I am supposed to be better. Be worthy of Robin and able to protect you all. Instead I was--I was-- helpless.” Just saying the word brought heat to his eyes, tears pricking at him, begging for release.

Stephanie tugged him close, into a hug, “It’s okay.” she said, a hand in his hair, “It’s hard, I know, but you’re allowed to be vulnerable, Dames.”

He sniffed, blinking back tears, “No names, Spoiler.”

She scoffed, squeezing him a bit tighter, “There’s no one out here to hear.”

Damian huffed, but did not pull away from the embrace. It was nice, resting like this and letting Stephanie play with his hair. It made the tight feeling in his chest ease. Knowing she was fine, that he was fine, that things would be fine.

After a moment he pulled away, running a hand under his nose. Stephanie let him, and they settled back apart, both at the edge now. They were quiet for a while after that, the minutes ticking by in peace.

Then, they saw a car pull up into the lot at the far end of the park. A figure climbed out of it, and started making their way towards the park. They hadn’t seemed to realize that Robin and Spoiler were the one’s camped out in the park yet, and actually raised a hand to wave.

Stephanie winked at Damian and raised her own hand in response.

“Let’s see how long it takes him to realize who we are.” she whispered.

Damian smiled, and chuckled lightly.

The young man pulled out a phone and started messing with it, typing something into the screen as he moved forward. He made it almost all the way to Damian and Stephanie before he looked up. When he did he froze, staring at them, mouth agape.

Stephanie waved again, “Hi. What’s a good kid like you doing in a park like this so late?”

“I--” he said, and Damian thought he looked a bit like a catfish, blinking and startled, “Nothing.”

“Well, Mr. Nothing, I suggest if you don’t have any important reason for being here, you head home.” Stephanie said.

Damian gave him one of his most unsettling smiles, sharp and toothy, “Yes, this park isn’t safe after dark, and we wouldn’t want you getting hurt or into trouble.”

He looked between Spoiler and Robin and seemed to decide that whatever deal he’d had planned for the night was not worth bothering two vigilantes over. With a sharp nod and a “yes, yeah, good idea.” he scurried off, half running half tripping his way back to his car.

“Drive safe!” Stephanie called.

After he was gone, Stephanie broke into a fit of giggles and Damian followed soon after, her laughter infectious.

“Alright.” she said, after a minute, “Let’s go get something ridiculously greasy and terrible for us, as a reward for a deed well done. Then after I say we head home. ”

She stood and held out a hand to Damian, “Unless you’d rather do ice cream?”

He took it and let her pull him to his feet, “Fast food sounds perfect, lead the way Spoiler.”

[stubbychaos]

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8|Part 9

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive​ for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong? 

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe. 

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts. 

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and  he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face. 

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant… 

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant. 

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst​ @anakinsittinginsand​ @yes-music-is-my-religion​ @tangledlove27​ @justrunamok​ @peqchynero​ @haloangel391​ @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow​ @bonesaldente​ @kawaiitimecharm​ @karaabove​ @clydesducktape​ @misssilvertongue​ @heartxheat​ @pazvizslasgirl4ever​ (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

[king-maven-calore]

5,6 or 7. Angst. Mareven

ok ok, so I had to be in the right state of mind to write this, sorry for the delay. This fits as part of a fic/request that I started writing and may never finish bc damn it hurts so much.

This is uhm... marecal fam y'all should keep your distance🚫🚫

Some days were easier than others. Wasn’t that the way of life? Some days Mare’s figure was a mere shadow at the corner of his eye, disappearing whenever he tried to focus on her. Others, she would linger, muttering snide comments at the Cygnet’s handle of political affairs. Needless to say, she had a great deal of disdain for them. Being married to Iris, he had a right to attend the meetings where such matters were discussed. He wasn’t trusted enough to have an opinion though.

Maven was a prisoner in all but name, in a foreign nation, doomed to roam the halls of The Royelle, chased at every minute of every hour by the ghost of the woman he loved. The dead woman he loved... because he had killed her. Tricky how that worked, that her ghost had chased away the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, and instead made it her task to torture him.

“You know that plan will only get silvers killed and red deserters for the Scarlet Guard,” Mare chirped with a bounce to her step.

‘Task’ wasn’t the right word, when she enjoyed torturing him so thoroughly. If this was his punishment, it was also her paradise.

“Acute observation,” he sneered, keeping his head down until he reached his chambers. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Word on the Lakelander court was that he was mad. A fallen king who often got caught talking to empty air and gazed at nothing, full of longing and loathing in equal measure.

“Obvious, and still you kept your mouth shut.” Her tone changed to scolding and she materialized right in front of him. “You could’ve stopped this.” Her eyes the color of trees in autumn, dead and cold, drilled holes in his.

He sidestepped her and kept walking at a brisk pace. Days such as these, when he could see her so clearly, he could also touch her. It was never a pleasant sensation. Today she looked the same way she had when he branded her in Harbor Bay; hair in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder the braid had come undone when she’d wriggled in pain on the floor when he used Cal’s torture device on her. She was wearing unassuming jeans and a shirt he’d moved out of the way so easily to burn the M on her skin. The spot was unscarred now. A pity. No matter how many times he re-branded the letter, she would just show up without it the next day.

Taunting him. Daring him to commit his sin all over again. Well, joke was on her. A tiny part of him would always sing at seeing her writhing on the ground beneath his hand, it was proof he could too, make her feel something.

“I couldn’t stop anything. They won’t listen to me.”

Maven closed the door of his chambers behind him and started yanking off the layers of heavy black clothes covering his frame until he was in his pants and shirt. It was getting hard to breathe.

“You can be pretty convincing when you want to be,” Mare spat in his face. “Do something, your highness.”

“Why should I?” He gripped her elbows with enough force to bruise. He hated how real, how warm she felt.

She’s not real. She isn’t here. Two sentences that held no weight by now. Not when his heart missed a beat and his skin prickled at the point of contact.

“I have no interest in my wife’s kingdom, or its citizens,” he gritted out pushing her until her back hit the wall, covered in scorch marks the palace staff didn’t bother to clean anymore. “Red or Silver. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

“Nothing ever mattered to you but your precious crown, right.” Mare laughed darkly; her eyes even darker as she glared at him. He loomed inches above her. “How miserable.”

She made it sound so small and simple. An existence reduced to a circle of iron... but it wasn’t true. Underneath the incomprehensible obsession with the power, there had been other things. Phantoms of things erased and squashed with surgical precision: curiosity for art and theatre, affection toward his father and brother, a taste for certain board games, love for two Reds.

The latter, rather than being squashed like the others, had morphed into this; staring into the fascinating, beautiful, horrible face of a phantom that felt more real than his own. He loved her so much he wanted to kill her all over again.

He didn’t realize his hands were burning until Mare’s shirt caught on fire. She remained unfazed, unharmed by his fire, still glowering.

“Not the only thing.” Maven’s voice was strained. “You mattered to me. I told you that.”

“And yet...” she added dryly, without feeling the need to complete the last part. The evident. The tragedy. His last, unforgivable crime. Ripping her away from the world and attaching her to him in return.

Forgive me, I beg of you. But some words could kill if spoken out loud, and he knew these ones would end him. And he was afraid of the darkness that followed, ironic as that may be for someone who had so comfortably inhabited darkness his entire life. One was a familiar comfort, while the other was the black dot at the end of a final paragraph. He refused to end it like this.

“I love you,” he gritted out through the noose tightening around his throat.

“No,” she whispered easily, without even pausing to consider his words. The flames were up to her collar now, licking at her neck. “You don’t. I believed you did, once, in your own way. But I was wrong because you don’t willingly murder the one you love, Maven.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, reflecting the orange light of the fire. “I loved you. I even chose you before you decided to throw it all away.”

Past tense. His gut recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, even though the ghost had no sparks. The room spun, the air scratched its way down to his lungs, his clothes asphyxiated him.

“Then leave me.” He pressed his face to her temple roughly, pushing her against the wall. “Go with him!” he growled like he was gurgling on venom. “Leave me! Leave me alone like all the rest!”

His screams would surely be heard across the palace but he did not care. Mare was all he had left... but not really. He’d made sure of it.

“LEAVE!” His throat hurt and the wallpaper behind Mare started raining down on them in hot embers that clung to their hair and clothes.

She shook him off and murmured in his ear, sweetly, as warmly as if she was pressing a knife to his neck and drawing out silver blood in rivers. “You thought you were the only one capable of hunting? I’ll haunt you even after your body is buried and left to rot.”

And then she was gone. He was left staring at the burning wall, carpet, and ceiling. Behind him, he heard the chandelier drop on the burning mattress. Maven fell to his knees grasping at the now empty air and screamed his throat raw for the first time, burning it all until the room was nothing but ashes, surrounding himself with fire to fight off the dark and the cold that permeated all things.

He let it all out because he did care, deep down he still cared. It was finally starting to push to the front of his consciousness and it was like a dam breaking, like birthing humanity, or himself, he did not know. The chaos and the pain were too great.

No one came to check on him.

When he woke up on the floor the next day, so tired not even 10 years of sleep could have helped, Mare was standing over him. Arms crossed and a quirked brow.

“Are you done?”

Leave it to the Little Lightning girl to shit on a perfectly good dramatic moment.

“Mare, dear,” he sighed, feeling slightly grateful for her presence. “I’m only getting started.”