#When they reach a safe place to rest without fearing getting struck by the weather they have a conversation

[esoraluco]

Trouble in the Thunderfields

[self-shipping-doll13]

Still Awake

Word Count: 1.1k

Cw: Sleep Issues, Hinted at Power Imbalance

Outside, the wind howled like a frenzied beast, raging through our tiny window. Heavy rain lashed furiously against the glass, accompanied by growls of deep, guttural thunder. Every so often I would see a bright, searing flash of lightning, illuminating our bedchambers for only half a second before it was gone. I lay there, silent, warm, safe. Autumn storms - the kind I feared would shipwreck us on the journey here - but I was warm, and I was safe. 

Wasn’t I? Protected by a jutting finger of weathered stone and mortar. Petyr called it ‘Drearfort.’ 

Lighting struck again. His eyes were open, too.

“Awake, still.” He tutted softly.

“So are you,” I whispered back. “You always are.”

Petyr’s lips curled in a smile, which I returned through the darkness. There was a rustling of bedsheets as his hand slid upwards, and his fingers threaded smoothly through my hair. I actually went limp on reflex. I might’ve purred, like some doted on, pampered cat. 

“I can tell, sweetling.” He said after a while, quiet. “Pretending, you breathe evenly, slow and measured. But when you’re truly asleep, you’re quite restless.”

“Oh. Don’t tell me I kick you?” I tried not to sound too mortified. 

“No.” Petyr hummed, low with an undertone of laughter. “You do struggle. As if you’re trying to run away from me… So I hold you gently. Like this.” He snaked his arms beneath me, over, encasing. Possessive but gentle, holding me down. 

The storm only deepened as the night continued on, but it didn’t reach us wrapped in our cocoon of furs. My kitten’s soft body lay atop the place where our legs intertwined together. Silent and warm. Safe. I drifted off, but only briefly. The lightning sparked in another brilliant flash, and his eyes were still open. They gleamed silver, like two coins. Like a wolf’s. 

“Tell me a story,” I murmured. “About you.” 

“Me?” He said, far too amused. 

“Yes. I feel like I still know nothing.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Petyr kept his secrets near to heart, expertly redirecting and then directing conversation. Although he was given to the occasional impulse. 

“Well,” he said. “Now you know where I was born. Humble beginnings for such a humble man. You can see why I’m not too fond of the place, I’m sure.“ 

I most definitely could, though he still refused to tell me why he’d returned in the first place. With myself in tow, still freshly wed and at his mercy, wondering if he’d ever fulfil his promise to bring me to the Eyrie. But even I could tell Petyr’s stay here was tinged with a reluctance, disparaging the small, desolate tower as ‘not suitable for my lady.’ Which I took to also including the unspoken: ‘not good enough for me.’ 

“I don’t know as much as I’d like,” I rephrased, huffing. 

“Hm. Why the sudden question, my love?” He asked. I imagined his raised brow. “I do hope this burning curiosity of yours isn’t what you’re losing sleep over.” I hid my face. I’d piqued his interest now, which meant I’d not escape without a healthy dose of teasing. 

“Is it really that strange that I’m curious?” I paused, trying to get over my embarrassment. I knew I was giving him what he wanted now. “As your wife I ought to know you better, shouldn’t I? I’d really like to get to know you better, Petyr.” And that also wasn’t a lie. 

“That’s very sweet of you,” he said lightly, smugly. “And you are rarely so forthright with your desires. So I will tell you one story, and then you will rest. Yes?” 

I nodded, relaxing. At our feet, the kitten stretched. 

“Let’s see…” Petyr thought for a moment, slipped his hand back to stroke his beard, and chuckled again. “I was raised as a ward in Riverrun. But you know that already, don’t you?” I remained silent. He’d divulged several details of his stay in Riverrun to me - perhaps one of those occasional impulses. The memory recalled vague discomfort.

He continued on. “When you see what the lap of luxury can offer you, nothing else will satisfy…” Then Petyr licked his lips, a gesture I knew all too well. “Riverrun was… Emblematic of all I desired. To me - vastly preferable to an isolated rock flooded with sheepshit. But I am getting away from myself. Nearby, there was an orchard full of apple trees. Dozens of them, hundreds, I think. Shiny red and green apples - not up to the standard of Reach-bred perfection, but fresh and tart and lovely. Like you, my darling.” He squeezed me, and I squirmed, unable to contain a bashful smile.

“But I was a small boy,” Petyr explained. “If I wanted my apples, I had to climb high and shake hard to dislodge them. I might reach out and pluck a few to a basket, yes, but why not claim them all?” He sighed. I tried to imagine Petyr as a child, but I was unable to picture him without the moustache. “Ah, why are you laughing? In my young eyes, the land was mine, the apple tree was mine. It was a simpler greed.” 

He quieted and left it there, hanging on a thread. Petyr had just evaded my question - telling me nothing of substance, really - amusing anecdote though it was. But perhaps in some ways that was for the best. A particularly violent gust of wind slammed against the windowpane and made me jump, forcing down a thick shower of rain as heavy as hailstones. By then, I’d fallen prey to a different unease: 

Winter was coming. Certain and swift as death. Lying there, I thought of all the apple trees in the world shrouded in a blanket of fallen snow. Of the bounty of the Reach, brittle and barren, Northern blizzards whirling in shards of ice, rivers frozen solid. Of my ancestral mountains, where roars of thunder resounded like the dying groans of slain giants. 

“Try and sleep.” As if sensing my disquiet, Petyr leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Of all my habits, do not emulate this one. I will keep guard for lions.” 

The Lannisters… Every so often he would remind me of what I’d put behind me. Yes, I had much to be grateful for… I was safe. Wasn’t I? Protected. I nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse there, warm blood stirring; a heart pumping faster than I expected. The soothing hand curled fingers at the ends of my hair and traced gently down my spine, resting at my hip.

Like that, Petyr held me until daybreak.

Dividers by @/sligheach-sidhe

[ray-ray-writings]

Stormy Nights-Sapnap, Wilbur, and Fundy

An anon requested something romantic for either Sapnap, Wilbur, or Fundy with a s/o that is scared of storms and so I decided to do all three. Not as a poly!relationship but as individual things! Because there are three here, they are a bit shorter than normal but hope you enjoy!

Check out my masterlist here

Sapnap, Wilbur, and Fundy take care of their s/o that is scared of storms.

Sapnap

Y/N’s POV

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my boyfriend’s job. Streaming is how Sapnap and I met. But nights like these? I want nothing more than to curl up with my boyfriend in our bed while he tells me everything is going to be alright. 

I had never been able to handle storms well. Haven’t since I was a little kid. The loud noises followed by a flash of light always seemed to strike fear in me and cause my heart to pound so hard it feels like it might beat out of my chest. 

So it was no surprise that I found myself hiding under many layers of blankets while a storm ranged on outside. My boyfriend sat across the room at his PC set up, laughing with his friends as he streamed, not acknowledging the weather at all. 

A small whimper escaped my throat as another loud crash of thunder struck, seeming to shake the whole house. “What was that?” I heard Karl ask in surprise. “Oh that was just thunder,” Sapnap brushed off. Karl scoffed, “I know that was thunder, I mean the sound that happened afterwards genius,” Karl mocked my boyfriend causing everyone to chuckle. I could tell the question threw my boyfriend off. Sapnap looked over his shoulder and met my terrified eyes that were peaking out of the blanket. His eyes widened in panic and he quickly turned back to his stream. “I’ve got to go guys.” “What? Is everything alright-” “It’s fine. Bye.” Sap cut off the question by ending his stream and disconnecting from Discord. 

Sapnap quickly powered down his PC and rushed over to where I was in the bed. “Oh darling. I’m so sorry.” He muttered, laying down beside me. Sapnap’s arms gently wrapped around me as I buried myself into his chest. I flinched as yet another loud crash of thunder rang out. This time I was comforted by Sapnap’s steady hands brushing up and down my back in comfort. “I’ve got you honey, I’m sorry it took me so long to realize,” He apologized, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Not your fault” I muttered into his chest, trying to pull myself closer to him. Sapnap’s arms tightened even further around me, his chin coming down to rest on the top of my head. 

For the rest of the night, each crash of thunder was followed by sweet words reassurance by my boyfriend. The storm slowly let up, the thunder crashes coming less and less frequently. After a while, my eyes were able to flutter close. I fell asleep feeling safe and secure in my lover’s arms. 

Wilbur

“Whatcha looking at love?” A voice questioned from behind me. I didn’t have to turn away from the window to know that it was my boyfriend, Wilbur. “There’s a storm coming,” I grumbled out in distaste. “Ahhh, I see,” He responded, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pulling me close to his chest. I let out a sigh as my back his chest, leaning my head back and resting it on his shoulder. 

I was glad I didn’t have to explain it. Wilbur knew me better than anyone and he knew I was terrified of storms. Have been for as long as I could remember, loud noises terrify me to no end, especially when they come out of nowhere… which kind of makes me wonder why I’m friends with Tommyinnit. 

“Come on baby. Let’s go make something hot to drink and then build a pillow fort to cuddle in,” Wilbur enticed pulling away from me, dragging his hand down my arm, grabbing my own hand and pulling me away from the window. I followed without complaint. “I’ll go make us some hot chocolate and you go set up the fort.” I gave my boyfriend a dutiful nod and left the kitchen to the bedroom and then to the living room. 

I grabbed a bunch of my favorite pillows and blankets before rushing to the living room and quickly building a cute little structure and settling into the little nest I had created. Wilbur soon came in, balancing two mugs on top of a tray of snacks. I couldn’t help but grin at the sight of my boyfriend’s concentrated face. “Here you go love,” He offered the mug with a smile. “Thanks lover,” I thanked as I reached up and grabbed the tray carefully so he could sit down. 

Wilbur sat next to me, wrapped his arm around me and took his mug from the tray. A soft grumble of thunder sounded as the two of us settled into our places. I couldn’t help but wince further into my boyfriend’s embrace at the noise. Wilbur’s hand began rubbing up and down on me in comfort. “I’ve got you love,” Wilbur murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. I let out a breath and nodded. The rest of the night was spent curled up together in the fort. The storm began to rage harder but I didn’t mind because I was comforted in my baby’s arms. 

Fundy

Fundy and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie when it hit. A loud crash of thunder came from nowhere, a flash of lighting following almost immediately caused us both the jump and a little scream escaped my lips. Fundy was quick to turn to me and assure me that everything was okay as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. 

Little whimpers escaped my lips as more rumbles of thunder sounded. I have always been scared of storms, but this one hit my anxiety even more because of the suddenness of it. “You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Fundy murmured into the side of my head, kissing my temple. I pulled my head out of his chest to look at him and respond. As I opened my mouth, the lights flickered and everything turned off, plunging us into darkness. Another whimper escaped my lips as I dove back into Fundy’s arms, clenching my eyes shut tight. 

We sat there for a while, Fundy’s arm stroking up and down my back, trying to calm me down. “I’m going to go get some candles, do you want to stay here or come with me?” Fundy asked gently. I adjusted myself so that I was straddling him and had my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. “Carry,” I commanded against his shoulder. I felt his body move as he chuckled and shook his head. “Okay baby.”

In one quick motion, Fundy was now standing, his arms wrapped around my back, holding me in place. “I’ve got you baby,” He murmured once more before moving about the house, picking up a few candles and something to light them with. I was pleasantly surprised at his ability to navigate the dark house to find what he was looking for.

Instead of sitting us back in the living room, Fundy made his way to our shared bedroom. He set the candles on the nightstand before laying me down on the bed. I let out a whine as Fundy left me alone on the bed, a pout forming on my lips. “I’ll be right there honey,” He soothed, turning and quickly lighting the candles, giving us some form of light. 

After the last candle was lit, Fundy turned back around and crawled into bed. I immediately clung to him once more, burying myself as close to him as I could. Fundy’s chest rumbled with the sky as he chuckled, wrapping his arms around me once more. “I love you,” He murmured, leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead and then lips. I let a dopey smile overtake my lips as I kissed back before settling in his chest once more. “I love you too”

There you go! I hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like!!

[bountyhunter-s-bane]

Thunderstorm

Pairings: Cad Bane x M!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: Cad Bane and his apprentice hunter (Reader) wait out a thunderstorm on Ryloth. Neither seem to have much fondness for the weather (content warning for astraphobia)

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

Your latest hunt brought the pair of you to Ryloth. Not perhaps the wide welcoming landscapes or the friendlier towns (under siege by the Separatist forces), but every planet seemed to have a hidey-hole for the less hospitable kinds of people, such as smugglers and bounty hunters such as yourselves. This one was a bar stuck into the side of a cliff and surrounded by dozens and dozens of ramshackle huts for refugees trapped on the planet, either trying to eke out a living or waiting for the first opportunity to get to somewhere safer.

Cad Bane left his freighter outside the outskirts of this shanty town, and instructed you to stay and keep watch whilst he got to business. As you were left sitting there and waiting, staring at the lack of scenery, you figured you would have preferred to join him at the bar. The air was muggy and heavy and the wrong kind of warm, all alluding to the thick black clouds gathering on the horizon. Where you were now however was bright sunshine, and to keep from melting you took shelter under the wing of the fighter with Todo as company. The droid kept up light conversation, both of you bouncing discussion back and forth regarding your latest job. This one was apparently meant to be person gathering over information gathering, something that Cad tended to interchange depending on the current prices going. Both were often available after all, and both could be equally dangerous and fleeting. But for now, you were waiting on your contact to gain the whole picture for what you and Cad would be collecting.

The clouds were almost overhead before Cad returned from his meeting, about as stormy as the oncoming weather.

“Trouble?” you asked.

“Our information and money source didn’t turn up on time,” he grumbled. “I commed him only to find out he’s not going to be in until tomorrow. Waste of time.” He turned and thumped a hand against the side of the freighter, face wrinkled up further from frustration. You remained calm, albeit disappointed as well. The waiting times between missions were often the dullest times you had to deal with. Being made to wait reeked of a particular kind of person that neither of you enjoyed working for, so long as they paid up at the end.

“So we stay the night, wait for him in the morning,” you said, folding your arms as you lean against the side of the freighter. Cad looked down to you, an expression of grim resignation on his face. Taking a moment to rub at the bridge of his nose, he heaved out a tired sigh.

“That’s right,” he replied. You watched him as he slowly sat down on the ground next to yourself and Todo, digging into his coat for a toothpick to start chewing on. His irritation was rolling off him in waves. If you disliked being made to wait, he hated it. Sure, he could be patient while waiting on a target to come out into the open, but there was a difference between patience and being practically grounded on the planet. As he stared up towards the line of black clouds, he felt a gentle weight lean against his side. You shuffled quietly into more of a comfortable position, thinking perhaps that the motion was subtle, up until he raised an arm away from you and draped it heavily over your shoulders.

“The view’s nice at least,” you commented.

“I can agree to that. ‘Least until that storm hits.”

 -

The storm finally broke a few hours later, the tension in the air about as thick as soup. Cad tasked you with going out and finding a place to get food from, which was much easier said than done when wandering about a ramshackle village. Eventually you were able to find a Twi’lek family serving out some wrapped up meals, a couple portions of which you obtained having bargained several credits and an hour of small-talk. It was difficult to bring in any information into this place, so people were getting what they could however they could. While the family seemed keen to move on, they weren’t going to risk getting a ride out with a bounty hunter and his apprentice, it seemed.

A sheet of rain cascaded down, causing you to flee back to the freighter, shielding several foil-wrapped parcels of hot bread and hunks of dried meat under your coat. There wasn’t exactly a kitchen or a section of the ship where a person would sit and eat, and so normally you and Cad would simply eat meals in the freighter’s cockpit where there were seats. Tonight Cad had set up a small burner for heat and extra light, over which you could hang up your sodden coat. With the majority dampness deposited to dry off, you handed over his portions in silence and plopped down into one of the seats. Raindrops pattered across the front viewport, filling some of the empty space as you both dug into the meal.

“It’s weird. It’s raining but still kind of warm”, you commented.

“That’s Ryloth storms for you. Be grateful for the warmth, it’ll get real chilly at night”, Cad replied.

Lightning flashed in the distance. You counted the passing seconds under your breath and around mouthfuls of food. Eventually the grrmmm of thunder sounded, but not before several other flashes of lightning had struck. The distant sound sent cold shudders down your back.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about the ship?” you asked nervously.

“It’s parked close enough to the cliff. Natural lightning rod. It’ll be fine,” Cad replied, hand-waving your concern. He trusted his own intuition on keeping his possessions safe, and so leaned back in his seat as he watched you sit back as well. 

“…I can’t actually remember the last time I saw a proper thunderstorm.”

“Don’t be sappy, lad. You get used to them, and sure get to hate them with some of the planets we gotta work on.”

“I’m not being sappy. I’m being grateful.” 

The lightning got closer, brighter. The thunder started to sound closer to each flash, becoming more harsh until it wasn’t a grumble and more of a CRACK. Cad blinked slowly, feeling more lethargic with the evening rolling in but still very much perceptive of the room. The lightning kept him on edge - too similar to a blaster flashing blue. He could see each flinch you made, the way you recoiled from the viewport in time with the loud thunder. It wasn’t the usual sort of fear he saw on your face when the pair of you faced a situation that had gotten out of hand, that sort of fear came with excitement and adrenaline. This fear was paired with a cold helplessness. 

“C’mon, get up,” he grumbled, getting to his feet and pulling you up from your seat as well, reaching out for the burner. “It’s getting late. It’s quieter in the bunk room anyway.” 

“It is?” 

“Yeah. Makes it easier to sleep and all.” For all his snark, there was an ulterior intent to Cad nudging you out from the cockpit. Discomfort remained in his gut even after moving you away, even now in the soft quiet where you relaxed. No rumbling thunder in here. True to Cad’s earlier warning, it’d gotten quite a bit colder, even in the cramped interior of the freighter’s bunk room. The burner was set on the holotable and cranked up, but that wasn’t going to keep anyone warm without hugging the little machine, and no-one wanted to burn the engine fuel for a cosy night if you were on ground instead of in space.

The silence turned weirdly heavy as you kicked off your boots and Cad draped his coat over one of the seats. You were already shivering from the change of temperature, and Cad wasn’t looking too hot either. By the time you’d set aside your jacket, you were glancing from your own personal bunk to the space that was blankets and leathers and pillows that Cad had built up for himself over time. While you were glancing at the bunk, Cad was looking at you. You were pretty sure you both had the same idea. And while you were hesitant to suggest it, Cad was anything but shy.

“Peh, get over here.” He grabbed your wrist and tugged you over the bunk. “If you got ill from the cold that’d cost us both credits and time.”

Your continued hesitation got you a firm nudge in the back that sent you teetering over to fall into the bedding.

“Kriff’s sake, that was uncalled for!” you snapped, much to Cad’s delight.

“Come on, you were acting like I was going to bite you.” His sly smile became a grin. “I mean, unless you-” 

“That is a conversation for another time,” you said, feeling heat rise rapidly in your cheeks. Cad snorted, sitting down into the bunk as well.

“Seems like the perfect time for this conversation.” Whatever response you had died on your lips as you felt a slight rumble through the ship, just noticeable enough to catch your attention. Cad noticed it too, the heated look in his eyes fading as the moment slipped itself into the cold room, and he settled in close to your side. 

“....So….” Your words trailed off.

“Just get your rest. And stay close to me.”

 -

Rain clattered softly off the metal overhead as the thunderstorm passed overhead. Sometimes you could feel another rattle in the metal of the ship, and you wondered whether it was thunder or your own imagination. Cad was fast asleep, but part of you knew that he’d be awake the moment something bad happened. He’d also managed to coil himself around you, contact generating warmth while one arm rested heavily over your chest. Possessive. Comforting. For all his grit and teeth (and you did think about those teeth more than you probably needed to), he pulled out stops to keep you alive and well under his wing. You’d noticed this protective streak with all his possessions, and wondering if he considered you as such. And really, how bad was that in the end, when he held you like this and gave you that smug grin that caught your tongue so often.

You relaxed and let yourself fall asleep as well, to the sound of the rain.

[issamhysa]

The Mighty Heart [2]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: Major character death, language, angst (nobody’s having a good time)

Summary: Gojo sees you for the last time.

A/N: This is a part two to this post! You guys asked for it, so I had to. It’s not my best, but I hope you guys like it!

When you’re scared, your body reacts immediately of its own accord. Your lungs take air in faster to give you more oxygen. Your heartbeat quickens to pump more blood into your brain and muscles. Your pupils dilate, and while all this happens, you’re faced with one of two choices.

Fight or flight; you can stay and face whatever you’re being thrown into, or you can run away and escape, unharmed.

Gojo was a stranger to this choice. He was a stranger to fear. Of course he was, he was one of the most powerful jujutsu sorcerers.

What could he possibly have to fear?

The question ringing in his mind was answered the second he watched Nanami walk through the doors. Gojo’s eyes scanned the group that had arrived behind his blindfold, his brain not really registering the haunted expression on Junpei’s face, or Yuuji’s flushed, tear-stained cheeks. He didn’t notice the figure in Nanami’s arms, shrouded by Kento’s bloodied, cream coat.

He didn’t care for them, not right now, he just needed to see you.

It wasn’t until he noticed you weren’t standing amongst the three that his eyes were actually able to focus, hyper-focusing on every little detail. Gojo noticed the tears that threatened to spill from the new boy’s eyes, the slight quiver of Yuuji’s bottom lip, and, most importantly, he was made aware of the figure held in Nanami’s arms.

Gojo didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know it was you. He recognized your hand, hanging limply by your side, by the black nail polish you had both used a few nights prior. He recognized the little white heart you had stamped on your ring finger’s nail, matching his. He recognized the silver wedding band on that same finger, now stained in mud and blood.

The jujutsu sorcerer wanted to rush over and snatch you from Kento’s arms. To pepper your face with little kisses until you woke up and smiled at him, telling him that you were just tired. He wanted to hug you close and berate you for scaring him like that, all whilst running the pads of his long fingers up and down your spine.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many different thoughts running through his brain. So many things he still needed to know.

But he couldn’t even fucking breathe.

Nanami set you down on the metal examination bed, and when Gojo finally noticed the blood staining his friend’s hands and the front of his shirt, he felt like he would throw up. Exchanging a look with him, the white-haired male finally shuffled forward, willing his trembling hands to steady as his fingers pinched the top of the dirty coat. Ever so slowly, his hands pulled the garment away to expose your forehead. The more skin he uncovered, the worse the trembling got.

Until he finally saw you.

Gojo’s breathing hitched as his hands gripped onto the edge of the table, knees buckling slightly, but not noticeably enough for Itadori and Junpei to notice.

On the other hand, Kento did. Stepping away from the table, the blonde sighed, reaching up to lower the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He lifted his head to gaze at Gojo, a frown on his lips as he parted them to speak.

“She wanted you to know she loved you.”

Gojo knew that. Of course, he had always fucking known. But the words coming out of Nanami’s lips left a bitter taste in his mouth, because it should’ve been you telling Gojo you love him, not Nanami. He almost sneered at the thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gojo watched Nanami motion for the two students to follow him out of the room. He saw Itadori look over his shoulder at your unmoving body, a solemn expression covering his features before he followed after Nanami.

Junpei, however, didn’t move away. Instead, he shuffled closer to where you lay, a shaky hand reaching out to take yours. He noticed the way Gojo looked up at him the second his bloody fingers touched your skin, but he didn’t falter.

“She saved me,” he said quietly, voice broken and cracking from screaming and crying so much a few hours prior. “Even though I didn’t… I didn’t deserve it, she… she sacrificed herself for me.”

Gojo was silent, though a small, amused huff escaped his lips as he lowered his head to look at you, his fingertips brushing over your forehead, gently and feather-like.

Of course, you had. You had always been ridiculously selfless, putting others before yourself. It was one of the things Gojo loved about you, one of the things that made him get down on one knee and offer you the world.

But right now, he cursed your selflessness.

“It should’ve been me, not her.”

This made the white-haired sorcerer look up at the young boy, eyebrows furrowed. His heart was heavy with indecision, head swirling with thoughts, so many of them, he was sure a migraine would follow shortly.

He wanted to agree with the young boy. To tell him that he was right, that it should’ve been him, and that you should be standing right by his side, right where you belonged. But Gojo would never say such things, no matter how hard his grief-stricken brain wanted him to. No, that would be an insult to your memory.

“Y/N gave her life for you because she believed you were worth it. If you think otherwise, you’re saying she died for nothing. Do not disrespect her memory by questioning her judgment now.”

Junpei looked up at him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His jaw hung agape, taken aback by the lack of bitterness in Gojo’s tone. He almost flinched at the soft sincerity behind his words, and simply closed his mouth and pressed his quivering lips together. Bowing his head slightly, the young boy began to step away, refusing to let go of your hand until he was forced to let go.

Finally, you and Gojo were alone.

Gojo allowed himself to release the trembling exhale he had been holding in when you were brought in. Shaking hands reached up to pull the black blindfold off his eyes, letting it drop to the side. Crystal eyes clouded with unshed tears now gazed at your lifeless form helplessly, and Gojo took your face in his hands, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. It was then he noticed just how cold your skin was under his palm.

Oh, how he hated this feeling.

The guilt eating away at him, forcing him to find somebody to blame for what had happened to you.

He wanted to blame Junpei for forcing the sorcerers into this situation in the first place. For being foolish enough to trust a curse, and allow it to give him power he was incapable of controlling. For being careless and selfish and only thinking about getting revenge on those who wronged them, as if the actions would come with no repercussions.

He wanted to blame Itadori for lying to him when he joked about how you didn’t need protecting, how the curses would be the ones that needed protecting. Yuuji had promised him he would look after you regardless, that he would make sure his beloved sensei’s wife came home safe. He told Gojo he would call for Sukuna’s help if it came down to it, even though he knew it would never come to that; you were too strong, too stubborn to die.

He wanted to blame Nanami for not getting there fast enough. For not disposing of the other curses quick enough to reach you before the curse struck you. Nanami’s skill was close to that of Gojo’s, so why couldn’t he save you?

But, in the end, he wanted to blame himself, too. He shouldn’t have let you go in the first place, but you were oh-so adamant on going; so keen on wanting to save this poor boy from himself. He should’ve never let you get to him, he shouldn’t have believed you could handle this.

God, what was he saying?

Gojo doubled over with his elbows resting against the examination table, tugging at tufts of his white hair in frustration. His breaths came out in shallow huffs, the tears that were once clouding his vision finally breaking through and sliding down his flushed cheeks.

He felt so fucking stupid.

He knew you were capable enough of handling yourself; more than capable, actually. Being a jujutsu sorcerer was a dangerous job, but one you and Gojo would never back down from, but Gojo had known and fought alongside you long enough to know that you fought with everything you had, and that you would never give up. That, much like him, you’d see things through to the end, no matter the cost.

And you had chosen to marry him regardless.

You had done everything you could to come back home to him, and he knew that.

As he gazed down at you, finally able to rest in peace after all the hell he put you through; after all the all-nighters spent together, handling paperwork and training to protect those you cared about, he felt every negative feeling melt away. All the guilt, the shame, and the agony replaced by one feeling.

Pride. Overwhelming and overpowering.

Gojo was proud of you for protecting somebody who was incapable of doing so themselves. He was proud of you for fighting until you couldn’t fucking move, for protecting Itadori and making sure both boys were able to make it home safely.

The glassy tears sitting on his dark lashes dripped onto your cold skin when he gently set a kiss on your knuckles, rubbing your hand in both of his, just like he used to when you would complain about the cold weather. Closing his fists around your hand, he leaned down, forehead resting against his own knuckles. A bitter smile forced a cracked chuckle from his lips, and Gojo lifted his head, brushing your hair away from your forehead to kiss it.

It would take him a while to adjust, and he was terrified of what would come next. His future seemed so uncertain without you in it. He'd miss how you laughed at his antics. How you'd smack him upside the head when he did something stupid, and scold him before peppering his face with kisses when he came back injured.

But he'd do it, because it's what you would've wanted.

“You did good, my love,” he murmured against your skin, gently nudging your nose with his. “I love you forever.”

[jaskiersvalley]

CW major character injury (beartrap)

Splitting up for winter seemed like the most sensible idea. Geralt would head north with Ciri and, at his insistence at not leaving his muse, Jaskier. Meanwhile Regis would lead the others south, down to Touissant for a bit of downtime. Privately Geralt also hoped their infuriatingly stubborn Nilfgaardian shadow would opt to head for the warmer climates and leave them alone. It wasn't even that Geralt was worried about the man following them. Over the weeks it had become abundantly clear that he was trying to help in his own way, even fighting off a stray bandit or two to keep their tail clean. Rather, Geralt simply couldn't be bothered to exert the energy to get to know yet another person and it was another mouth to feed. Given his rather solitary nature, the fact he was travelling with a ragtag bunch was already quite exhausting.

As luck would have it, Geralt ended up with the Nilfgaardian trailing after them, heading steadily north. The weather got colder and sometimes Geralt caught the whiff of another camp fire, creeping a little closer as it that small lessening of distance would give their tail a smidgeon more warmth. It was pathetic and Geralt was more than a little pissed off. Still, at least the trip up to Kaer Morhen would lose him. Nobody was foolish enough to try and reach the old keep alone, even Witchers succumbed to the trail, a human by himself stood no chance. So either their foolhardy idiot would find shelter for the winter in the surrounding villages or he would perish.

They were at the bottom of the mountain, one last night to get some rest before they braved the slopes. Jaskier and Ciri definitely needed sleep and to give their bodies a break. Geralt was content to meditate, keeping them safe. In the distance he could hear their Nilfgaardian make camp, daring to stray as close as he ever had. Frustrated, Geralt found himself wishing that a bear would appear and deal with the annoyance for him. Alas, he couldn't hear or smell a bear in the region despite the villages mentioning that there had been some bears sighted earlier in the year. Thankfully the local hunters had taken care of them. Lost in thought, Geralt almost didn't register the sound of something snapping shut before a pained cry echoed in the forest. Immediately he was up, sword in hand while Jaskier was on his feet too, looking around in the darkness.

In the distance Geralt could hear pained hitches of breath plus a few agonised grunts. Whatever had happened, it wasn't the swift death he'd wished on the Nilfgaardian. There wasn't anyone or anything else in the vicinity so whatever had happened, the idiot did to himself. Probably stabbed himself with an arrow in the dark. Despite all his ill-wishes, Geralt couldn't bring himself to ignore someone in trouble.

"It's the Nilfgaardian. He's in trouble."

There wasn't any argument when he set off, Jaskier and Ciri behind him, treading carefully, a flaming torch lighting their way. Geralt almost wished they hadn't had the torch because then he wouldn't have had to see the scene in front of him in full colour. The Nilfgaardian was on the ground at the edge of a small clearing where he'd obviously planned on making camp. However, the stench of blood around him suggested that something hadn't gone according to plan. Walking up to him, Geralt watched as the man realised he wasn't alone and jerked upright. A beartrap kept him rooted though. His hands were bloody, even worse, his palms had been cut open from where he'd obviously tried to pry the metal from his leg. What struck Geralt though was just how young the man looked. Wide blue eyes stared up from shock paled skin, lips almost white enough to be missed. Only slightly older than Ciri, probably about twenty, Geralt couldn't fathom why someone so young was so desperate.

"You'll need to keep still while we get this off," Geralt said, crouching down. The young man tried to scramble away but aside from leaning back, he couldn't go anywhere. "Why don't we help with the pain a bit?" Hand raised, Geralt prepared to cast axii. Before he could, a rock connected with the man's temple and knocked him out cold as Jaskier stood behind him, hand wrapped around the lightly bloodied rock.

"That will keep him still and out of it," he declared. "It was the kindest thing."

"Or you could have let me use axii to keep him calm." Geralt tipped the man's head to the side to check how badly the rock had split his skin. It was going to give him quite the bruise, possibly a black eye and one hell of a headache. Still, it did made life easier and Geralt pried the trap off. It had snapped in bone deep, probably even broke his leg. Humans were fragile like that and the trap was meant for a bear. Sighing, Geralt looked around the miserable excuse of a half made camp. It screamed of skills learned on the fly, for the sole purpose of survival rather than something practiced in safety before being put into reality. "Grab his things. We'll head up to Kaer Morhen tomorrow and take him with us."

They had more in the way of bandages with them and, while the man was unconscious, Geralt did his best to clean the wounds, splint the leg and bandage it as well as the cuts on his hands. There wasn't much to be done for the headache of the future though.

In the morning Geralt roused from his meditation to find a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

"You going to make an example of me and kill me?" The accent was harsh despite the soft voice. It wasn't what Geralt had expected coming out of the man's mouth.

"Yeah, I wasted all the bandages on you just for that. Name's Geralt."

"Cahir Mawr Dyrryn aep Ceallach."

"Quite the mouthful. Cahir alright with you?" The nod was answer enough and Geralt set about getting breakfast ready. It was only thanks to the events of the previous night that he kept an eye out for more beartraps and avoided falling victim to one himself. He set it off with a stick and winced as it splintered under the metal jaws.

Despite their best efforts, by the time they'd loaded Cahir onto the cart strapped to Roach, his cheeks were flushed with fever and Geralt could smell the sickness on him. The valiant effort to get to know his new travelling companions better was foiled by the way Cahir kept drifting off, a combination of sickness and from the hit to the head. When he woke, it was only Jaskier's quick grab to the back of his shirt that kept Cahir on the cart as he threw up over the side.

It wasn't looking good. The first night they stopped, Geralt helped rebandage Cahir's injured leg. As the cloth fell away, it became amply evident that infection had thoroughly set in. The cuts were an angry red without defined edges to the inflammation while the wounds themselves were puckered with puss.

"It's fine," Cahir tried to reassure with a wobbly smile. "I've survived worse." Which may have been true but he'd probably also been in a place with better medical supplies. The gnarly scar below his collarbone and through to his back attested to his words but Geralt didn't think it was caused by an old, rusty beartrap. If they didn't make it to Kaer Morhen soon then no amount of surviving worse injuries was going to mean anything.

Come next morning Cahir was no longer quite so chirpy. He was still and silent on the cart, Ciri sat next to him and sometimes gesturing for Geralt to look, worried that Cahir had stopped breathing. He hadn't but his deathly pale complexion wasn't giving Geralt much hope. They were still at least a day and a half out from Kaer Morhen, maybe even two because of the additional weight on the cart.

A fever peaked and fell in cycles, each time Geralt hoped it would be the last but, before long, he reached to feel Cahir's skin and winced at how hot to the touch it felt once more.

By the time they made it up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt feared it would be just a corpse for a funeral pyre that they'd be dragging in. By some miracle it wasn't. With Eskel's help he pulled Cahir off the cart, floppy as unresponsive as he was, there was still air in his lungs and an erratic heartbeat in his chest.

"What did you bring us this time?" Lambert teased before getting a better look and his grin turned into a frown. "Well shit. I'll get Vesemir."

It took three days before Cahir was declared out of immediate danger. Geralt spent a lot of it down in the infirmary, sitting next to him. The others could start Ciri's training and Jaskier was no doubt pleased to get to spend time with Eskel again. It left Geralt in the quiet, watching over someone who he had convinced himself he hated. But this wasn't the person he'd conjured up in his mind. Barely older than Jaskier had been when they met, Cahir didn't look like he had any youthful optimism or naivety.

"I'm sorry." Geralt murmured, watching as Cahir slept, breath a little less thready. He should have been better. Shouldn't have judged, not when he was on the other end of so much of it himself.

By the time Cahir roused, everyone had settled into their winter routine. Ciri trained most days, reading tomes Vesemir left her when it got too cold for the outside obstacle course. It left Geralt free to sit with Cahir, watching as glazed eyes opened, unseeing. The worst thing was, not once did Cahir cry out for someone or reach for an invisible source of comfort. In all his years Geralt rarely found someone so lonely. Even Lambert, in his training days, had called out for his mother and, of late, for Aiden. It was a struggle to believe Cahir had nobody.

"Why?" The first word from cracked dry lips and Geralt jumped. He grabbed a wet rag and dabbed it against Cahir's lips, squeezing a little water into his mouth.

"Why what?" There were a lot of questions Cahir could have and Geralt wasn't a mind reader. He startled when a weak hand clasped around his wrist, keeping his hand close. It felt all too natural to take the rag in his other hand so he could cup Cahir's sunken cheek.

"You stayed."

Something told Geralt this wasn't something Cahir had encountered before and it broke his heart. Why nobody would stick around for him was baffling. Even a Witcher had more people looking out for him, he was certain. He cleared his throat, trying to think about why he stayed. It was true, he had no reason to. "I wanted to."

The soft 'oh' from Cahir pulled at something in his chest. He let Cahir tangle their fingers together shyly, looking up at him from the infirmary bed with so much awe and gratitude, Geralt didn't know what to do with it. So he sat back down into his chair and kept holding Cahir's hand. There was a lot of talking, of getting to know each other in their future. But, for now, Geralt was content to offer whatever comfort he could, vowing to be better than all those who had come before him.

[chimchimsauce]

XS (VII - Brick)

“Give me just a little bit MORE”

Being the son of the largest gang in the country, Kim Taehyung might as well be a prince. He is more powerful than any one man should be and is not afraid to get rid of anything - or anyone that gets in his way.

So when a man is unable to pay back the gigantic loan he owes Taehyung, the heir is all too happy to take his life. Moments away from pulling the trigger, a girl more beautiful than he’s ever seen bursts in and offers her life for her father’s. Taehyung knows right away that he wants her.

And Taehyung gets everything he wants.

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven 

Taehyung rides with YN to the reception hall, Jungkook now sitting up front next to the driver. YN stares out of the window, pretending that she cannot see Taehyung's gaze in the glass's reflection.

She wishes the weather would reflect her mood. The day is bright and sunny, not a storm cloud in sight. The people they drive past look are smiling, laughing without a care as they go about their everyday lives, smiling and being happy. What YN wouldn't do for the chance at that simple life again.

Of course, the drive to the reception is not long at all. Taehyung slides out of the vehicle, taking quick strides to go around the back of the car and open YN's door for her. He offers her his hand and she takes it, uttering a small "Thank you." He does not let her go as they waltz into the reception hall, a beautiful old building with exposed brick and lots of pretty greenery. It's someplace YN would have dreamed about visiting, a venue she would have picked herself.

Her new husband releases her once they're safely inside in one of the small back rooms the venue has.

"You've been doing so well," Taehyung says, his hand heavy on her bare shoulder, "I am so proud of you, darling."

"Thank you," YN says again robotically.

Taehyung hums contentedly, his long fingers tapping down her sides before landing on the zipper that closes her dress. YN freezes.

Is he going to make a move now? With people on their way here as they speak?

"Taehyung," YN breathes out.

He mobster quite likes the sound of his name coming from her throat. He'll be sure to wrangle it out of her a thousand times before the night is over.

"Yes, darling," Taehyung answers, pulling the zipper down.

"Are you . . . we're not . . ." YN can't form full sentences, petrified.

Taehyung places a kiss on his wife's neck, loving the way she trembles.

"So eager," he whispers, lips brushing against her skin, "Later, darling. We go have guests to entertain."

A knock on the door shatters the intensity in the room. The relief YN feels is immense.

"Yes?" Taehyung asks, his annoyance obvious.

He hadn't been planning on taking YN here, but she placed the thought in his head and now his head is filled with ideas of pinning her against the wall, the brick digging into her back and leaving bloody scrapes. It sounds like such a wonderful experience, but now someone has shattered it.

The door swings open and in waltzes Yoonji, still dressed in her usual uniform. Her face is blank, taking in the scene with no interest.

"You wanted me to prepare YN for the reception," she says breezily, addressing Taehyung only and pretending that YN isn't even there.

"Right," Taehyung says, running his hands through his hair.

YN can't help but look at his golden wedding ring.

"Make sure Miss Kim looks beautiful," Taehyung says, moving to leave, "Even though it's impossible for her not to."

YN has never wished to be unattractive until this moment. If she was ugly, this wouldn't be happening. But then again, if Taehyung hadn't been interested in her, he would have killed her and her parents on the spot.

When the door shuts, YN is alone with Yoonji. She smiles at the other women but Yoonji doesn't return it, silently moving about the room. In the corner, there is a clothing rack with a garment bag hanging on it. Yoonji unzips it and pulls out a floofy white dress, one that should stop around YN's knees. She finishes unzipping YN's wedding dress, ridding her of it. YN is glad; That thing weighs like forty pounds.

YN stands there in her lingerie, Yoonji's eyes raking up and down her figure before she turns away, muttering something under her breath. YN peeks down at herself. Is something wrong with her body?

"Is everything alright?" YN asks Yoonji, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Just fine," Yoonji says curtly, bending down to allow YN to step into the new dress.

Yoonji jerks the fabric up too quickly and YN trips, almost falling to the ground.

"Hey!" she shouts.

Yoonji ignores her, pulling the princess sleeves over YN's shoulders and zipping her up. Se guides the bride over to the small vanity, unboxing the awaiting makeup kit. Yoonji quickly touches up YN's makeup, ridding YN of the evidence of her first kiss with Taehyung. YN is happy to have her smudged lipstick wiped away and replaced. If only she could do it with the skin that monster touched.

Yoonji rids YN of her veil and weaves flowers and gold into her hair, finishing her work. It took her just over twenty minutes to complete before another knock sounds on the door. It's Taehyung. He barges in without waiting for an answer.

"Is she ready yet?"

"Yes, sir," Yoonji says, stepping out of the way and disappearing down the hallway.

Taehyung extends his hands to hers, raising her hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Disgust washes over YN but she ignores it, knowing better than to pull away from him.

"I have some very important people I want you to meet, darling," he says to her as they walk into the main room.

People mingle amongst themselves, looking up when the new Mr. and Mrs. Kim enter the room. They're swarmed almost immediately, random people coming up to them to wish them well and get Taehyung's attention. YN is reminded of just how powerful the man she was forced to marry is by the way people are eager to get into his good graces.

YN's face hurts from all the smiling she has to do, greeting people she knows could kill her in a matter of seconds. It pains her that she sticks so close to Taehyung. Better the monster you know that the one you don't.

Every so often, YN will allow her gaze to wander, looking over those people who have yet to congratulate them. In the very corner, YN spots her own parents, locking eyes with her mother. Her mom is doing her best to not look terrified, but fear rolls off of her in waves. YN wants nothing more than to run over there and feel her loving embrace, pulling her close and breathing in the scent that has comforted her ever since she was small.

Her parents may not have had much, but they were abundant in love, making sure YN always felt safe and happy in her home. The memories of her childhood suddenly feel eons away, almost as if she had never lived them at all. Was it even her who was comforted after a hard day at school? Was it even her who crawled into her parents' bed when thunder struck? YN's mother sends her a shaky smile. YN has never seen her mother look so weak.

"Why don't we go say 'Hi', darling?" Taehyung asks her suddenly, whisking her away from the crowd of gangsters before she can even protest.

YN doesn't trust Taehyung as far as she can throw him. The less often he's around her parents, the better.

"Hello, Mother," Taehyung says brightly to YN's mom, much too happy for their circumstances, "Doesn't YN look beautiful?"

"She does," her mother says, voice barely above a whisper.

She reaches for YN but Taehyung pulls her away, his grasp too tight on her waist.

"Excuse me for being a little . . . possessive . . ." Taehyung says, "I don't want anyone to accidentally ruin my beautiful bride's dress. Well, except for me."

He laughs wholeheartedly and YN and her mother are forced to join in, both of them hiding their disgust.

YN's father appears by his wife's side, a flute of champagne in his hands. He's squeezing the glass so tightly YN is worried that it'll shatter.

"You -" YN's father begins, only to be cut off by YN in a panic.

"Daddy -" she says, aware of Taehyung's heated stare, "Why don't you take Mama and go dancing? I know you love to dance."

YN chuckles awkwardly at her lie, relieved when her father nods wordlessly and sweeps his wife away to the dance floor.

"It's about time to have our first dance," Taehyung remarks, whirling YN into the center of the room.

As if someone had been waiting for this moment, a spotlight beams down on them and music begins to play. All eyes are on them. YN has never even attempted to learn ballroom dancing but she's too afraid to say something now.

She follows Taehyung's footsteps as best she can, studying his feet and careful to not step on him.

"Look at me," he commands and she does, gasping a bit when she sees how intensely he's staring her down, "You are so beautiful . . . so sweet. And you're all mine."

Taehyung spins YN and she falls into him, her hands splayed out on his chest.

"Say it," Taehyung demands, wrapping his arms around her waist and turning around himself.

YN is sure this isn't the proper form but all she can focus on is the feel of him under his thin shirt, lean and strong. In some ways, Taehyung being a handsome man feels like a punishment within itself. But she supposes she shouldn't be surprised. The Devil was the most handsome angel of all.

"Say what?" YN asks as he dips her low to the ground, his large hand on her thigh.

Her cheeks flush red when he toys with the little lace garter she was forced to wear.

"Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," YN says.

She has never hated herself so much.

"Good girl," he whispers in her ear, biting her once more.

Something tells her that he gets his kicks from causing pain.

The music ends with a flourish, Taehyung bowing to YN and kissing her on her cut up palms.

For the rest of the evening, Taehyung allows YN to roam about while he speaks business with whoever he needs to speak business with. Her parents have disappeared and YN prays it's because they were asked to leave since Taaehyung had gotten his fill of rubbing it into their faces.

Every entry is guarded by big men with even bigger guns, so any chance of escape (or even a moment alone) is thwarted. With nothing other to do and a growing fear of what will come after, YN turns to the seemingly endless supply of alcohol. She has never been a big drinker but right now she's chasing a blackout, wanting to remember as little of this day as possible.

"Maybe you should slow down," a voice says.

YN turns and sees a vaguely familiar man.

"Who are you?" she asks him.

So far, no one has been brave enough to approach her, no doubt afraid of gaining Taehyung's wrath. This man, however, seems relaxed, completely at ease.

"I'm Jimin," he says, "We've met a few times before, but haven't been formally introduced. I'm Taehyung's - and now yours - driver."

"Ooooh," YN says, her words slurring just a touch.

"I knew I knew you from . . . somewhere," she says, placing a hand on her hip.

"You should probably stop drinking," he says, moving to take the flute away from her.

YN steps back, jerking her glass and spilling a bit. It burns in her cuts and she whimpers, still refusing to let go of it.

"I can still remember. I don't want to remember today."

"Well we can't be having that," a new voice - Taehyung - calls out.

YN's blood runs cold as he yanks the glass away from her and shoves it into Jimin's awaiting hands. She can tell that he's angry and it's paralyzing.

"The Mrs. and I will be heading out now," Taehyung announces to the crowd, "It was a pleasure having you all here. Thanks so much for coming."

He guides the stumbling YN out of the venue, Jimin hot on their heels. In the back of the car, Taehyung hands YN a water bottle, forcing her to drink all of it.

"You shouldn't have done that," he says, glaring at her, "I'll make sure you remember every second of this day."

Chapter Eight

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Tag List 

@naajix @nomimits7 @krystle1990 @mayla548

@dorerenjun @veronawrites @nervouskiwi @tatastaetae @naaji @sunshinechim-98 @hopefilledtrash @heystobitbeach @queensavage1245 @kofikats @lilacdreams-00

[hughiecampbelle]

Parting Gift (Sam Wilson Oneshot)

Character/s: Sam

Word Count: 1,411

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: This was supposed to be fluffy, but the closest I can get to that is melancholy lol. The weathers been nice and it got me feeling nostalgic for summer. I hope this gives off that vibe, if that makes sense? Sam just seemed perfect for this and I kinda love this :) It doesn't exactly fit the timeline, but oh well :P There are only Endgame spoilers, none with TFATWS. I can't thank you enough for letting me rest with my health/writing and posting in general. I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You finally got him back 💌

Gif Credit: @biwilson / link 💕

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 /WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The low hum of the fan stirs in the quiet heat, restless, a lullaby you've grown used to since the season thawed. The snow puddles disappearing from the hot sidewalks, the grass growing green, the layers shedding around you until there is nothing but skin and the cool air that kisses it. It's old and shaky, the blades twisted, the fixture rattling, threatening to fall from the ceiling with every spin. Another chore you simply never got around to fixing, neglected much like the rest of the house. Like you, it was lucky it was still standing. The floors cried and creaked, needing to be replaced, but where was the time? The paint chipped, falling flake by flake, the shelves in need of dusting, the lawn grown too long, things were rusted, ruining, aging. Everything crooked, leaning, too heavy to stand on its own. One in the same, you and it, a reflection of your inner world, your inner turmoil, your grief defying, humanizing, materializing in rusted pipes, in thorny bushes, and weeds sprouting in the cracks of the sidewalks.

It was your dream. An escape. A slice of heaven he plucked from the skies. At least, that's how he'd described it. His hand, warm and calloused, over your eyes, letting your suspicions get the better of you, questioning like a child. What color was the door? How many windows? Was there a backyard? A steadiness in his voice you knew was not as solid as he showed, leading you past the street, past your new neighbors, the shade of the trees making your skin prickle. Up the path, you tried counting your own steps, anything to cheat the system. A leap of faith, you put so nicely. A house he passed by, one that struck him, caught his eye in a way nothing ever had. You? A house? Romanticized by the shoe box apartments the city had to offer, you never pictured any other life. Not out of opposition, but sheer innocence, a passive, thoughtless gesture you'd never recognized until the opportunity came along. Little convincing, it took. Somewhere far away from danger, from life, where you would always be safe together. That was enough. Always would be.

A fixer upper, that's what it was. Someone to care for in their old age, a long forgotten space only one with a heart of gold could fall for. Whether you were speaking of you, or the house, he'd never get the chance to ask. Where he saw the two of you, together, watching the rain pour from outside, comforted by a warm kitchen, a grand bedroom, nooks you could fill with hints of yourselves, you saw a slanted driveway, an unkempt garden, leaky ceilings and no hot water. He had hope. Dripped in honey,band hope, his voice sang through the thin walls, a symphony of ideas, of dreams for what it would one day be, taking you by the hand, leading you through. A maze of projects, big and small, things you'd add to a list of infinite length, your pen running out of ink long before you ever reached the bottom. For now, a coat of paint, a bucket or two for the leaks. He promised you, in the middle of an empty house, that it would one day be your home. You trusted him, because he was so sure of it, unlike anything else before.

You watched him sleep, the two of you facing one another. The sheets long discarded, too warm to even touch. You could follow the rise and fall of his back, the way in which he held the pillow to him, as if scared to let go. Tracing every line of him with your eyes, taking note of every single change, drinking him up every second you had together. The beads of sweat across his hairline. The upturn of his mouth, a whisper of a smile, as if caught in a sweet dream. The lines you see in yourself not yet reflected in him. Untouched by time. Five years could turn into a lifetime with the right kind of loneliness.

Plastic stuck to the furniture, bloated, sweaty, patiently waiting to be unwrapped. You couldn't bear to look at it, any of it, turning away from entire rooms, going only where it was necessary, using what you needed, not ready to face this place alone. It wasn't that first day, where your things, tightened by the city smog and lack of breathing room, were scattered wherever they might fit, left to expand in their new environment. The kitchen table in the living room. Chairs in the hallway. A couch discarded by the window, blocking the natural light. For the time being, he promised. Too many boxes to count, filled to the brim of glasses and mugs, wedding pictures and high school yearbooks, things you thought you needed, and things you knew you did. All of it wrapped in plastic, paper, t-shirts and towels. Whatever you could find to protect it. Sleeping on the floor those first few days, the mattress late, the frame even later, leaning on one another for that kind of comfort. It wasn't that first day, or week, but enough time to settle. The small things weren't yet opened. Two cups, to dishes, an endless waiting game for supplies to be shipped, of time to be found between work days and exhausted nights. He had a plan though, first the inside, then out. Sometimes there weren't enough plans, or lists, or schedules in the world to stop what would come next.

All of this, less than a month before The Blip.

Things hadn't changed since then, not without him. Five years you carved your path into the floorboards, avoiding everything that hurt like a landmine. His cup, his dish, his knife, and fork, and spoon, untouched. You would not look through your wedding album, or seep into the couch you bought together, or pluck the thorn riddled bushes like you pictured. His side of the bed empty, his clothes tucked away where you didn't have to see. All except one shirt taped up, turned away. His cologne fading from the collar, something out of your control, that made you want to scream. Everything these days, it seemed, was out of your control. Others, they moved on eventually. Started dating. Remarried. Found new friends, had more kids, picked up where they left off. Family reached out, teammates too, but you couldn't look at them. The anger, the sadness, all of it overwhelming. It left you drowning in questions no one had the answer to, everyone asking themselves the same thing: Why him, and not them? Why him, and not you? Why did any of this happen in the first place?

Isolating became the cure, and the corruption. The salt in the wound, a familiar sting you grew to expect, even want. A home for two, he promised, only now you were one. How cruel could the universe be? Hour by hour, day by day, you counted, carrying on for when he'd be back, because he would be. Sam, your Sam, too stubborn a man to give up like that. You would have dusted, washed the floors, made the place a little more welcoming if you'd known he'd be back when he did. Everyone came back, reappearing out of thin air, but where they felt frenzy, uncertain in explaining all that's happened, you were at peace, able to breathe again. Time had stopped when he was gone, your life paused. You could feel it, the moment when, the clocks in the house ticking once again inside their boxes.

Now, you lay together, as you had that first night. Not on the floor, not as naive as you were, but together none of the less. The sunlight strains, wanting to light up the room from behind the curtains. Even without it, you find yourself baking, wishing the fan would have a little more power. Sleeping in, you could have laughed. Five years he had, somewhere else, to rest, and yet you let him, not wanting to wake from what you fear might be a nightmare. If you woke up, and he was gone again, you weren't sure what you'd do, how much longer you could stand it. He assured you though, much like he had with this house, everything would work out in the end. That he was here, and he'd never leave you again.

Ever.

[thegreatestofheck]

Promises, Promises ✾ JJ Maybank ✾

request:  Hi! Can I request where John B has a younger sister who is extremely close to JJ but there is kind of a unspoken rule between the three of them: you can look, flirt all you want but no touching or crossing that line. Well they deeply care for each other more than John B knows. Well on the day Luke picks him up from jail in that scene before getting in the car he sees her, just staring at him because she knows what will happen if he gets in. The rest is up to you!

word count - 3.8k  warnings - mentions of abuse, uncomfy interactions with Luke Maybank,  synopsis - You and JJ have an unspoken thing, passed only through stolen glances and half serious flirting. But the day after he takes the fall for Pope, you find yourself standing at a crossroads; do you step in to protect him from his dad, or do you stay out of it? a/n - thank you so much for this request anon!! I wish I could have gotten to it sooner, but I’m so grateful that you came to me with this request, I love it!! Here I am with another Routledge!Reader fic. I will never be tired of these. Never ever. I tried really hard to be proud of this, anon, because you deserve a masterpiece, but I really struggled and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you like it all the same!

                                                               ***

You and JJ had shared many different looks in your lifetime. The kind where your eyes were squinted tight, filled with tears because you were both laughing so hard. The kind where your eyes were wide and his were stone cold because you were terrified and he was ready to raze hell to keep you safe. The kind where you’re standing on opposite ends of the room but you meet each others’ gaze and you know that the both of you wish that distance was closed. 

A thousand different looks, a thousand different moments, and thousand different silent words shared by only the flick of the eye. All of that and it seemed like it boiled down to this moment in time, this one very important look. 

You were standing across the street from where his dad’s car was parked, only a block or so away from the police station. JJ’s face was still messed up from his fight with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper at the Summer Movie Series, but his eyes were more haunted now than they ever had been before. Because he wasn’t walking alone. His dad walked alongside him; jaw tight, hands clenched, gait furious. 

And you knew. You knew what was coming to your best friend if he got into that car. He had taken the fall for Pope, found himself thousands of dollars in debt, thousands of dollars that neither him nor his dad didn’t have. 

Your had curled around the wad of cash in your pocket. After watching Shoupe drive away with JJ the day before, you had broken into your piggy bank, gathered all the tips you had ever received from the wrinkled, old, white men who hit on you at the Wreck, torn apart every piece of furniture in your house to find every last goddamn penny you owned, praying that it would be enough for bail. And if it still wasn’t, you were fully prepared to bat your pretty eyelashes and pout a little bit. 

After all, no one had ever been able to say no to y/n Routledge before. 

But now that you saw JJ walking beside Luke Maybank, you felt oddly silly in your too tight tank top and extra short shorts. All the money in your pocket suddenly lost its worth because JJ’s dad already knew. JJ was already heading straight for hell. 

You watched him for a good while before he tore his gaze from the concrete beneath his feet and looked up across the street. It took a few moments for relief at seeing you to glaze over the fear in his eyes. You barely managed a smile. 

Of all the looks you ever shared, you hated these kind the most. Where you knew that JJ was upset, terrified, on the verge of tears, but he covered it up with a smile and a dirty joke. There would be no jokes now, but there had been so many in the past. 

Like the time you and your brother were cleaning up the Chateau after a nasty storm and he came staggering onto your lawn. He was drunk off his ass, his face a terrible array of purple and red. John B didn’t see the way JJ’s eyes flit back and forth as if watching for someone. He didn’t see the way JJ stumbled to cover the limp in his step. He didn’t hear the way his voice broke as JJ drawled out a snarky remark about the weather.

But you did. You saw everything. 

Maybe it was because you spent your entire life looking. Stealing glances in the early morning when he was still asleep on the pullout. Watching how he flinched when Pope or John B raised their voice a little too loud with an enthusiastic thump on his shoulder. Seeing the way he buried himself in weed and alcohol and girls just to take his mind off of the overbearing fear of not being good enough. 

You saw it all because he was, after all, just a mirror of yourself. 

And you wanted him more than anything. You wanted to know how his calloused hands felt against your always cold skin. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer and sea salt chocolates. You spent hours awake every night, knowing that he was just a few feet away from your room, wondering if he was in as much agony as you were. 

It wasn’t like you were afraid to tell him how you felt or anything. He knew exactly how badly you wanted to take the pain straight from his heart and put it into yours, how badly you wished to be the thing he craved, how badly you needed to have him around all the time. 

He knew it all because you were, after all, just a mirror of himself. 

The years of pining and flirting and joking and pretending that there wasn’t a barrier between the two of you placed there by your very own brother meant that, at the very moment when JJ needed you the most, you could tell instantly. 

It all took a second. An entire conversation in just the blink of an eye. He knew why you were standing there across the street in your too tight tank top and your too short shorts. He could see the outline of the coins and the cash in your pocket. And he knew that even though you couldn’t save him from spending the night in a jail cell, you would be damned before you left without trying to save him from his dad. 

“No,” his eyes told you as soon as the elation in his face faded. “You’ll get hurt.” 

“If I don’t, so will you.” 

It didn’t matter that an entire road separated the two of you. You’d spent years communicating through a brick wall built by your own two hands. You could still read him perfectly. 

But now wasn’t the time for reading. Road be damned, brick wall be damned. 

You pulled your hand out from your pocket and forced a wide grin on your face. JJ scowled at the sudden change in your demeanor. 

“JJ! Mr. Maybank!” You called and stepped into the street. The old man turned to look at you with the deepest scowl you had ever seen in your life. Just before your mother abandoned you and John B, she had told you that the only thing scowling achieved was wrinkles. Looking at Luke Maybank’s face now, you knew that she was right. 

“What?” He snapped as you stepped back onto the sidewalk. 

“My dickhead brother was supposed to come pick me up but he’s off with some chick,” you lied smoothly, your smile never once faltering. Luke grunted and took a step to push past you and continue walking. As you stepped in front of him again, you sent one quick look to JJ to affirm that you were doing just fine. 

“I was wondering if you could maybe give me a ride?” You asked as sweetly as you could. 

“Look, y/n,” Luke grumbled. “I’ve got shit to deal with right now.” 

At the word ‘shit’, Luke sent a sharp glare over to JJ, who tried not to flinch. Your eyebrows pinched together. You dropped your smile into a small pout and heaved out a heavy sigh. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you tried to ignore Luke’s eyes on you all the same. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine. 

“That’s okay,” you said, looking up with a pouty sweet smile. “I’ll just walk.” 

You gave JJ a small wave of your fingers, but you had no intention of leaving. Because only seconds later did Luke Maybank let out a sigh equal to that of your own. 

“Get in the car, y/n. A girl like you walking across the island is bound to get unwanted attention.” 

The smile that grew on your face was equal parts to cover up the fear that his words struck into your heart and elation that your plan had actually worked. You looked over at JJ again, only to see this his eyes were stormy and his jaw was clenched tight. You sent him a wink as his dad brushed past you. 

Falling into step with JJ was like breathing. With you by his side, he was less tense than before. Neither of you said anything on your way to the car, but neither of you really needed to. You hooked your pinky around his and gave a short squeeze before letting your hand fall back to your side. 

There was half a race to the passenger door, but, like always, you won. You sent him your best attempt at a playful smile as you pulled the door open, forcing him to slide into the back seat, disgruntled. In your mind, the harder it was for Luke to reach JJ, the happier you would be, even if it meant sitting next to the one person you hated most on the planet. 

In an attempt to keep your nonchalant air about you, you propped your feet up on the dashboard, leaning back and draping your arm out the window. JJ jammed his knee into the back of your seat, giving you an angry glare, which you dismissed and ignored.

“Feet off the dash, sweetheart.” Luke’s voice was tight even as he tapped his hand once against your shin. You tried to laugh it off as you pulled your feet back but you suddenly realized what exactly you had gotten yourself into. 

“Sorry, Mr. Maybank,” you said as you cast your eyes back to JJ, who was smoldering silently in the backseat. 

“It’s Luke, please,” the older man said, pulling out of the parking spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat and gave a quiet laugh. 

Eight years you had known this man and never once had he let you call him Luke. A pit formed in your stomach. 

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, y’n,” he said. He didn’t turn his head but you can see his eyes shift toward you. 

“Oh, you know. With my dad missing, I’ve been taking care of John B a lot,” you said, waving your hand through the air like it was nothing. “Leaves very little time for a social call.” 

“You’ve grown a lot.” 

How in the hell were you supposed to respond to that? Normal people shouldn’t say shit like that to a teenage girl. You didn’t even have to look at JJ to know that he was absolutely fuming. All you could do was let out a stiff laugh. 

“Where do you need to go?” Luke asked. You cringed to yourself. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead. Improvising was more JJ’s area of expertise, but you’d picked up on a thing or two over the years. You hoped it would be enough to keep you out of deep shit with Luke. 

“JB and I have been working on this bike back at the house and I came out here to buy a part from some guy online. Turned out to be a scam,” you said with a sigh, playing with the broken rubber on the door. 

“This boy back here hasn’t been helping you out?” Luke asked, jamming a thumb in the direction of JJ. You noted how he refused to say his name. 

“Uh, it’s kinda a brother/sister project.” You glanced back at JJ again. He rolled his eyes, smelling your bullshit from a mile away. You weren’t really the tinkering type. 

“I see. What’s the part you need?” 

You almost panicked, your eyes going wide. You knew jackshit about what different parts of a motorcycle were called. JJ had tried to teach you once a few months ago before John B had so rudely interrupted. Giving yourself a few seconds to rack your brain for the name of even a single mechanical part. 

“It’s the uh, I can’t really remember the name,” you chuckled, your heart starting to pound as Luke eyed you carefully. “It’s something weird. Something small and it goes in the engine? I don’t know what JB was thinking sending me.” 

“Why don’t I take you to the house and you can show me which piece you’re missing?” 

Your heart constricted even further. There was a rule you and JJ had. Well, aside from the silent rule not to ever act on their feelings for the sake of John B. This rule had nothing to do with your brother. Never, ever, ever were you supposed to go back to his house. No matter what happened, JJ had told you to stay clear of his house. 

But if you didn’t go, what would happen to him once he was alone? You almost couldn’t stomach it. Looking back at JJ, his eyes were narrowed into a warning. 

“Don’t you dare,” his eyes said. You grimaced. Could you really leave him knowing full well what was waiting for him on the other end? It didn’t feel right. It’s not like Luke would try anything with JJ there. You would be perfectly safe. Or, at least, you had managed to convince yourself you would be. 

“Um, yeah. It’d have to be quick though. Kie’s picking me up from the Chateau in in an hour.” 

It was another lie. You just hoped it would be enough to keep you out of any trouble. JJ sighed audibly and you tried to send him an apologetic look but he was too busy staring out the window. 

The trip to the Maybank abode was full of awkward small talk between you and Luke, JJ refusing to make a sound. He refused to even look at you once Luke parked the car and stepped out. You were expecting him to storm inside, but he stood there and waited for you. The look on his face told you that you had royally pissed him off and for half a moment, you felt ashamed for breaking your promise never to go to his house. 

But that shame faded into a firm resolve. You were helping him. He may be angry at you now, but he would understand later and he’d be grateful. 

You followed after Luke as he walked into the house, keeping your chin high. You were right about this. You had to be. 

“You want a beer?” Luke asked you. You could tell that he had already had a couple this morning. You wondered how many beers it would take for him to pass out. 

“Sure,” you said, tugging on frayed edges of your shorts. Luke didn’t ask JJ if he wanted one. 

“Beer’s and the parts are out in the back,” Luke told you. 

“Okay.” 

You slowed, pausing to stop next to JJ. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered to him. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend the night alone in a jail cell. The idea of him being there all by himself made you queasy. 

“You promised,” he whispered right back, keeping his eyes fixed on his dad, who wandered around the porch looking for something. 

“I know.” Your voice was quiet. 

“y/n!” Luke called. “C’mere!” 

JJ tore his gaze from his father to look down at you. He reached out and grabbed your wrist. 

“Don’t.” 

“He’ll think something’s up. It’s just a beer.” 

“Get out of here, y’n, I swear to God-”

“And leave you here with him?” You let your quiet voice raise ever so slightly and then glanced toward Luke to make sure he hadn’t heard. “No. I’m staying.”

“y/n.” You slid out of JJ’s grip and took a started toward the back porch. “y/n!” 

You stepped onto the porch with a smile. There was an opened beer just waiting for you to grab. You picked it up with as much of a smile as you could muster.

                                                           ***

Forty-five minutes later, you were holding a piece of metal that was supposed to do something for a made up motorcycle that you had no idea how to use and Luke was passed out on the couch. You let out a sigh and set down the empty beer bottle that you hadn’t taken a single drink of. Luke was tipsy enough before you even started talking about motorcycles that he didn’t notice you pouring your beer out over the side of the porch. 

JJ was leaning up against the wall, watching you and his dad carefully. Once you were convinced that Luke was asleep, you turned around to face your friend. 

“My room,” he said, pushing off the wall and turning down the thin hallway. Your heart skipped a tiny beat. He was still upset with you. All your life, you hadn’t really been like John B or JJ. You weren’t confrontational. You liked to keep your head down, walk away without a fight. 

But this wasn’t confrontation you could avoid. You had to follow him. You had no choice, even if the idea of it made you want to vomit. 

You had never been in JJ’s room before. Of course you hadn’t. You weren’t really sure what you had been expecting, but it wasn’t really this. Maybe some old movie posters, some pictures of the pogues, a record player and the albums of his favorite bands. 

But his room was bare. The paint on the walls was peeling. His bed was nothing more than a mattress on the floor with a sheet and a torn comforter. There was a wooden dresser on the wall under the window, but it was chipped and one of the drawers that had been pulled out was broken. Clothes were all over the floor, but it was clear JJ hadn’t been back here in a few days. You knew exactly where he had been, of course. 

“JJ-” 

“What the hell were you thinking?” JJ’s hands were on his hips. You wrapped one hand around your wrist and twisted nervously. JJ putting his hands on his hips meant he was especially agitated and the more agitated he was, the more he was likely to yell.

“I was just trying to keep you safe,” you said, voice quiet. 

“I don’t need you to protect me!” 

You clenched your teeth together as tight as you could. You wished you could properly articulate your side of things without your voice shaking or tears gathering in your eyes, but the sad truth of it was that yelling always made you cry. And you hated it.

“What was I supposed to do? Let you get your ass beat?” 

“Yes!” You flinched at the tone in his voice. “What’s the point of trying to keep me safe if you’re the one who gets hurt?”

“I didn’t get hurt,” you reminded him gently. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, well, you might not have been.” There was a look in his eye that you recognized, but you had seen it only a few times before. Fear, true fear. He had gotten good at covering it up over the years, but there was no shroud over the fear in his eyes now. It was a level of vulnerable that was so rare to see on JJ. 

“I understand that,” you said. “And I’m sorry if I freaked you out, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not?” The tiniest shred of courage found its way into your heart and your own voice started to rise. “You know damn well why not! What kind of friend would I be if I just let you get into that car alone?” 

“You promised me you would never get in between me and my dad again. You made that promise to me and you just broke it.” 

You tried not to scowl. 

“First of all, I didn’t technically break any promises. I didn’t get in between you and your dad this time. I stopped it from happening in the first place. Second, the promise was never valid because I had my fingers crossed.” It was childish, sure. But you were a child so you had a habit of acting like one from time to time, especially when you got nervous. 

“Dammit, y/n! Can’t you see I’m just trying to keep you safe?” 

“Yeah and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

JJ huffed out a sigh and turned his back on you, which sent a spike of pain through your heart. 

“You should go,” he said. 

“JJ-”

“I’m not kidding. Get out of here before my dad wakes up.” 

You let out a short breath through your nose and clasped your hands together in front of you. You couldn’t help the agitation that burned in your chest. 

“Whatever makes you happy, J.” 

“Fuck you, y/n. You know this doesn’t make me happy,” he turned back around slowly to face you once again and you pursed your lips. 

“Don’t stay here,” you told him, going back to your quiet words and almost shy demeanor. “Come back with me to the Chateau. We can figure everything out.” 

“How?” He asked with an aggressive shrug. “How in the hell are we going to figure anything out?” 

You paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. You had one shot to get this right, to say the one thing that would get JJ to leave this place with you. 

“Like we always do,” you said after a few moments. “Together.” 

You extended out your hand to him, silently begging for him to bridge the gap between you. He hesitated, glancing between your tear-glossed eyes and your outstretched hand. Eternity passed in those few moments before he made his decision. A bead of sweat ran down your spine. A cool breeze left a wave of goosebumps across your legs in its wake. Your eyes swam with tears but not a single one of them fell. And you waited. 

Eternity passed and JJ finally made his move. His hand was up, reaching for yours as he took a step forward. You were pulling him into your arms before his fingertips even grazed your own. He let out a single, shuddered breath like a sob of relief as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pressed a gentle kiss against the side of his head. 

“I can’t promise you that everything will work out the way we want it to,” you whispered quietly to him. He let out another shaky breath as he held tight to your hand, one arm wrapped around your waist. “But I can promise you that whatever you face, you won’t be alone.” 

“Your fingers aren’t crossed this time?” he asked in a half hearted attempt to joke, but he didn’t even attempt to crack a smile as you pulled away from him to look him in the eyes. 

“I promise,” you told him, holding your uncrossed fingers up in front of him. He nodded once, his hair shaking loose and falling in front of his eyes. “Come on, then. Let’s go home.” 

________________________________________________________________

taglist -  @simonsbluee, @parkerpetertingle, @diverrdown, @ponyboys-sunsets, @outerbanksbro, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, 

[pedrobois-fanfic-collections]

Mando: The Escapee

No Warnings, good clean fluff

-

Beneath the canopy of trees, the near unending rain drizzled down upon you.

Straightening from the berry bush, you stood to gaze at the sky. Placing one hand over your brow to block out the small sun beams that creeped through the tree lines as well as keeping the rain from your eyes, you admired the trees that were the size of skyscrapers. You had heard of Coruscant, with buildings taller than these trees. It was hard to imagine such a place. You had heard of other planets, planets that were not constantly wet, something that was difficult to imagine under the near constant deluge. If it was not a drizzle, it was a monsoon.

Appreciating the relative calmness of the weather, you knelt back down to pick at the berry bush. Humming gently, you expertly wove your hands through the bush, mindful of the sharp thorns.

Breaking the peace came a soft coo followed by a sharp cry.

You looked around startled, searching for who might be there. All you had was a small vibroblade for cutting through dense undergrowth. Warily, you drew it and stepped around the bush.

To your surprise, a small green creature with large ears and a fuzzy head, dressed in some sort of brown sack, sat on the ground. It had one arm plunged into the berry bush, reaching for the ripest of berries, its hand just almost reaching it. To your, and its, dismay, a long painful thorn struck through its outfit and stabbed into the poor creature’s arm.

“Oh, hey there little one.” You whispered gently, putting the blade away.

The small creature whimpered, tugging on its arm and crying out weakly, before reaching in further to try and grab the berry.

“No hey, don’t do that. I’ll get you the berry and I’ll get you out of there, alright? Just give me a minute.” You spoke soothingly, moving nearer to it in slow cautious steps.

Tears welled in the little one’s eyes and it watched you distrustfully, but it stopped struggling.

You finally reached the little womprat’s side and pulled your gloves from your basket. “Easy now.” You murmured, reaching into the bush and tugging away at the thorn. The little one’s hand came loose but instead of pulling out, it reached farther in, seeking the berry. Luckily, you expected this. You caught its hand and held it in place. “Hey, give me a second, alright? I’ll get the berry, we just need to patch you up first.”

A deep furrow set in the creature’s brow as you pulled its hand back and it suddenly seemed to remember the pain. A small trickle of blood ran down its arm and it cried out softly.

Picking it up, you gently carried it a few steps away from the bush and set it down. “We don’t want it getting infected from the nasty jungle. Let me get my medpack and see what I can do. And then I’ll get you that berry, got it?”

The creature sniffled and then nodded.

You hurried over to your things and searched for your medpack, glad you had had the foresight to pack it. Upon returning to the small green child, you pulled out the small spray, gave a bit of bactaspray and then wrapped the wound in soft gauze. The gauze was mostly for show, but you also didn’t want to risk any outside bugs from crawling on it.

“How’s that?” You asked, taking its little hand and squeezing it.

The creature cooed and waved its hands happily before turning and looking at the berry bush.

“You have a one tract mind.” You shook your head. “Please stay here.” You walked over to the bush and knelt down, taking out your vibroknife and began to cut at the bush.

When you glanced over your shoulder, the child was nowhere to be seen. Panic swelled in your chest and you looked around. A soft coo sounded from by your feet and you looked down. The child giggled, tugging on your trousers.

Sighing heavily, you shook your head and continued your work.

At long last, the berry was reachable, and you stuck your hand in and tugged it out.

“There you go, little one.” You said with a heavy sigh.

The little green creature took the berry happily, grabbed it in both hands, plopped to the ground and began to eat it. Its face was quickly covered in bright red juices and you looked in horror at the mess it’d made.

“Um… do you have a family?” You looked around.

The child giggled and tilted its head, waggling its ears.

“I have no idea what that means.” You sighed, “I can’t leave you out here, and I have to get back.” Biting your lip, you looked at your supplies and collection for the day. “I guess I’ll bring you back to my home and we can look for your family tomorrow.”

You slung your supplies over your shoulder and scooped the child up in your free arm and began walking back to your home.

Your home was a simple hut: small, one room with a kitchen and bed all in the same area. It served its purpose for what you needed, a shelter to stay dry from the outside.

Stepping in, you set the little one down and reached for a dry blanket and wrapped it before setting it by the fire to dry.

You dumped your collection of roots, herbs, and other edibles into the pot by the fire and set it to simmer. Already your mouth was watering at the thought of a hearty meal. Then you remembered the mess on the child’s face.

Finding a rag, you got it wet and moved to clean its face.

A forceful wind shook the house, and you knew a storm had started. Rain pelted your small shelter and you knew you had made it home just in time. Silently you thanked the Maker that you were warm and safe.

For now.

The door to your cottage burst open and a figure stood there, cloak violently flapping in the wind. He was illuminated partially by your fire and partially by the lightning flashing behind him on the shiny metal of the armor he wore.

“Where is he?” The man demanded in a cold, calculating voice. If you hadn’t been so terrified, you might have noticed the tone of desperation, the slight fear in his voice.

You scrambled back, rushing over to the child and pushing him towards the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You stammered. Only now did you realize that he had raised a pulse rifle when he kicked in the door and aimed it at you.

Another violent flash of lightning.

Beskar.

You could see the signature armor of the famed Mandalorians and your throat went dry. Surely the little one couldn’t be a target?

The small green child gripped your leg and peered out behind you, finally finding its balance. It cooed softly and smiled.

“Please! Don’t hurt it! It’s just a child! All it wanted was some berries!”

The Mandalorian hesitated, the roar of the wind still wailing around him. Slowly, he lowered his weapon and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him awkwardly. “What did you say?”

You blinked as you stared up at the impenetrable visor and then swallowed. “I said, it just wanted some berries, don’t hurt it.”

The Mandalorian tilted his head, glancing down at the child. “Grogu?”

The child smiled and stepped away from your leg with a soft coo and a giggle.

You could see the Mandalorian’s shoulders visibly slump, his stature soften as he knelt down.

The child, apparently, Grogu, moved away from your leg and trotted over to the Mandalorian, arms outstretched. The Mandalorian took it into his arms and wiped at his mouth with his rain-soaked cape. “What is this?” His voice sounded dangerous again.

“It,” You began.

“He.” The Mandalorian corrected.

“He, really wanted a berry, he got caught by a thorn. I helped him get it and well he made a mess.”

The Mandalorian looked down at the gauze on the little one’s arm. Looking at your handiwork, he nodded. Finally the Mandalorian picked him up, before straightening and standing back up.

Satisfied with your reasoning, the Mandalorian nodded. Turning around, he reached for the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You jumped in front of him, surprised how quickly that put you pressed against him.

The helmet stared down at you emotionless. It was silent for a time. He was silent for a time.

“What?”

“You can’t take a child back out into that storm. He could catch something.”

You heard a heavy modulated sigh from the helmet followed by a happy coo from Grogu.

“At least stay for dinner, let your boy eat.” You smiled. “Mandalorians don’t take their helmets off right?”

The Mandalorian nodded stiffly.

“I can pack you something for when you leave so you don’t go hungry, but surely he’s a growing boy and needs plenty of food.” You could tell that anything regarding the jeopardy of Grogu would sway this Mandalorian instantly. Any arguments he might have had seemed to fade.

Walking over to the pot, you took out two bowls and poured a serving for you and a serving for the child.

The Mandalorian sighed again and set the child on the floor so you and Grogu could eat together. For his part, the Mandalorian leaned against the wall of the hut, standing beside the door and waited, watching.

You and Grogu giggled as you ate, happily enjoying the meal.

From time to time, you would cast a glance at the Mandalorian leaning stoically against the wall, his hands resting on his belt. You would be lying if the mere sight of him didn’t set your pulse racing.

‘Of course it did,’ You told yourself, ‘He has a pulse rifle that can shock, beat, or shoot me to death without hesitation without a moment’s notice. And yet…’ Like a nexu perusing his domain, the cub and its mother at peace.

You felt a heat on your neck and quickly looked away, fearful he had caught you staring.

The meal ended and still the rain raged on.

The Mandalorian glanced towards the door, head tilted upwards and to the side and you found yourself longing to know what he looked like beneath the helmet.

This was silly, you had literally just met him. ‘Pull yourself together.’ You grumbled inwardly, turning your attention back to the child.

“So what brings you to this planet?”

“Bounty.” The Mandalorian grunted.

You nodded, wondering if he would expand on it.

He did not.

“Do you have a name I can call you?”

“Everyone just calls me Mando.”

“Pretty straightforward.”

Mando shrugged.

“Do you have a real name, or…?”

The helmet snapped towards you and the dark visor seemed to seer into your soul.

“Alright.” You held up your hands, “Mando’s a good name.” You told him your name.

Mando repeated it and nodded.

Grogu began to blink more, his eyelids drooping and staying shut longer and longer. Slowly he moved forward and crawled into your lap and was quickly fast asleep.

It was hard to say how, but you could tell by the way Mando shifted, he seemed surprised.

Luckily for you, you were near your bed and could easily slide back and lean against it.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be getting up. I don’t want to disturb him. I can sleep here, you can have the bed. I’m sure this storm will go through the night.”

Mando looked down at you, expression unreadable, before finally saying, “No.”

“Huh?” You said, stifling a yawn.

Careful not to disturb the child, Mando lifted you under the legs with Grogu in your lap and carried you bridal style into the bed.

This area of the room was not as well lit and you prayed to the Maker and anyone that was listening that he didn’t see or hear the blood rushing to your face or your thundering heart as he laid you down on the bed.

With a satisfied nod, Mando stepped away and sat back down at the foot of the bed, his shoulder to you. Clearly he didn’t trust you to keep his back to you, but he did seem to trust you to hold his kid while you slept.

You gripped the blankets as you scrunched your eyes shut, breathing in short shallow breaths. Now what?

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Five

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Dudes, real talk. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Your support on this particular endeavor is just mindblowing and I love you guys so much (no this isn’t the end or anything I’m just in my feels right now). This installment has a monologue in it that I'm really, really stupid proud of. I hope you guys like it. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains vague depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You thought you heard someone running, heavy boots pounding hard on the ground. Who even has the energy for that, you wondered idly.

Oxygen abruptly flooded back into your helmet and you inhaled on instinct, hacking and wheezing. The bayonet twitched roughly, making you sob out before some of the pressure on the blade was relieved. 

"There. Detached it from the fucking thrower. You still with me, gentle soul?" Ezra, it was Ezra, talking loudly, tapping your helmet and seeming relieved when you barely opened your eyes once more. "I'm goin' to stabilize the bayonet, you understand me? We can't remove it or we'll do more damage. Have to stabilize with the patcher cream."

"Told y...you to...leave--" you gasped, grabbing desperately at his shoulder. "Miss the--sling...back…"

"Kevva was a martyr, you know." Ezra said suddenly. "A little bit Prometheus, a little bit Jesus. Shot himself into space so others wouldn't fear to follow in his footsteps, to give countless souls the chance to be reforged in booster fire. Always found martyrdom more trouble than it was worth, myself. Living on struck me as the more attractive option." He murmured, struggling with your suit.

The only reply you could manage was more of a wet gurgle of confusion. What was he even talking about?

"Now, we as human beings are taught that self-sacrifice is the loftiest of moral pedestals to stand upon. We are taught that puttin' the needs of others above ourselves is the pinnacle, the quintessential desirous trait." He carried on in a pleasant tone, like this was a normal conversation the two of you were having as he poured the antiseptic liquid over your abdomen. 

It burned and stung. You wanted to scream but you couldn't draw the breath, settling for a pitiful whimper.

"I cannot tell you how many times I roundly railed against the purported divine will of that miserable martyr when I found myself trapped on this forsaken moon. The last thing I wanted was to be slain before I finally got to revel in my spoils, reduced to no more than a cautionary tale of avarice and loss in the annals of time. Lo and behold though, despite all my tribulations, it appears I was not the one in danger of being a sacrificial lamb."

The clear dome of his helmet thudded against your own, and he tried to time your breathing for a moment before he gave up and just clicked the trigger on the patcher gun. You cried out hoarsely in pain and he echoed you with a groan, shaking his head.

"Instead, that malevolent bearded bastard sent me a precious gentle soul, one more gracious and generous than any harvest, to shield my worthless body from the slings and arrows of this hostile moon. But I do not accept the debt of another's life so free and easy, especially not when it's counted against all my sins." He continued relentlessly, tossing the foam gun aside. "You can urge me until your holy heart stops, yet I refuse to indulge you in your blasted martyrdom." The word was furious, hissed out between his teeth. "You will live. If I have to drag you back from Kevva's greedy, graspin' hand myself, I damn well will. You have suffered Purgatory long enough, gentle soul." 

With that emphatic declaration he heaved you upright, draping your arm over his shoulder and beginning the slow, tortuous walk back to the mercenary rock jumper. "Ez--ra…" you choked, your legs barely supporting you. "C-an't--"

"Hush, gentle soul." He said firmly, struggling to distribute more of your weight onto his shoulders. "I would carry you if I trusted my arm, but regrettably I am not at full-test. All the same, I'm putting you into that fuckin' pod even if I have to drag you every accursed step of the way." 

Your fingers dug into his suit and you straightened up marginally. Just enough for him to get a better grip on your body. "M' gonna'-" you coughed, red droplets hitting the dome of your helmet.

"Keep your free hand on that blade, gentle soul. The less damage we do to your internal machinations, the better." 

You obediently curled your glove around the foam-crusted bayonet, stabilizing the protruding weapon with what little strength you had left. You stared down at his leg, trying to get your own steps to match up with his so he didn't trip over the tether tube. You weren't sure whether either of you would be able to get back up if that occurred.

"Almost there." Ezra announced, making your head jerk up. You had been wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, just focusing on keeping your feet moving. 

He dropped your hand onto one of the railings for the pod ladder and you obligingly tried to pull yourself into it after he gave you a boost, ending up essentially throwing your body forward and to the side on the floor of the pod.

Ezra staggered up behind you, fumbling to shift you from your fetal position. "In the seat, gentle soul, we need to strap you in. Can't have loose cargo when we take off." He muttered. 

Your head felt too heavy. You let it loll against your chest while he essentially manhandled you into the passenger seat and snapped the harness around you as best as he could. "M'sorry…" Your voice was barely audible through your helmet. "Can't..."

"You manage those lungs of yours, don't worry about me." He replied tersely, yanking off his helmet and then tearing at the latches on your own. "You just keep breathin'. We'll be out of this in no time, gentle soul, no time at all." 

You nodded dazedly after he pulled the helmet off over your head. "Thank…"

"Hush, damn it." Ezra rasped, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Hush. Save your energy and keep that bayonet steady. We'll be on that freighter in a tick. Get you to a proper med bay." His voice trembled.

You were vaguely aware that he had strapped in beside you. There was the soft rustle of manual pages, then the deafening rattle of the pod boosters, the thrum of the engines as it broke the atmosphere. Light from Bakhroma's sun poured in through the triangular windows overhead, all but blinding you. 

Ezra weakly stripped your glove and then clasped your fingers across the center console as the freighter appeared, spindly arms of pods hanging suspended in the brilliant green and navy halo of the surrounding cosmos. "We have at last been delivered from our toilsome strife." He sighed. "Better days beckon us onward, gentle soul." He raised your hand to his lips, and you felt the brush of his facial hair when he kissed your open palm.

...

You were unsure of how much time had passed. You thought you were being removed from the pod, something about getting rushed through the triage protocols. 

An oxygen mask was snapped down over your face, the whirr of an intraosseous needle reaching your ears. Conversations around you faded in and out, random voices discussing your condition. 

Where was Ezra?

"If that bayonet had gone half an inch deeper-"

"I suggest you apply the brakes on that particular intellectual locomotive." You felt your fears ebb at the familiar sound of his drawl. "We are running on precious little sleep and I must confess to an unhealthy inclination towards impatience when I am deprived of my slumber. Now, my individual trauma can wait until you have available staff, but their wound will fester if it is left much longer." A large hand rested on your forehead, shielding your half-open eyes from the fluorescent lighting. "Take care of their potential pneumothorax, doctor, and I will be as docile as a lamb."

"Ez…" you whispered.

"Still tryin' to palaver? Gentle soul, now is not the time for idle conversation." His hand stroked your forehead as he soothed, "Rest now. We did it. You did it." 

With his assurance, you closed your eyes.

...

You were confined to a rehabiter chamber for what felt like a short eternity as the freighter made its laborious way back to Central, Puggart Bench and the overcrowded wards that dotted the outskirts.

All you had left physically to remind you of your ordeal was a slow-healing wound on your abdomen and muscles that felt like they would never stop aching. You had one hundred percent overdone it and, if the resident freighter physician had anything to say regarding the matter, you were incredibly lucky to be alive.

The freighter's lung scrubber wasn't exactly on par with the level of sanitation either you or Ezra needed, so you were kept on it at all times until you could be transferred to the Puggart Bench medicog. You were grateful to be weathering the travel in the freighter's dingy med bay, as strange as that was to say. You weren't sure how long it would be before you could travel in a pod without feeling deeply apprehensive.

Once dropped at Puggart, you barely even got to wave at Ezra (he waved back with a drowsy grin from beneath the oxygen tent) before you were whisked away to a different room and hooked up to something a little more high-test. 

Fully purging the dust took literal days of treatment. The preliminary scans of your lungs revealed what looked like thick, puffy cotton balls in the place of usual bronchioles. You could only imagine how bad Ezra's lungs must be if that was what yours were like.

The rest of your body continued to arduously heal. You spent the hours of solitary treatment quietly drawing on your memo pad. Once that ran out of pages, you began to save the napkins that came with your Pastors slurry. A kind orderly found you an abandoned clipboard and you would balance it on your knees to draw for as long as you were able before your stomach began to protest.

You did your best to not think about the Bakhroma Green moon. It was difficult, but you tried. The lushly poisonous foliage, the Queen's Lair, Damon-

Your sleep was fitfully restless, either due to the lingering pain of your wound or the nightmares that hounded you. You were unsure of the last time you had truly enjoyed a good night's sleep.

Once you had been off the scrubber for a full week, Ezra came to visit. You almost didn't recognize him sans the bulk of his suit and helmet, but the brilliant blond Mallen streak that jutted mischievously out from his right temple removed all doubt. He looked much better, which was to be expected. Clean food and fresh air had done him wonders.

"Gentle soul!" He exclaimed warmly upon entering your cubicle, his voice rasping slightly, "all those days of good behavior paid off. Your jealous warden has finally deemed me worthy of entry into your domain." 

"Good to see you too, Ezra." You replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the flowers he carried. "I won't take up much of your time, obviously you've got places to be." What was that weird pang in your chest? Were you jealous? Why would you be jealous? 

"Your modesty, while one of your finest qualities, wounds me deeply. These are for you, gentle soul." Ezra placed a hand over his heart, bowing grandly as he presented you with the bouquet. 

"F-For me? Oh." You felt a little ashamed of your strange jealousy now, fumbling to take the flowers from him. "These are so beautiful, you...you didn't have to, you know." You murmured, burying your nose in the soft petals. 

"What better way to celebrate you bein' on the mend?" He inquired incredulously, pulling up the chair beside your bed. 

"I'm kind of surprised you're still here, honestly." You confessed. 

"Whyever for?"

"Well I just...I assumed you would have set back out in search of the next big thing." You twiddled your fingers, keeping your eyes on the flowers. 

"I am full of surprises, I suppose. Oh! And in that vein." Ezra tugged free a long, flat box from inside the (obviously very new) blazer he wore. "Another surprise."

The box was wrapped simply in plain paper and twine, a bit like all your sketchpads had been. "Ezra-" you began to protest. 

He waved off your words though, gesturing impatiently for you to rip off the paper. "I have been burstin' at the seams to give this to you, gentle soul. Do not make me wait one iota longer, I implore you."

Laughing a little at his enthusiasm, you obliged. Your laughter caught in your throat as you turned the brightly-colored box over, the graphics on the front proudly announcing the contents. "This...Th-This is…" You stammered, swallowing hard. "I...Ezra-"

"It's the draw-pad! Y'know, the one we discussed. Brand new, hot off the line." Ezra looked insanely pleased with himself, fidgeting in the seat. "I saw it and I knew you needed it."

"Ezra, this is too much." You tried to sound like you disapproved, but you were relatively certain your fingers reverently tracing the brilliant logo gave you away. Just the box alone looked so crisp, the edges still sharp instead of crushed in and rounded with age.

"Now, this gift does come with a request." He drawled from his spot beside your bed. You glanced up, that old wariness creeping back in. "I want you to familiarize yourself with this tool. Not sure how long it'll take. I have faith in your tenacity and ability to adapt, however. Once you're confident in your skill, I would be most obliged if you would consider a solicitation of partnership. " 

"Part...nership?" You repeated, thoroughly confused.

Ezra nodded. "Yes, gentle soul. I am penning a semi-fictitious memoir and it would add a certain...gravitas if your sketches graced the pages as well, you understand."

You fairly erupted with excitement, "I would love to!" Your enthusiasm jerked to a sudden stop as you remembered just where you were, and how much debt you were probably in. "But I...I can't." You finished sadly, stroking the brightly-colored illustrations on the front of the draw-pad box one last wistful time before you pressed it back into his hands. "I'm sorry Ezra, I need to hurry up and heal so I can hurry up and find another job, work through paying off this treatment bill--"

"Gentle soul, I don't think you have a full grasp of your situation." Ezra interjected. "You are an incredibly rich individual." You stared at him, not entirely registering his words. "Have you truly forgotten just how much of the Queen your deft little hands plundered?"

"That's not mine, that's y-"

"Kevva above, gentle soul. If not for your steady skinnin' and de-blisterin', we wouldn't have secured a damn thing." Ezra leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers. "I turned a handsome profit as well, mind you. I am quite comfortably off with my harvest as it is. But you, gentle soul, you…" He cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of arrangin' an account for you while you were indisposed."

"There was enough for an account?" You squeaked. 

Ezra's laugh sounded raw. "The wonder in your eyes! I wish you could see yourself. Give me a moment, I'll pull up the numbers." He had apparently gotten one of those new, touchscreen Servs. He didn't even need a cable! You watched apprehensively as he tapped away at the tablet, swiping through a few menus. 

When he tilted the screen to show you your account, you were relatively certain you had gone into shock. You knew your mouth was opening and closing, but you couldn't seem to form any words.

"I daresay you may be able to afford your hospital bill." The man said dryly after watching you gawk for several long minutes. "And perhaps a few meager indulgences on top of that."

"That's...that can't be right." You whispered, reaching out to touch the numbers. Ezra chuckled when your clumsy fingers accidentally brought up another menu, the older man easily dismissing it. 

"It is indeed correct, gentle soul. The exchange was the cleanest I've ever done, and sported the highest rates I've ever encountered. It seems we returned from the Bakhroma Green in the nick of time, in more ways than one." 

"Ezra, that's...I-I've never even dreamed of having so many points. I…" you trailed off, biting your lip. Tears welled up in your eyes and, for the first time since Damon had been killed, you started to cry in earnest.

Ezra's hand rested on your arm after a moment and you let yourself be eased into his embrace, sobbing against his shoulder. "Steady now, gentle soul. You just let it all out. It's over, you understand?" He soothed, cupping the back of your head. "Over and done with. Your perdition is at its end. You are free from those terrible burdens." 

"I just...this doesn't even feel real." You hiccupped. "I feel like I'm g-gonna' wake up in that pod all over ag-gain."

"I know that sensation all too well. My sleep is poor, my dreams fraught with dark recollections." Ezra admitted quietly. "Safety and stability are luxuries I have not been able to afford for many years. Now that I have them, I am...unsure of what to do with them." He sighed, his chin resting on the top of your head. "We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon bein' confronted with it, we do not feel worthy."

You nodded into his shoulder. It was no surprise that he would know exactly how to put into words what you had been feeling. You jolted abruptly when you realized which shoulder you were molesting. "Oh! Your arm, I'm so-"

"Don't you fret, gentle soul." He released you and carefully slid his arm out of his blazer, the barest wince betraying him as he flexed the limb freely. "I'm on the mend, with a...zeal I did not realize I possessed. The matron in charge of my circulatory rehabilitation seems hell-bent on gettin' me to break a sweat." Ezra sounded rueful. "I'm just glad I can breathe unaided once more. I'll never take my lungs for granted ever again."

...

You doused the eggs with the brilliant orange sauce, shoveling a forkful into your mouth and groaning in appreciative delight. 

"Now normally, condiments are a compliment to the dish." Ezra delicately gestured at your orange-stained plate with his fork. "With you however, condiments appear to be the main course." He teased. Ezra had offered to take you out for breakfast on the morning of your release, he called it a daring escape from the confines of modern medicine. Hence your current locale. You had, however, insisted that the two of you split the bill.

"After so long eating Pastors Calori-pouches and bits bars, I...I need the color just as much as I need the flavor, y'know?" You mumbled around your mouthful. "My tastebuds are all brand new again."

"I meant no disrespect, gentle soul." Ezra reached across the table with a paper napkin and you jerked back on reflex, laughing awkwardly as you tried to play off your sharp reaction. He cocked his head, eyebrows drawn quizzically tight. "I said I would not ask, and I will not break that promise." He murmured, tucking the napkin into your limp hand instead. "If ever there is anything I can do though, anything I can say to...to ease these burdens you carry on your body, all you need do is ask."

This was far too serious of a topic to be discussing in a greasy diner with bright orange hot sauce dripping off your chin. 

Ezra skewered a bite of flapjack with his fork, dipped it in the vibrant condiment that smeared your dish and then popped it into his mouth. You gawked at him as he chewed, his eyes idly roaming the diner. You could take the man out of the communal mining canteen, but you couldn't take the communal mining canteen out of the man, you supposed. You remembered all too well the stands worth of others pilfering off your own tray.

"I know you are no doubt eager twice over to get your mitts on my draft and begin your creative process, but I must insist we allow you the time to reacclimate to city livin'." He changed the subject deftly, his fingers drumming on the scarred diner table as he spoke. "Elsewise you may just end up sealin' yourself into a studio like a cask of Amontillado and drawin' the day away." His eyes wandered back to your face. "Have you given any more consideration to which ward you might prefer to hang your hat in?" 

You gulped down a bite of toast before shaking your head. "I...I looked through the listings two days ago but I don't...I mean, I know I can afford to, but…" you trailed off. 

"Livin' alone holds no allure." Ezra's tone was sympathetic. He steepled his hands on the tabletop. "Permit me to suggest an alternative, gentle soul." You inclined your head. "We are two wandering drifters that, through sheer grit and a healthy sprinkling of providence, have managed to slog through hell together and survive without growing to loathe each other's company." 

You stared at him blankly, sponging the sauce off your chin. Ezra settled back in the booth, his body language enviably relaxed. 

"I am more than willin' to open my humble abode to you. For a few stands or simply until you find yourself despising my lugubrious company." He held up a hand as you opened your mouth. "I offer without any malice or intent of predation, gentle soul. I know that the return to non-floater spaces is not often an easy one, and I strongly suspect that you have been preyed upon in the past."

"I know you're not like that." You blurted out, flushing immediately afterwards.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I am grateful you don't lump my gregarious self in with the refuse, gentle soul."

"I just...I mean you've done so much for me already." You continued helplessly. "I'm in your debt, Ezra. By a lot."

"Nonsense." He scoffed. "Without you, we never would have escaped the Green! If we are to speak of debts and debtors, I must reason that I am still in yours. Shooting me would have been a ludicrously simple task, as I pointed out when we were still in that Kevva-forsaken place. Never mind the steady-handed salvage of my arm, your heroic duel with Inumon-"

"Oh yes, nothing more heroic than getting three-quarters killed by a grungy Krebine bayonet." You interrupted him dryly. "While hopped up on Brism."

Ezra chuckled. "Modest as ever!" He quickly sobered, his eyes serious. "My lodgings are more than adequate to house another individual, should you decide to grace me with your presence."

...

You didn't really have any possessions, which made your move relatively straightforward. All you had was your helmet, your suit, your underclothes and the contents of the pockets of said suit. Mercifully, everything had been decontaminated, so you didn't have anything to fear from throwing your familiar kit back on.

"I will offer you a change of clothes, but! We must venture out and acquire you new attire at your earliest convenience." Ezra insisted, already rummaging through his laughably barren closet even as you protested. "I doubt you wish to eternally linger in my dubious, threadbare garb." He suddenly stopped, snapping his fingers. "Wait. No. Kevva, we can order on the Serv. Unless you prefer the torment of physical fitting rooms?" He queried with a grimace, making you laugh.

You found yourself curled up on the couch several hours later, clad in one out of his two 'casual' shirts and your thermal leggings. You held the Serv tablet carefully in your hands as Ezra swiped through page after page of various clothing, the precocious man enthusiastically supporting any item you expressed interest in. 

"This will at least tide you over until you feel more comfortable wanderin' the streets of the Pug again. We should also find you some underthings and socks." He mused, tapping the appropriate area on the screen to bring up the search option. "I'll leave you to that, gentle soul." You hesitantly took over from him and he rose from the couch, stretching with a quiet groan. "Tea? I feel inordinately cozy right now." He offered cordially. 

"Mmhm." You nodded, a little distracted by the waves of choices available to you. Granted, at this stage all you needed were a few essentials. Undergarments that would hold up in the wash, good socks to ward off the chill. "Should I get shoes too, or wait until I go out for that?" You called.

"I feel it would be prudent to dally on that particular front." Ezra drawled from the kitchen. "It's best to ensure a proper fit in person if at all possible. Though, I hardly need to tell you that." He stuck his head back out through the doorway after a moment. "Toiletries tab should be the second to last on the right."

"I mean, I took the toothbrush from the hospital so I'm probably fine for-" His raucous laughter interrupted your reasoning and you scowled at him, uncertain of what could be so funny. 

"You've got more funds than most people would see in six lifetimes, and yet you purloined the toothbrush from your hospital room." Ezra managed to say after a few moments. "Floater habits die hard, eh gentle soul?"

Against your will, you felt giggles bubbling in your chest and you huffed out a breath, trying to ward them off. "Shush, you...you!" You retorted lamely, losing your battle with your own laughter. "Stop judging me, your moral high ground is subterranean."

"Subterranean, I like that!" Ezra exclaimed, his eyes shining with good humor as he passed you a plain white mug full to the brim with tea. "I'll have to pilfer that for my illustrious tale. Give you full credit, naturally."

You smiled at him over your mug. "You'd better."

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "I am a man of subterranean high ground, true enough. But I am a man of my word!"

Part Six

[necropxlis]

Loving Someone ~

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mentions of depression and anxiety, Blackmailing, possible gas-lighting, slight swearing, possible mentions of sex.

Type: HaikyuuxReader high school/college SMAU

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Status: On Going

Summary: Y/N Miya gets the chance of a life time to play volleyball in California for her Senior year in high school. Giving her the opportunity to play for a well known team in college. Along the way she meets a someone who can change her life for the better. But will the people she surrounds herself with, allow her this fleeting moment of happiness? Or will they plot her demise for the sake of her career?

Word Count: 1,886 w/out text or social media counts

Chapter 5: My First Kiss 

Walking down the stairs, you saw Iwaizumi standing outside your dorm house. A smile spread across your face at the sight of him shuffling his feet around. He had a slight scowl on his face, which was almost normal for him. Sporting a black jean jacket and a white shirt, he looked better than he ever has. The washed-out jeans and black Nikes only added to the glorious look. Shaking your head and slapping your cheeks, you got out of the trance you were in and opened the door. Iwaizumi snapped his head up as you walked out. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey uh..here’s your bag.”

“Thank you! I appreciate you doing this for me.” You said grabbing the bag from him.

Iwaizumi smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s no problem. Well I should get going-“

“Wait!” You grabbed the sleeve of his jacket causing him to stop. Lowering your head you stared at your shoes. Honestly, you don’t know why you stopped him. It’s like something came over you and you couldn’t stop it. You both stood there a moment, neither making the effort to say or do anything. The air around you was still. People continued to move all around you. It was as if you were the only ones frozen in time.

“Would you stay? For a little while?” You asked not bothering to lift your head. For the fear of him seeing your glassy eyes and rosy cheeks. The truth is you were alone. Everyone was moving on with their lives, meeting with family, enjoying their time off from school. While you had nowhere to go, no one to stay with, no one to talk to. Iwaizumi had been your first friend. Sure he may be older than you, but you considered him to be a close friend nonetheless. A part of you knew this would happen when you accepted the offer. That you would probably be spending a lot of time alone. Not being able to see your brothers 24/7 has taken its toll on you. The three of you were always together. No matter what you did or how many fights you got into, you were the best of friends. The fact that they aren’t able to see you or come to a special moment in your life sucks. When you met Iwaizumi, it was like finding a piece of home. He reminded you so much of your brothers. He made you feel happy and safe.

Turning around and grabbing your hand, Iwaizumi began to pat the top of your head. Albeit a bit awkwardly, but it made you feel comforted nonetheless. Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the slight tint of red that dusted his cheeks. It could have been from his actions or the chilly weather outside.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi said leading you away from the dorm house, “There’s someplace I want to show you.”

The two of you walked in silence, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Your heart was beating out of your chest from nerves and anticipation. Not once did he let go of your hand. His grip was tight but not too rough. It made you feel warm at the small affection. Even if it didn’t mean anything romantically, it meant everything to you. Looking around, you noticed that you were no longer walking on the cement grounds. Instead, it was dirt and grass underneath your sneakers. Chirping could be heard all around you. Birds and other wildlife were tending to their own needs, while the pair of you trotted down the pathway. A steep hill stood in front of you.

Iwaizumi looked back at you and smirked, “I promise the climb will be worth it. Hold on tight to my hand.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat and nodded, allowing the boy to lead you up the hill. It’s not that you were scared of the hill, just the thought of the burning in your calves that would haunt your dreams later. Not only that but the constant reminder that he was holding your hand, made you feel like you were back in middle school. No one should be crushing this hard. It made you feel so stupid but you weren’t about to let go. Following Iwaizumi’s footsteps, you finally reached the top of the hill. The air around you began to swirl, leaves danced and twirled to its song. Splashes of purple and pink covered the sky as the sun was telling the world goodnight. A few speckles of light started breaking through the color, begging to be seen by the night sky viewers. The city ahead was lively, street lights starting to waken, people turning into their homes to escape the cold night. The grandeur of it all took your breath away. Not once did you dare to look away, for fear of missing something magnificent bound to happen.

Green orbs followed your every movement. When you grabbed a hold of his jacket, he knew something was bothering you. He often felt like you did, alone in a country with no familiar faces around. He knew how hard it was not to be able to see the people you love when you want to. All of his friends would call him foolish, but he cared for you. In you, he saw himself, back when he was a senior in high school and the world was against him. As the sun decided it was time for its slumber and the moon woke, the light in your eyes never diminished. He prayed to whoever would listen, that that light would never fade. The lights from the city never looked so beautiful as it did at this moment. With their white and yellow beams striking every feature on your face. He didn't know what came over him, but Iwaizumi grabbed a lock of your (h/c) hair placing it behind your ear. You turned to look at the male standing beside you. If you thought the view was breathtaking, the caring human in front of you was the killing blow. You have never seen his face soften this much. It was a look you hoped to see for the rest of your days.

It could have been something in the air or the intimacy in the moment, but it seemed as fate was pulling you closer. Without breaking eye contact, you turned towards him, shyly placing a hand on his chest. Iwaizumi’s free hand grazed over your waist. Deciding whether or not to commit to the action. His green orbs never left yours. You could see galaxies behind those eyes. As if you were staring into some crystal ball that allowed you to see all the possibilities in the world, but you would never trade any of those alternate universes over where you were now. Angling his head down slightly, you pushed up on your tippy-toes to meet him halfway. People say that when you kiss the person you love it feels like fireworks are exploding inside of you and around you. For you, it just felt right, as right as the waves crashing against the coast. It was a moment that you would cherish for the rest of your life. Pulling away slightly, your face regained its rosy color across your cheeks. Iwaizumi chuckled and ghosted his knuckles across your cheeks. As if reality had stepped in, you realize what you had just done. Fear struck you harder than any emotion at that moment. Stepping away from him slightly you placed your head in your hands.

“What have I done? Iwaizumi-san I’m so sorry-“

“I told you to call me Hajime, and stop, it’s my fault I got caught up in the moment I’m sorry.” He said grabbing your arm causing you to stop and look at him. The look on his face was one of guilt, he felt like he was the one to blame for you feeling the way you were.

Grabbing his hand you stepped closer to him, “Hajime, I don’t regret it, I have wanted to do that for a while now. I don’t want you to feel this way, I only stopped because I thought you had a thing for Luna. She talks about you all the time so I only thought-“

Hajime laughed. You didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he found this so amusing. Turning his back towards you, he rubs the back of his head. You looked down and started playing with your fingers. Hoping that he didn't regret kissing you. You never liked wearing your heart on your sleeve, you wished that the one time you did, it wouldn’t end up with you crying alone at 3 am. Turning back around towards you, Iwaizumi grabbed both of your hands, looking you dead in the eyes.

“I never have, nor will, have a thing for Luna. She has been obsessed with me since I dated her older sister. She hasn’t left me alone since I broke up with her either. Luna has no say or hold over my feelings Y/N.” Hajime said with a huff at the end.

Tears began to pool in your eyes. You didn't know if you were comprehending what you were hearing. Hajime had feelings for you? Did he care for you? He and Luna weren’t dating? Part of you wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. The other part of you was worried about what your brothers would think. What about that weirdo who keeps sending you messages? They threatened Kita, what would happen if they found out about your feelings for Hajime? Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he slowly leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

The moment, the emotions, the scenery, it was all too perfect. Nothing should ever be this perfect. Grabbing his hand, you lead Iwaizumi over to one of the trees surrounding the hill. You both sat and leaned against the tree, with your head on his shoulder. Not once did you let go of each other’s hands. Playing with his fingers, you realized you had forgotten about being lonely. You had forgotten about the possible threat to your life. Things felt a little more bearable with him by your side.

“Want to tell me why you were so worked up earlier?” Hajime said tilting his head sideways.

You sighed, “the twins aren’t able to visit me while I’m on vacation. Nor are they able to come to the game. I miss them so much.”

It was silent between the two of you after that. It’s like you both knew the pain of being away from home. The two of you stayed like that for a while before it got too late. When you both got back to the dorm house, Iwaizumi stopped you before you went inside. He placed another kiss on the top of your head before letting you go. When you reached the door, you turned around and waved him goodbye. He smiled and waved back, watching you enter the building completely before making his way back home. You felt like it was so cliche. Confessing your feelings to someone, their feelings being reciprocated, the walk home after, but you wouldn’t want it to happen any other way.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳  6

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘠/𝘕 𝘔𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭. 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦. 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴? 𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘳

𝘛𝘢𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵: @missingmystogan @elianetsantana @prettyinblack231 @intoomuchfandoms

Tag list is open ☺️

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [9/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist 

Warnings: Odin being a God-King...which is code for ‘dick’.

A/N: Hi, this probably my most IMPORTANT LOKI RELATED NOTE: The very talented and delightfully risque writer @lokilickedme​ has just released a book. I love her work (especially Sanguine)! Refer to this post for all details about her book. 

Now, onto triffles.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“—I do not think I can keep this from her any longer,” you heard Heimdall say mid-conversation. He sounded like a man desperate to shout but too afraid to do so.

You swallowed, feeling guilty for impeding upon something so personal.

Just as you had made up your mind to leave, you heard Odin warn: “You remember what the Oracle said, old friend.”

Oracle? You wondered. And that was all it took to get you to plant your feet before the throne room’s doors and listen like a mouse in the night.

“Her vision already came to pass,” Heimdall said, defeated. “I’ve lost one. I cannot lose another. Not when she is safe within our walls. Safe here.”

“No place is impregnable to violence,” Odin let out a sigh. “I already took a risk in allowing my son to train her. If he knew what she was…”

You shifted, a soft noise coming from your hand that braced the door to steady your stance. Was there more about your powers that you didn’t know? Why did Odin speak with such animosity towards you? Did he fear you?

Heimdall’s works quaked with emotion: “Please, Allfather. I cannot keep this lie any longer. I cannot pretend as though my heart doesn’t ache when I see her. And ache all the more when I must remove myself from her presence. She is my daughter. What would you give to have your daugh—”

And that was the moment. The moment everything snapped into place. Heimdall and Odin kept speaking in secret and your mind struggled to make sense of things that were right in front of you the entire time: the bloodkin spell leading you to Heimdall’s post by the bi-frost; the gold in your eyes reflected in his; the mark that shielded your power from his gaze; Loki’s coy words during their Game of Fates; the disapproving glower Heimdall had flashed Loki when the dark prince had placed a finger on your knee; Your mothers mantra: “The universe rests in your eyes.”

Magic screeched inside you. Angry and betrayed. How many people knew Heimdall was your father? How many lies had you been subjected to?

“Hnnnfff,” the magic grew painful; piercing. You clutched your body. Everywhere ached.

Odin and Heimdall’s voices grew sharper.

“…Odin,” Heimdall’s voice shook. “I beg of you. When you ordered me to never look for Sigrid, I did it to protect her. To keep the prophecy from coming to pass. And she died all the same. Without ever knowing how I truly felt for her.”

“I am sorry,” Odin sounded regretful. “But if it came to it, I would take her from you as Sigrid had been. Such is the weight I bear. The weight of King. To protect my son, I would destroy your daughter. It is for this very reason that I cannot allow you to tell her the truth—to love her as only a father could. It is the smallest mercy I can give. And the only mercy I will allow.”

You wanted to escape, go somewhere far. Away from gods and magic and kings. You didn’t cry, there were no tears left to shed. Niflheim had broken you. Asgard had reset you wrong. Frayed, like the ice wound that scarred your chest.

You thought of the ocean, the one back home. And with gut-punching intensity, you were swallowed by a portal of your own making.

Home. You were home. And it was gone. The longhouse that belonged to the chief was nothing more than snow extinguished timber. The fabulous fabrics and furs that decorated his walls left no traces. The polished silver tankards you’d always wanted to drink from were black. The rest of the village suffered a worse fate. Huts leaving nothing behind but black shapes in the snow. There were no bodies to identify. No history to reclaim.

Slowly, you made your way back to your house. The air was colder than you remembered. Wind biting at your skin till you turned pale and stiff. The dress you wore provided little protection from the weather.

Your house barely stood. A state of decrepitude would be too generous a description. Stone walls struck down; no door to walk through; the eight pronged symbol visible on the stone floor beneath the foundations. With a heavy sigh, you tried to rebuild. Placing each stone block back where it had been. Reanimating wooden doors and burned furs from the ash. When you opened your eyes again, you were surprised by how faithful your iteration of home was.

The house stood again, walls shivering with magic. If it was an illusion, you weren't interested in breaking it.

When you walked in, you were disappointed to learn it smelled of fire. No herbs or mead or tanned leather scents to bring comfort. Just fire.

Your mother wasn’t sitting in her chair with her lit pipe. The only trace of her resided in the seer bones cast on the floor; untouched—predicting the future for no-one.

Without a plan, you walked to the small space with a mead stain on the furs. It was where you used to fall asleep to the warmth of the fires as a child. Then, with a wave of your fingers, you conjured a real fire in the fireplace. Sitting back to stare blankly into the flames. You drifted. Too tired to remember to blink from the dry air. Too tired to remember to be present.

Heavy boots broke your stupor. A man, shed of armour and wearing mortal weaves, sat beside you.

“Everyone was worried,” Heimdall’s voice found its way to your ears. He sighed. “I was worried.”

“How did you find me?” You asked, voice raspy.

He opened his palm to reveal a cut, “How you tried to find me, I suspect.”

“Bloodkin spells,” you intoned.

"Of sorts," he chose to sit close enough to seem familiar, but far away enough to let distance be a kindness. “I had to use older magic, more…dangerous magic, to find you.”

“And so you did.”

“Your powers are impressive,” he said. “To conjure a portal on your own and actually end up where you wanted to go is…impressive.”

Your heart beat sluggishly, neck straining from barely being moved for so long. “Is it true?”

Heimdall’s chest sunk, a deep exhale disrupting the flames in the fireplace. “Yes.”

“How?”

“It is...” Heimdall stopped himself. His open palm balling into a tight fist that shook. Something shifted in him. The next time he spoke, he sounded different: “Before you were born, the prince—Loki—fell ill. It wasn’t a sickness of the body, but…something else. Odin was secretive then. More than he is now. Frigga didn’t eat for days. Thor had been sent away so he wouldn’t cause a scene…

“There had been an attack, you see. Jotuns. Somehow, they managed to slip past me and into the castle. A portal I couldn’t sense. There had been a battle. Some died. Not many. But enough. In the fray, Loki had been injured. Odin had shut him in his quarters. I remember hearing Loki scream with fever for days. Spouting heinous accusations at his father.”

You shut your eyes tight. The thought of Loki suffering made you feel uneasy. Heimdall noticed this and quieted his words even more. He probably thought that by making his voice softer the words would hurt less.

He continued: “Odin called for a witch with strange abilities. Her name was Dagna, she was known to her people as—”

“Minnevever…” You turned to look at Heimdall. “She was my great-grandmother.”

Memory Weaver

He smiled humbly, the lines on his face showing the age that his immortal body hid so well. “I had been sent to a village near Lake Mälaren. That is where I first saw your mother. She told me I’d fall in in love with her the first day we met.” Heimdall’s cheeks pulled taut as his teeth peeked through his smile. “I had brought Dagna to Asgard to cure the prince. His treatment took days. For a few hours, during those days, I’d find myself slipping away—going back to the village. Again and again and again.”

Heimdall reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock of hair. You gasped. His smile fell. “On the last day, she gave me this. I didn’t know it was to be our last day. If I had—” He cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly.

You felt the urge to ease his pain; or maybe you wanted to mourn with him as the only other person alive who remembered Sigrid. Either way, the strangeness was too thick, your hand never managed to make its way to his side.

“She saw her death too,” you added. There was anger there. Between the octaves. “She saw and yet she didn’t tell me either. Such is the elusive ways of those with godly gifts.”

Heimdall wiped a tear from his cheek, “When I opened the portal to return Dagna to her home, she told me something. A prophecy. She said that I would only know pain if I let my heart know love. I was destined to be the Watcher—and one cannot watch the stars from above if their heart belongs below.”

His fingers played with the ridges of the braided lock of hair. “She warned that if I ever returned to the village, death would follow me. So I never returned.” Heimdall turned to look upon your face in the glow of the fire. Eyes moving over every spot and hair and sculpted angle. It was then that you noticed you shared more than the gold in your eyes. You shared the same chin and more of his lips than your mother’s. Two dark spots mirroring his beneath your left eyebrow.

In a strangled voice, he said: “And I never knew you existed until you were brought through the bi-frost…half dead.”

His choked up, finally giving in to his tears. Heimdall wept then. In the rawness of the moment, your hand finally found the strength to cross over and comfort him. Soon, you were both crying; mourning; celebrating; letting go. As you did, the house proved itself to be an illusion. It fell back into disrepair as you held your father's hand for the first time.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Baekhyun x Reader: transcendental. [fallen angel!AU]

Word count: 4 820

Genre: angst if anything, but not too heavy

Warnings: mentions of blood & description of injures 

It was hours after midnight, when the window suddenly gave up, letting in all the rain and wind. You sat up, startled by the noise, and got up quickly, rushing to close the window before the water would start pooling on the floor and carpet in your room. 

A lightning crossed the sky and hit somewhere not too far, causing you to jump in fear. You quickly pushed the curtains aside, because they got tangled with the window, preventing you from shutting it. 

Something flashed in the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help but look up, staring at the white stain that crossed the sky and fell among the trees that surrounded your house, not more than hundred of meters away.

You stared at where the stain disappeared, as if not believing it was real. What could it be? It was too big to miss, too bright to be just a shade. A meteorite? The thought made your heart skip a little. You’ve never seen a meteorite in real life, and you heard they’re pretty expensive. Was it worth leaving the warmth of your four walls, to look for the treasure?

You wouldn’t fall asleep until you found out what the thing was, you realized. It caught too much of your attention to dismiss now. You sighed. It wasn’t too cold outside, only awfully windy. You quickly grasped your raincoat and a phone, hoping that it wouldn’t soak through and you’d still be able to use it as a torch.

The world at night was unwelcoming, and you found yourself skipping towards the forest, hoping that among the trees, you’d feel slightly more at ease. The lightnings stroke even more often than before, making your phone almost useless, because all your surroundings brightened up every few seconds anyway. You tripped over roots nonetheless, and thick mud quickly stuck to your legs; you’d have to take a shower and change your clothes once you got back home.

Something glistened among the trees, a white flag-like thing. For a brief moment you mistook it for fire, but then, what fire would stand such weather? The thing wavered in the air, disappearing from your sight every few seconds and appearing again. Definitely not a meteorite, you realized. You stepped towards it confidently though, almost sure that it was exactly the thing you saw, and definitely too curious about it to give up now.

You stepped into the small clearing. The stain of white was completely soaked through, just like you. But when you stepped forward, your heart almost stopped. Because among the white sheets, there was a motionless, human silhouette.

Your hesitation lasted no more than a few seconds, before you ran forward and towards the person. You knelt next to them, pushing them onto their back. 

The man’s eyes remained closed, and that was all you could see in the flashing light of lightnings that struck every few seconds, disabling you from having a proper look at his body. 

You felt your head spin at the realization. This man fell from the sky. 

No way he would survive it.

You touched his skin – cold from the rain. Yet, no visible wound was in your range of sight. 

“H-hey…” Your voice quivered, but it wouldn’t get through the noise of wind, rain and thunders. You shook his shoulders desperately.

And at that moment, the white matter surrounding him waved, and something struck you so hard that you stumbled backwards and fell onto your back. The whiteness whirled, trembled, moved, and you could nothing but stare as it finally regained its original shape.

The shape of white wings, ones that grew out of the man’s back as he slowly rose to his knees, checking out both his surroundings and the white, shattered robe that covered his slim body.

Finally, his gaze fell on you, and a frown adorned his face.

“Human…?” Your breath got stuck in your throat, and you could nothing but stare. “Close your eyes.”

You found yourself listening to the command without a thought, as if the superior voice took control of your body. For a few seconds, all you heard were noises of shuffling, barely drowned out by the weather. 

Then, you felt a presence hover above you, and you forced your eyes open to see a hand extended to you, to help you stand up from the cold ground.

You took his hand, and to your surprise, the skin seemed warm and dry. It was as if the rain around the man avoided him, and you quickly realized, that his wings were gone now. He stood in front of you with a slight, sly smirk on his face. 

“Tell me, what is a human doing in a place like such at this time? Won’t you get sick? You’re all so fragile, after all.”

You opened your mouth, and for a few seconds, forced yourself to think of a proper response, fighting for your voice not to fail you.

“I… saw something fall from the sky. It was you, wasn’t it?” 

He let out a breathy laughter.

“So you came to my rescue? How kind of you.” He stepped backwards, playing with the sleeve of his robe. “That’s good though, I have nowhere to stay for the time being. Will you be so kind and lend me your bed, human?”

Your lips parted in slight shock. Was he really willing to stay at your place? 

And what kind of existence he was in the first place? You couldn’t tell. You felt dumb now, unable to understand something the man seemed so casual about.

“Y-you can sleep on my couch” you finally let out. 

The man smiled warmly.

“Sounds brilliant. Let’s go there.”

Reaching the warmth of your own house made you feel more at ease. Even the thunders wouldn’t bother you anymore as you grew used to the noise. Closing the door behind the two of you, you were welcomed with the familiarity you felt nothing but comfortable with, and the mysterious stranger’s presence became less overwhelming the very moment you noticed him look around curiously, but politely not touching anything, like a guest should behave. 

You took off your shoes and raincoat, hanging them by the door. Your pajama pants were still soaked through and you’d probably leave stains on the floor, but it was the least of your concerns now. You glanced at the stranger; the man stood by the door, clearly not knowing what to do. His hand massaged the other arm’s shoulder, but you couldn’t tell if he was doing it out of boredom or if it was hurt.

You had to take care of him, somehow. To get him to tell you, what he was and what happened to him, of course. Your curiosity was at its peak, but you forced it down, knowing better than to interrogate him now.

“Are you hurt? I don’t know much about medicine and stuff, but I can try to help” you announced, leading him to the living room ahead of the main door.

“Ah, it’s nothing. I just need to rest a bit” he answered, smiling softly, yet his gaze was avoiding you, wandering around the room and stopping on all the tiny things, ornaments, or plants around it, as if it was the first time he’d seen things like this from up close. 

“Okay then, but you surely need to change clothes” you announced. His robe, even though – somehow – dry, was stained with dirt and torn in a few places. “You want a shower? You must be cold” you offered, pointing at the bathroom’s door. “And you’ll dirty my couch if you lay like this, so I insist” you added. The man just nodded, and you excused yourself for a few minutes, going to fetch him some clothes; your parents were away this week, but you were sure your dad wouldn’t mind his shirt and tracksuit pants being borrowed to someone who clearly needed them. 

Once the man was safe in your bathroom, you found yourself letting out a huge breath, as if you were holding it for the past twenty minutes.

What exactly were you doing?

Helping a person in need was, no doubt, a proper thing to do. But it wasn’t the need to help him that urged you to invite him to your house, you realized. Because if it was, you’d have fought it with your self perseverance, and maybe called the ambulance to check him for injures and take care of him. But a stranger, one you didn’t know anything about, one that seemed more suspicious than not and was the first one to actually ask you to keep him for the night, was the last person you should invite over with no parents at home, in the middle of night. 

You’d say that the self perseverance was fought by curiosity, an overwhelming one, but not only. You could be just curious about a person, just curious about their whereabouts. But the wings you surely saw before? The fact he fell from the sky and still was able to walk around as if it didn’t bother him much? And that weird robe, one you’ve never seen a person wear, one that was different from any other you’ve ever seen? It was more than just curiosity. You felt as if you’ve just briefly got a hold of something not many other people do, something beyond your way of understanding. It wasn’t just some curiosity; it was a primal longing, a need that was buried within everyone’s souls, something deeper, something fuller.

With thoughts like such, you found yourself justifying the irresponsible behavior. And as soon as they started, you dismissed them, forcing yourself to focus on what you had to do right now. 

Food. He had to be hungry. And even if he wasn’t, food would definitely help him recover. 

You didn’t have much. Your parents’ absence was one of the reasons why your eating schedule was a mess, and you’d just make yourself rice with vegetables once every few days and just eat them at the moments of hunger, not caring about the proper dinner or lunch times. Anyway, there was still some of the rice with veggies left, and you put the pan on the heating stove to warm it up. You decided to boil water as well. 

No more than ten minutes later, when the rice and tea for the two of you was already done, the bathroom’s door opened and the man came out. In the light of your house, you could finally get a better look at his features. 

He looked young, somewhere around your own age, and a tad boyish, especially with how your dad’s shirt hung on his thin body. He seemed spent, but still wary, watching you carefully, even though it didn’t seem as though he considered you a threat. He was still stronger than you were, that much you were sure about. 

One of the towels you gave him was hung around his shoulders and he used it to dry his hair. His eyes were fixated on you as he did so and you cleared your throat, pointing the opposite seat. He went through the living room and to the kitchen, sitting by the table a tad awkwardly.

“I heated up some food, so feel free to stuff yourself up. You need to eat, if you want to recover” you reasoned, reaching for an apple to keep yourself busy and – also – to encourage the man to relax a little in your presence. 

He nodded his head, busying himself with the food as well.

He ate fast, as if he didn’t do that in ages. He managed to burn his tongue with the tea, but it didn’t bother him much. Now, with his attention occupied, when you found yourself staring at his silhouette, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. On the skin of his arms, you spotted red marks that started to poke out, as well as a scratch on his forehead, one that was covered by his hair earlier. It didn’t seem as though any of his bones were broken, otherwise you’d have already noticed. But he was weakened.

“Am I such a beautiful sight to behold?” he suddenly spoke, startling you. 

You looked up at his face. As predicted, he was watching you cautiously, not stopping to chew for a second, even as he spoke. 

“U-uh, sorry, I’m just curious” you muttered in response.

“Curious? About what?” He tilted his head to the side, letting the fork hang loosely from his hand. His eyes sparkled with some kind of emotion you couldn’t quite get a hold of.

“Well, about you, obviously” you answered honestly, leaning against the chair’s backrest. “I uh… I saw your wings earlier. But they disappeared. And you fell from the sky. It’s not something I experience on daily basis” you reasoned. “Who are you?” you asked bluntly, furrowing your brows. 

He chuckled, his lips curling into a charming smile, one that you were sure, would stay in your memory for long.

“I think we should have started with that. My name is Baekhyun. Yours?” 

You bit on your lip and took a sip of your tea.

“[Y/n]. And I live here. Where do you live?”

“Far away” he hummed, suddenly reminding himself of his own tea as well. It was already cooled down enough not to cause damage while drinking.

“I gave you food. Specify” you huffed, squinting yours eyes at his attempt to maintain the secret.

“But would you believe it? I wouldn’t want you to call cops on me. It’d be troublesome” he said with a cheeky smile, resting his chin on his hand once he finished the meal. 

“You’re more likely to be called cops on if you don’t spill” you announced, crossing your arms in a firm pose. 

“But you already know the answer, don’t you?” he announced, staring at you with amusement. “I’ve got wings, and I fell from the sky. Isn’t the answer obvious? I’ve lived among humans before, I’m not clueless. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

The lip you bit on was starting to swell, but you found yourself growing a bit more nervous with every passing second. Of course, the answer was simple. Yet, the word just wouldn’t get through your throat. A part of you was still doubtful, as it probably should be. 

You took a deep breath and exhaled it, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth.

“So you’re an angel.”

You wanted it to be a question, not a statement, but as you pronounced it, it became nothing but obvious that there was no reason to hesitate.

Something poked at the edge of your mind, a thought that seemed random, yet so on point that you had to speak it aloud.

“But if you fell from the sky… Does it make you a fallen angel?” The edge of the man’s lip tilted even higher, and at that moment, his face suddenly seemed scarier than ever before. “…A demon?”

You held your breath, waiting for his response, but it didn’t come. The man just sipped his tea in silence, not caring much about your growing nervousness.

Only a few minutes later, when he put the cup down and looked at you again, had you noticed the slightly annoyed gaze he graced you with.

“I may be one, but I’m not irrational. I don’t have a reason to hurt you, so loosen up.” When he noticed you only tense more at his words, he let out a sigh. “Look, just give me a place to sleep and I’ll be gone first thing in the morning. I have no business with you.”

You pursed your lips and nodded slowly, staring down at your cup. What kind of mess were you getting yourself into? You didn’t know, but what you knew so far, didn’t satiate your curiosity just yet.

“Why have you fallen?” you asked, staring at him firmly. 

He sighed. But maybe he didn’t care about how much you knew, so he answered.

“I’ve hurt some. That’s all. Can I get a bed?”

“What do you mean by ‘some’?” you pried.

“Angels. Humans. Don’t be stubborn” he scolded you.

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine, then. You can have my bed, I’ll sleep in my parents’. The room is upstairs” you pointed at the stairs in the living room, getting up to put the dishes in the sink. 

But as soon as Baekhyun stood up and turned around, you found yourself dropping all you’ve been holding, your eyes fixated on the sight on his back.

“O-oh God.” Your voice wavered and the man turned around, startled by the sound of the cup shattering on the tiled floor.

“What’s that?”

“Y-your back.”

He frowned.

“What about it?”

“You’re bleeding!” you exclaimed, stepping over the shards and to his side. With no much thought, you turned his back to you. The whole backside of the shirt was sticking to his skin, covered with redness that would seep through it and even through the pants he wore. But you didn’t see the injury, and you were surprised he himself didn’t notice it until now. “Oh God” you said once more.

His turned his head to glance at you, and the concern on your face made his own twist in sadness. As if after all this time, he suddenly started to think about the consequences of what he’d done.

“I’ll stain your bed if I lay like this” he exclaimed quietly. “Can I sleep on the floor?”

You grit your teeth and hit the nape of his neck with your opened hand.

“You fucking idiot, you’ve been scaring the shit outta me me just a minute ago and now you’re worried about the fucking bed? The bed is the least of our problems now, you’re fucking bleeding!” you almost yelled. For some reason, the pitiful tone he had now pissed you way more than the cheeky smile with which he avoided speaking at all. “Anyway. I need to see the injury. You won’t help yourself, so let me see it.”

“It’s no injury” he spoke.

“It’s bleeding. Show me.” You tugged on his arm, leading him into the living room and sitting him on the small stool, so that you could have a good look at whatever was going on underneath his shirt. 

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled the shirt over his head and threw it onto the floor – fortunately – away from the carpet. 

You held your breath. Most of the blood sank into the fabric, and you could clearly see the two long gashes that looked like a shape of V cut deeply into his back, but not meeting at the bottom. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it had something to do with his wings, but what happened for these to look so awful – you couldn’t tell. And no way it didn’t hurt him, you realized. The skin looked ripped at the edges, its pieces seemed to be barely attached to the body. 

“Oh, God” you muttered yet again.

“How does it look?” he asked, peeking at you over his shoulder.

“Well, terrible” you answered honestly. “Definitely not like something you’d willingly do to yourself. Is it always like this? When you… You know, hide your wings?”

He shook your head.

“No. The gashes are never open.” He sighed deeply. “Move aside and close your eyes” he commanded, and you rolled your eyes in response, but obediently did as he asked. You knew what he was about to do, and hopefully, it’d clear some of his doubts.

You heard the shuffling noise as he probably made sure that he wouldn’t hit anything in the room by accident. His wingspan seemed pretty impressive earlier on, one wing could be around two meters long. Then, there was a moment of silence, and a quiet whimper, one which he probably couldn’t hold back in his weakened state. 

And a few seconds later, a scream of pain ripped through the room, and you instantly opened your eyes in panic, only to whimper as well at the sight that appeared in front of you.

One of his wings was extended fully, but it definitely didn’t look like what you remembered. It was ripped off the flesh almost completely, with very few feathers barely sticking to it in random places. Most of it was nothing but a bone covered in blood, a skeleton of what used to be his wings.

The other one was in no better state, but it wouldn’t even extend fully. Around half meter of a bone stuck out from the gash in his back, and it seemed as though he wasn’t even able to get out anymore of it. 

You rushed to Baekhyun’s side when he fell off the stool, curling up on the floor with loud, pained whimpers. The full wing fell limply on the floor behind him, the other just stayed rigid as it was; it had no joints on the short length. 

To your utter terror, you realized that despite the state he was in, he was still trying to push the rest of the wing through the gash. It extended slowly, ripping the gash open even more, extending it through his back. It definitely shouldn’t be like this, it definitely shouldn’t be so hard to get out. 

“Stop it, Jesus, Baekhyun, stop doing that!” you yelled.

His eyes were clouded as he looked up at you, finally giving up. But the expression of pain never disappeared from his face, and when he turned his head to look at what’s left of his wings, a small sob escaped his lips, more pitiful than anything you’ve heard before. Right now, he didn’t look like a demon – but a small, broken creature, one that was in too much pain to bear with alone. 

“I-I need to get it out whole” he announced with trembling voice. “It can’t stay in, it’s rotting. I need to g-get rid of them.”

“Why is it happening…” you thought aloud, unwittingly resting your hand on his shoulder in, what you hoped, was a comforting gesture. 

His face darkened, and you could tell, he knew the answer. And when you thought carefully, you could have a good guess on that too – he was turning into something else. He fell, hence why he was being deprived of his angelic attribute. 

“How are you going to get rid of them?” you asked quietly. The bones were still attached to his back. Maybe there could be some sort of surgery that’d detach the wings from the rest of his body, but other than that…? 

He forced himself to sit up, wincing every time the wings moved against his flesh. More of the blood spilled onto the floor, but none of you cared at this point. 

“Will you help me? I won’t get it out myself” he asked quietly. “Just grasp it and pull with full force” he instructed, not waiting for your answer. 

“It’ll hurt you!” Your voice quivered.

“What part didn’t you understand?” he snarled. “I need to get it out. Just do it.”

“Fine” you huffed with annoyance. You were positive that you could just do it, especially with the other’s behavior that just pleaded to put him back in place. But when you touched the gross, bloody structure, almost flinching away yourself, and you felt his body shiver underneath your fingers, you once again felt nothing but pity for this creature. 

He wrapped arms around his knees, digging nails into them as soon as you felt him start to push on the wings. You pulled on the wing, a bit hesitantly, not wanting to cause him anymore pain than what he was already going through. But then, you realized, the faster the wing was out, the sooner it’d be over. 

And so, you pulled, with all the strength you had, until you felt the structure come out of the gash, until your whole frame was stained with his blood, until the screams that ripped through his throat finally died down, until the wing was out whole. Only then, had you released it, letting it fall limply on the floor beside the other.

And right after the wing, he fell limply, too.

* * *

While sound asleep in your bed, Baekhyun finally looked at ease. 

You sat on the chair next to him, gently wiping the blood off his wings. You started to grow used to their structure, even though it looked so unsettling. The whole house had bloodstains here and there, mainly on the floor, but there were some on the walls too from when you were helping him up to your room.

He was barely conscious, grazing everything around with the limp things. But when he finally laid on his side, letting the wings fall behind, had his face turned into a relaxed one, and sleep took over him almost instantly. 

Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep.

You cleaned all you could in the house, even wiped the floor. The weather outside calmed down, and the sky was starting to get brighter. The realization of half of your night being taken away brought more of tiredness onto your shoulders, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to go to sleep. As if the very moment you left the angel’s side, it’d disappear and leave you as you were. 

You found yourself wishing for him to stay instead. Maybe, just maybe, if he lost his wings, he’d decide to live among humans? He said he’d done it before, he definitely seemed familiar with the idea. He didn’t seem like there was anyone who’d look for him. Were other demons in this world, too? Would he be able to get in touch with them? Would they welcome him as a friend, help him figure everything out?

Even though you knew he needed someone to guide him, you found yourself wishing so that he’d just stay here with you. The feeling was unfamiliar, peculiar, it was some kind of possessiveness that you’d never seen in yourself before.

It was getting to you, you realized. The creature out of this world was more than just body and wings, more than the trick with which he made the rain avoid him, more than his past. There was something in him that messed with your own emotions, and whether he did it consciously or not, it had to be something dangerous.

But you were just a human, incapable of resisting it.

You laid yourself behind him, a bit lower, not to put any weight on his wings. With a brief graze of your hand, one of the last feathers went off with no resistance, and you fiddled with it in your hand. 

If you wanted to ever figure it out, you definitely couldn’t do that without at least a few more hours of sleep.

* * * 

The morning was cold. You woke up in the middle of your bed, but with nothing to cover you, and by then, you were trembling from the chill seeping through your bones, your whole body aching from it.

You reached around you, until your hand found an edge of some blanket, and then pulled it over yourself, but the thing was too thin, bringing close to no comfort to your worn-out body.

It took you a few more minutes to open your eyes and sense, what was wrong. 

You were alone in your bed, and even in your sleepy state, had you noticed that it didn’t match what you remembered from the last night’s events. 

Dried droplets of blood covering the surface of your bed were only a proof that, in fact, you didn’t just imagine or dream what you remembered.

You stumbled to your feet, almost falling off the bed when your legs tangled with the blanket. You reached for your dressing gown and wrapped it around yourself, and then pulled the slippers from underneath the bed. You instantly felt warmer, but still not enough. You glanced towards the window – it was slightly open, and you realized you must have forgot to close it in the end, before leaving the house to look for what fell from the sky.

“Baekhyun?” you called out, stepping down the stairs. But even as you halted, listening to your surroundings, nothing was there to be heard. 

You were alone in your house, with nothing but some kind of aching emptiness in your chest, and a will to run somewhere far away.

Yet, the tiredness quickly brought you back to bed, and all there was left was a single, white feather stained with blood, one that got stuck in the fabric of your sweater, and which you discovered sometime later, deciding to keep as a token of remembrance.

To be continued?

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[rebelsarestrongashell]

A Complicated Profession - Part 2

A/N: How amazing was episode 3?!? Not my best writing but really wanted to get this update out, still getting use to reader inserts! Also, this is way longer than I thought it would be! Hope you enjoy!

Binders still on, the Mandalorian quickly shoves you into the cockpit of his large, beaten down ship.

“Who hired you?” You ask with little patience

“If you’re asking who put the bounty on your head, I don’t know, take a seat,” Mando replied sharply, pointing to the chair behind the pilot's seat and not even bothering to look at you.

“Well, who gave you the puck?”

The Mandalorian ignored you as he messed with the controls and lifted the ship into the air.

“Greef Carga. I’m in the guild; he gives me the pucks.” He finally responded.

“And what were you told I was wanted for?”

“Smuggling.”

You couldn’t contain the laughter that erupted from you, finally causing Mando to turn his head towards you.

“Smuggling,” You repeated through the laughter, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Please tell me you saw straight through that when I saw I lived on a farm.”

“Yes. It doesn’t change that you’re the highest bounty I’ve seen in some time.”

“How much?”

“That’s nothing you need to worry about,” Mando had run out of patience with you, “Now keep quiet before I make you.”

He turned his complete attention to the controls has the ship left the planet’s atmosphere. You set your thoughts to the events that had just occurred. Somebody is lying to get to you, and whether it’s a careful friend or foe wasn’t clear yet. Cases could be made for each. Silence had taken over the cockpit when the hologram of an older man appeared on the dash.

“Mando! Have you obtained the quarry yet?”

“Yes, not without some trouble from other hunters, though.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Another bounty has been placed on her, and it’s twice as high. They want proof of death.”

Your heart plummeted, the wind completely knocked out of you. The Mandalorian’s head was again turned towards you, just over his shoulder. You did your best to keep a neutral expression, but who exactly was after you was starting to click into place and you couldn’t push the fear away for much longer.

“I’m bringing her in alive like I was hired to do.”

“Good. The client has offered to bump up your reward if you bring her straight to them alive. Safe passage, Mando.”

With the ship now on autopilot, the Mandalorian spun his seat towards. He didn’t speak, just stared, seeming to study you and wait for something but you weren’t sure what.

“Are you expecting a thank you?” You asked firmly, wanting to break the growing tension.

“Who wants you dead?”

“I don’t know.” You lied.

“For some reason, I don’t believe that,” He leaned in closer, “I also don’t believe you’ve been a quiet farmer all your life.”

“Well, I’m not concerned about what you believe.”

In a flash, he has his blaster drawn and aimed towards you “I could use a vacation, and the reward for your proof of death would be more than enough.”

“Oh stop with the dramatics, you’re not going to shoot me or you would have done so already,” You leaned in even closer to the Mandalorian, so you were only a foot away from his helmet, “Besides, you don’t seem like the kind of man who is fond of vacations.”

There was a pregnant pause as he seemed to calculated his next move before slowly placing his blaster back into his holster and turning his attention back to the controls, quickly sending the ship into hyperspace.

“Whatever it is you actually did, you’re lucky those you set the original bounty seem determined to keep you alive.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. It’s never simple.”

In your few experiences with bounty hunters, they never seemed to ask questions like this one does. Most wouldn’t give a second thought about who would want you dead. Even more confusing, most would jump at the chance for a high bounty. You should be dead by now, but here you are, still among the living. Maybe it was just a Mandalorian thing. This was your first time meeting one.

Neither one of you speaks for the rest of the journey, but he does occasionally look over his shoulder at you, making sure you didn’t magically disappear, you guess. He exits hyperspace, and you’re not sure what city, let alone what planet you’re descending on. The sky is clear, but yet a gray fog seems to cling to the air. As the ground comes closer, you can make out a handful of figures appearing to be awaiting your arrival.

“Those the clients?”

“Yes.”

The ship is now close enough that you can make out their faces, and the overwhelming feeling of panic takes over. These were no friends. You haven’t seen him since the day the Death Star was destroyed, and the Empire fell when he helped you escape and parted ways. His face tells you everything you need to know. He knows the truth, and there is no way you are walking out of this alive.

The ship lands, and you are desperate. “You can’t hand me over to these people please, please listen to me!”

Without a word, he effortlessly lifts you out of your seat, and the door of the cockpit opens. You try to plant your feet, but it is no use. You spin so you’re face to face with him, “Look, I’m sorry I called you a shitty bounty hunter and have been overall very aggravating, but these people will kill me, and I know bounty hunters never care, but there is something bigger at play here!”

The Mandalorian pauses, seeming to take in your words before body stiffens, “You’re right, I don’t care.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for what is lying ahead. You take in a few deep breathes, thinking about your peaceful farm, the clear skies, and wind blowing through the crops. You think about the handful of happy memories you had before the war. You guess this is what it is like to have your life flash before your eyes. You try your best to hold back the tears you feel forming, but one escapes anyway. You knew the dangers of the game when you agreed to play, and now you are meeting them face to face. Lifting your chin, you open your eyes to see the Mandalorian still staring down at you but with a tilted head of confusion.

“Let’s get this over with, show you I’m right.”

You turn to leave the cockpit when something catches your eye in the corner, “Can I at least have my staff and blaster back?”

“No.”

The ramp descends, and you feel him right behind you, grabbing your arm and leading the way because apparently, you can’t handle walking on your own. You roll your eyes and take a quick peek at him behind your shoulder; his body is still tense. He’s on edge, and you can tell he trusts this situation as much as you do. You feel slightly less annoyed that he is holding on to you.

You used to be the best of the best, that is why they sent you, but that was years ago. However, as you make your way down the ramp, you start calculating the possible outcomes, and you can feel the old training beginning to kick in. You counted eight of them with your old pal, Ragnar, in the middle. All but Ragnar had their weapons drawn, clearly ready to take you in peacefully.

“You’re going to want to get out of here as soon as possible after you hand me off.” You whisper to Mando.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at the sarcasm.

The two of you came to a halt a few feet in front of the group. Ragnar bore holes into you, waiting for you to blink first, but you didn’t, you refused.

A sudden smile appear on his weathered face, “Well there you are,” He held out his arms like he was about to embrace you, “I’m so glad we found you before those who wanted to harm you, I couldn’t even imagine.”

The Mando pulled you back, just out of Ragnar’s reach. Acknowledging Mando’s presence for the first time, he gave him a quick look of confusion before clearing his throat, “Ah yes,” He nodded towards one of his men, “You want payment before handing her over.”

A large man stepped forward with a steel case, setting it down in front of Ragnar.

“It’s not as much as the bounty put out for the others for proof of death, but it is higher than what you were promised. We appreciate your integrity.”

Mando’s grip on you tightened just enough for you to notice, and you heard a faint click from your binders. You kept your eyes locked on Ragnar, steel demeanor unchanged. A few tensioned filled seconds passed until Mando slowly started pushing you forwards to Ragnar.

An unkind shove officially transferred you to your enemies. Without another word, Mando turned and made his way up the ramp of his ship, picking up his payment on the way.

One of Ragnar’s men grabbed hold of your arm. His grip had a roughness to it that Mando’s did not. No one in the group moved, but all blasters were aimed at you, seeming to wait until the Mandalorian was good and gone before they killed you. But instead of the ship lifting off, Mando reappeared moments later with your staff in hand.

In the blink of an eye, he tossed your staff to you and while everyone was caught off guard, you spun and struck your captor across the head before swiping Ragnar off his feet. Your unlocked binders fell off with ease, and the sounds of firing blasters rung out around you.

Mando had already taken out two men by the time you grabbed Ragnar’s blaster, taking out the two men that were charging and firing at you.

“Get back on the ship!” Mando yelled at you.

Before you did, you looked back down at Ragnar, his eyes now filled with rage.

“They are coming for you,” He spat, “You will burn for your treachery.”

“Give it your best shot.” You spat right back before firing the blaster right at his chest.

“Let’s go!” Mando yelled as more of Ragnar’s men were charging at you from the city.

You sprinted up the ramp as he fired upon the incoming attackers. Suddenly Mando yelled in pain. You turned and saw him clutching his arm, struck by the incoming fire. You sprint towards, firing back at the men getting closer, giving him cover to get on the ship.

Arm now profusely bleeding, Mando closes the ramp and stumbles into the cockpit.

“Let me help.” You said, right on his tail.

“No. Sit.” He grunts, clearly in a tremendous amount of pain.

The ship roars to life, and you fall back into your seat as Mando roughly lifts the ship into the air. He ascends as quick as he cans before anyone can follow you. Within moments he had made the jump into hyperspace. For a moment there is peace in the silence, the calm beeps of the ship soothe you but still feel like you haven’t exhaled. Unsure of what to say and still trying to comprehend what just happened, you aimlessly stare at the back of Mando’s helmet.

“If I’m going to continue to risk my life for you, you’re going to have to tell me why.” the Mandalorian’s smooth voice behind the helmet brought you out of your trance.

Clearing your throat to respond, you notice the blood on his left arm, “Your arm needs looked at, do you have a medkit somewhere?”

“I can take care of it myself.”

“But you don’t have to.”

He turned towards you, and you could feel the frustration emanating from him.

“I need answers.”

“Sometimes it easier for me to talk when my hands are busy. Less thinking goes into it.”

Mando, once again, tilts his head and studies you, trying to figure you all out.

“Just outside of the cockpit, on the wall.” He sighs.

You give him a small smile and make your way to the hallway. The medkit is precisely where he said it would be, and he is already on the bench waiting for you.

You take a seat next to him and starting cleaning off his wound, ignoring his winces of pain, his helmet staring down at you the entire time.

“So…”

You let out a deep exhale. You don’t recall telling the full story to anyone before, but this bounty hunter that you’ve been on the run from for months, just risked everything to save your life. He deserves to know.

“That man, his name is Ragnar Syyn," You began, "He was an imperial officer." You paused to see if you make out any sort of reaction behind the helmet but there was none. He was listening, not judging so you continued. "For the past few years, since the fall of the Empire, I’ve been hiding away on my little farm in the outer rim. Hoping to find some sort of peace and to live out the rest of my days.”

“Hiding because you were part of the Empire?”

“I was a spy. I was a rebel who was able to infiltrate the Empire successfully, and it appears the remnants just found out, and they’re not going to like the information I have.”

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[forasecondtherewedwon]

Spiderskin

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M (non-explicit sexual content) Word count: 2469 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 3: Fairy Tale Retelling

Summary: She pulled him in one day, like a fisherman heaves his catch from the sea.

The sky was black with storm clouds and the wet window shrieked and squealed as she hauled it up to reach the figure behind the glass. She knew his face―everyone did―but she’d never seen it here and never like this. His red mask was torn and blood congealed along the jagged edges. Clinging to the wall of her building, he seemed to hold her stare for an eternity as wind whistled in and rain wet her bare feet and the rug beneath them. Then, he sagged over the sill, unconscious.

She pulled him in one day, like a fisherman heaves his catch from the sea.

The sky was black with storm clouds and the wet window shrieked and squealed as she hauled it up to reach the figure behind the glass. She knew his face―everyone did―but she’d never seen it here and never like this. His red mask was torn and blood congealed along the jagged edges. Clinging to the wall of her building, he seemed to hold her stare for an eternity as wind whistled in and rain wet her bare feet and the rug beneath them. Then, he sagged over the sill, unconscious.

Swearing and struggling, puzzled and panicking, she gripped him under the arms and leaned back as hard as she could, lugging him into her apartment. It wasn’t easy and he didn’t come without a thud. She shut the window and paced. His limpness scared her as much as his bloodied face, but she was hesitant to remove the mask. That was his identity. Though seeing his face might solve the question of why he’d come to her, it was something she could never undo. She rolled him softly onto his back, a hand behind his head to offer gentler treatment than it had taken to pull him inside. Those cuts to his face frightened her. Would he revive on his own? Without the mask, maybe he could breathe better, see better, speak better to tell her why he was here, besides the obvious and dire need for shelter.

First, she knelt. Second, she folded the mask back to expose his neck. Third, she felt for his pulse. Strong. Fourth and finally, she eased the mask up to reveal the pale underside of his jaw, his chin, his bruised mouth, his nose that had lately leaked blood from the crusted track left behind. Before she reached his closed eyes, she knew. She knew him. She knew the eyes were brown and kind and that the pain she would see in them when he awoke was not something she would ever care to see again.

Removing the mask the rest of the way, she smoothed his hair and studied his battered face. She didn’t touch him beyond that. She was afraid to. He was a hero who came in with the rain and had transformed into the boy she once pined after in the halls of their school. He might dissolve into a hundred thousand drops of water and soak the knees of her pajama pants as she waited at his side. Could she hold him? Could she keep him? Could she be sure that he was ever here at all? Leaning forward, she allowed her lips to hover, parted, above his for no more than a breath. Then, she leaned farther and whispered his name by his ear. She drew back, observing the slide of his eyes behind their lids. This time, she spoke his name louder and he winced as he surfaced from wherever he’d gone to retreat from the pain. He was strong, she thought, to allow her to coax him back to consciousness.

When he realized where he was, she didn’t see remembrance in his face and decided he must have dragged himself there as the last impulse of a failing body. She made it clear that she couldn’t provide more than superficial treatment, expecting him to admit his mistake or offer further instructions, like the name of someone who could take care of him. She’d like it to be her, but his needs were unclear, his wounds unexplored. He promised her he’d heal on his own and promised again when she requested it, fearful tears coursing down her cheeks. With the assurance that he could move, not without feeling the ache, she clutched him to her and got him as close to standing as he could bear. She told him she wouldn’t let him leave and he accepted it, asking to be submerged in a hot bath. It was possible that her intentions were already what he would later suspect they had grown to become. The trouble and the truth were that she’d rescued him. Now, why should he not be hers?

His breathing was rough and his steps stumbled as she guided him, one hand on his ribs to accept his weight and the other with a tight grasp on the mask she’d retrieved from the floor. With a grunt and a heavy lean into the wall once her arm was no longer supporting him, he assured her he was alright alone. She left him dirtying white tiles and closed the door for his privacy.

The world came back to her when they were apart and she didn’t like it. She gathered what she needed and returned to the place where he’d lain, wiping away the grime and gore, cleansing the smaller, safer world into which she’d brought him. His gashes would close, his bruises fade to yellow and nothing―that was what he’d told her―and there would be no trace of this terrible thing. The sound of the shower drew her back to the bathroom door. He must already be steadier on his feet. One trace, she thought, listening to the water’s interrupted flow as it splattered his body. One trace would remain. But she could remove it.

He'd left the door unlocked at her suggestion, in case he called for help. Well, he hadn’t called, but she would help just the same. Soundlessly, she turned the knob. Heart thumping, she slipped through the slightest crack she could manage. Darting a glance at the opaque curtain that concealed him, she snatched up the suit, the mask, and fled.

What was this thing she held in her hands? That she bundled and secreted to the deepest corner of her largest closet, stuffing it inside an empty suitcase and locking it away? A bad thing. A martyr’s uniform. The fleece of a sacrificial lamb. A spiderskin, shucked and venomous. It had made him an amnesiac of his mortality, an idea that propped him up only to be struck down over and over. His intentions may have been durable, but his apparel was flimsy. She had to intervene before he ran out of chances to get home alive―or to slump through the window of an old classmate for reasons only he knew. Whatever the case may be. The key to the suitcase went into her tiny jewellery box and in his presence, it would never come out.

He staggered from her bathroom wrapped in a towel and cottoned in steam. He was clean, and pliant when she told him to sit on her bed and let her swab his cuts to prevent infection. She tended to his face while his eyes were closed, then his hands with his eyes upon her. Again, she volunteered privacy and left him with gauze and hydrogen peroxide to care for the rest of his body. Outside her bedroom, her face burned to picture it. At her name from his mouth, she re-entered to find him shockingly bare. Sure that it was only weakness that had made him drop the towel, then lose strength before he could draw the covers down her bed, she averted her eyes and lowered the sheet for him, continuing to look away as she took his hand in the firmest grasp she could give and helped him recline. But she wasn’t careful enough. He laid back and, with eyes that told her that letting the white towel fall had been a surrender in a mood beyond weakness, implored her to stay close by. She fell asleep at his side.

Hours later, with light streaming in, she was pleased to learn his recovery was underway. Without a word beforehand, she stripped herself of her pajamas and he rolled to cover her. They made love slowly. This was, somehow, exactly as it was supposed to be.

It didn’t happen once, but every morning before they worked on healing him. She’d found him clothes, though frustratingly, they didn’t stop the single question he posed each day as they laid in the ruin of her sheets, tangled in each other. He would ask where she’d put his spiderskin. She would say it was safe, then ask why he’d come to her. It was at that point that he would tell her that he had known. What it was he had known was something he kept to himself.

He wasn’t a liar; the gashes closed and the bruises turned to mustard, then butter, then nothing, his skin pale again and unbroken. He could walk alone with his back straight and he had a good appetite for the meals she ordered in, neglecting what rotted in her fridge. She no longer had use for the world outside. She had him, and she could hardly take her eyes off him. Since school, he’d only become more handsome. Very quickly, she was in love.

As his condition improved, she noticed something that bothered her. Instead of occupying himself with a book or a show, he would spend long hours looking out her windows. What disturbed her most was when he chose the one through which she’d pulled him that night. Formerly, she had kept the windows cracked open in good weather, but now, they were always shut. For his safety, she told herself. This was nothing. She intensified her efforts to care for him. He was grateful, that was obvious, and he welcomed her touch, sometimes drawing her away from another focus to take her to bed in the middle of the afternoon. All of her longing was to make him as happy as she was.

Her friends were forgotten, her family put off, and the work she did from home all but neglected. She came to feel that she had stopped time to have him here. The choice seemed worth it for their blissful mornings together―before their ritual exchange of questions that went unanswered―and for the satisfaction of devoting herself to his protection. At first, she thought of the key all the time, but eventually, days toppled into weeks and she forgot that he might be motivated to remain for any other reason than loving her back. One evening, they shared a bath. With his arms securely around her as his hands lingered (without protest from her) on the task of soaping her chest, he murmured into her ear that he had used her computer to order her a gift. She turned to him, smiling, and if she could’ve acknowledged that there were other people on earth, she would’ve pitied them.

When the gift arrived, MJ buzzed the delivery person into the building to receive it at her door. With his gravitation towards the windows and the city beyond, she was reluctant to leave the apartment, even to go the short distance to the lobby.

He opened it for her, a box within a box, and she gasped at the jewelled, black flower he withdrew to hang around her neck. Though she considered it perfect, he was upset; several petals had splintered from the flower in shipping. She liked it better that way. Besides, perhaps something could be done with the pieces. It could be fixed. For now, she would keep them in her jewellery box. She whisked them away to her bedroom, unaware that he had followed her. Unaware that his superior eyesight would pick up the silver shine in the top tray of the jewellery box and, from across the room, identify it as a key.

Although they developed favourites in the litany of restaurants that offered take-away, she varied their meals, so it surprised her when he expressed a craving for a food she was unable to provide. But she could provide it, he encouraged her. The only thing was that they would have to buy the ingredients and make it themselves. Hating to leave him, the idea gave her a terrible feeling. However, he had lately been sitting at the window more and more. If this would cheer him up, she would overcome her misgivings and give him what he wanted. She was heartened by the passion of his goodbye kiss and promised a swift trip.

It was a shock to return to the streets of the city she’d been blocking out. She had never been afraid of it, only fearful on his behalf when it had sent him to her, wrung out by the demands of too many dangers and desperate people who would never understand the care he required the way she did. While she selected their groceries, clouds tumbled across the sky. As she paid, they darkened to a deep, ominous blue. She caught a bus home and jumped when rain struck the windows in a sudden torrent. At her block, she pushed violently at the doors and stumbled onto the sidewalk, instinct screaming that something was very, very, very wrong.

As fast as she flew up the stairs, as hard as she hoped, and as fiercely as she regretted ever having left at all, none of it mattered. She burst into the apartment and knew that he was gone. She raced to her bedroom. Her jewellery box sat open and there were clothes strewn across her carpet from where he dug the suitcase from the back of her closet. It sat open and gutted like a clamshell in the middle of her floor. She couldn’t bear to sweep her gaze across their bed, but tripped back out of the room, searching for a sign. When she saw the open window that the rain was now slanting through, she thought that was all he’d left her. As she approached, face already crumpling in despair, she spotted the note on the floor and picked it up before the rain could reach it. Finally, she discovered what it was he had known and never explained to her:

I knew that you would help me, with no questions asked.

I knew that you would love me, harder and sooner than I could ever have loved you.

I knew that I would have to go back, and that it would hurt, and that I was no one’s to keep.

She understood that he would risk his life again. With ceaseless repetition, he would test his two skins until one or both gave way. Heartbroken, she crushed the note in her hand and flung it straight out the window, where the paper would turn to mush and the ink would bleed away. Her chest heaved and the necklace he had given her weighed against her skin. She held the pendant in her hand and raised it for observation. The flower would always be broken. Without its petals, it would always look, more than a little, like a spider.