#is it safe to walk through that pile? absolutely not there are FOR SURE kitchen knives in there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indigostreak-inthesky · 1 year

Text

Dripping Honey

Pairings: Danny x reader

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving) use of hands, like one line about masturbation, 18+ only minors dni!!! , talk of stress/ anxiety

Author’s Note: hello! I have never ever posted or even written anything of this caliber before, but Jooty Nation saw it first & encouraged me to post! Please enjoy :)

(Also yes I did add a Taylor Swift reference in here iykyk)

There are several things you love about being a teacher. Really, there are- you get to be the only smiling face some of your students see all day; you get to share in their excitement when they finally master the concept of long division; you get invited to dance recitals, baseball games, cheer competitions, and theater performances; and above all, you get to build a little family every school year with the children who walk through your door. Because of these things, most of the time, you absolutely love your job. There are just some things that occasionally make it hard to remember why you’re there.

For example, today. It’s the first day back for teachers before students enter the building next week to start a brand new school year, and you walked into your classroom expecting to see your furniture piled neatly where it had been left in May, meticulously labeled with your name and room number. Instead, you walked into a relative shit show- your furniture is spread around the room; desks don’t match; you’re missing a lamp, a bookshelf, and a stepstool; and all of your bulletin boards have been sprayed with wax from the floors sometime during the summer months, meaning you were going to have to take all four of them down and start from scratch. And to top it all off, a dead rat had been waxed to your floor.

With a sigh, you had set your things down and gone to the faculty meeting, spending the better part of the morning in your school’s cafeteria listening to your admin go over staffing and schedule changes, making a list of all the things you needed to do before you left for the day and made it back home, wishing your boyfriend would be there but knowing he was out of town. When you finally made it back to your room, it had taken the rest of your contracted time to hunt down the missing items from your room and return the things that didn’t belong to you to their rightful owners; you weren’t sure what the floor crews had been thinking when they put things away after waxing the floors, but it definitely wasn’t about putting things back where they actually belonged.

Which is why, when you walked through your door after a long first day back, you dropped your gym shoes by the door and immediately face planted into your couch, groaning your frustrations into a pillow and fighting the tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t notice the bag sitting by your kitchen island, or the pair of lowtop Nike Blazers sitting next to your Birkenstocks by the door. You only realized something was off when you heard the soft sound of footsteps coming from your bedroom, and peeked up to catch a glance of your favorite set of curls before scrambling up off the couch and launching yourself at your boyfriend.

Danny laughed, your favorite sound in the world, and picked you up by the backs of your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He spun you around gently in a circle before setting you back safely on the ground, leaning down to hold your face between his palms and giving you a soft kiss before you bury your head in his chest once again. “Hi, honey,” came his muffled voice from where he had his head atop yours, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Is it safe to say you’re surprised?”

“Daniel Wagner, you weren’t supposed to be home for another week!” you say, looking up into his pretty hazel eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Danny guides you to sit down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and moving your legs to where they’re laid over his lap, his arm around your shoulders and left hand playing with the cartilage piercings on your left ear; an endearing habit you’ve come to learn he doesn’t realize he’s doing most of the time.

Though your drummer has his own ears pierced, he’s been taken with your piercings since you met in Nashville a year ago. It shocked Danny that an elementary school teacher could have 12 visible piercings in your ears and nose, and now he enjoys helping you pick out new jewelry for your constellation piercings and will pick up fun earrings for your first holes while he’s out on tour, sending pictures of planet earrings that “will be so perfect for your space unit,” or mushroom earrings “because your students need to see what a fungi you are. Get it?” (You got it, you just didn’t want to encourage his terrible joke. You did love the earrings, though.)

Danny gently runs his hand up and down your shin, rousing you from your thoughts and bringing your attention back to the question at hand- what was he doing here?

“We have a couple days off between shows, and I know I said I was going to just hang out with the guys instead of flying back here, but I know how stressful this week is for you every year, plus they all wanted to spend a few days in their own beds, too. We caught an early flight this morning and packed weekender bags, so I’m all yours for the next 3 days, honey!” His small smile broke into a full grin, and Danny spread his arms wide, taking a sarcastic little half bow while sitting next to you.

You feel your eyes well up with tears anew, taken aback by your boyfriend’s selflessness and the magnitude of your love for him. He frowns slightly, pulling you in to nuzzle into his side and rubbing your arms up and down comfortingly. “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t cry, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, “I’m just really thankful for you and I love you a lot. You have no idea how stressed I was today, and I don’t know how I’m going to get my classroom ready in time for Back to School Night on Wednesday, and I missed you so much, and I had to spend all day in meetings and moving furniture by myself and I’m only 5’5” and-” you hiccupped, feeling yourself getting stressed once again as Danny wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs and pulled you into his chest.

“Don’t be sorry, honey,” he said softly, rocking you both back and forth as you had moved to sit on his lap, legs crossed behind his waist and head on his shoulder. He traced soft circles into your back before pushing you away slightly to brush the hair out of your face and look you in the eyes. “Tomorrow, after your meetings, I’ll come to school and help you move and set up whatever you need to set up. We’ll work until midnight, if we have to, and I’ll order pizza and we can put Star Wars or true crime or the Great British Baking Show onto your SmartBoard, and we’ll get everything done before Wednesday, I promise. But tonight, let’s take a bath, and eat the pasta I made for dinner, and lay down so you can relax before you go back tomorrow, okay? How does that sound?”

You nod your head, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips and running your hand over the back of his curls. When you part, you rest your forehead against his, placing a peck on his beautiful nose and closing your eyes to just breathe him in, this closeness that you’ve been missing since the start of the tour and unexpectedly get to bask in. “Thank you,” you whisper into the space between your mouths, each breath mingling together. “I love you.”

Danny places another kiss to your lips, lifting you off his lap and leading you to the kitchen by your hand. “I love you, more,” he says.

As you finish dinner and put the dishes into the dishwasher, you hear the faucet turn on from the direction Danny had wandered off in. You place the last dish into the rack and start the wash cycle, padding into the bathroom to find your boyfriend on his knees, testing the temperature of the water with his hand and pouring your favorite lavender epsom salt beneath the surface of the running water. Leaning against the counter behind him, you take the opportunity to study his bare frame; his hair is unruly and has been tucked into a bun on the top of his head, curls springing out from the bottom due to his recent hair cut. His shoulders are broad, muscles rippling with every movement and his arms are bigger than they were when you first met. You feel yourself grow damp just admiring his profile, love and lust swirling in your chest and tummy and creating an almost delirious yearning within you.

Danny turns, a lopsided smile on that mouth that you love so much, and shuts the water off before moving to stand in front of you. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the view, honey, but I think you’re going to enjoy this bath much more.”

You roll your eyes, skimming your hands along his sides and feeling him shiver slightly beneath the scratch of your nails. “I don’t know,” you purr, looking up at him through your lashes. “There isn’t a whole lot I enjoy more than getting to see you naked.”

Danny flicks your nose gently, pulling at the hem of your top to remove it before moving onto your jeans, pulling them off one leg at a time. You don’t miss the way his eyes flare as he struggles a bit to get them past your ass. You place your hands on his shoulders as you step out of your pants, underwear gone with them, and he tosses the jeans to the laundry basket in the corner before softly pushing you to step into the tub. Closing your eyes, you sink beneath the surface of the water, and let out a deep breath you were unaware you had been holding. The temperature was perfect; “boiling alive degrees,” as Danny liked to say, but nevertheless you feel him sink into the tub behind you, hissing a bit as the water hits his skin and pulling you into him so that your back is flush with his chest.

You sit that way for a bit, Danny humming softly and speaking about everything and nothing. It had been almost three weeks since you had seen each other, and your drummer had endless tales from the road of the Kiszka brothers’ shenanigans and fan encounters. He washed your hair for you as you told him about your half of the time apart, how you had gone to see your family a few states away and finished two more books towards your reading goal for the year.

“And then, before one show, they brought a bunch of puppies for us to play with! Did you see that video? They were so cute, even though Jake acted like he had never pet a dog before in his life.” Danny laughed.

You giggled along with him, settling back into his chest once again and sighing. Your need for him had not been satiated, and now, after hearing his voice and his laugh, you felt like you would crawl out of your skin if you couldn’t touch him in some way. Thankfully, Danny’s thoughts seemed to align with your own, and within seconds you felt his hand inch down from your hair to your neck, moving the soaked strands away so that he could place an open-mouthed kiss to the skin between your neck and shoulder blade. Your eyes flutter shut and you let out a small whimper, going to trail your hand up his thigh when his own halts you. Frowning, you turn your head towards him with a question in your eyes.

“Let me take care of you tonight, honey,” Danny says, trailing his hands lower to cup your breasts in his palms. “You worked so hard today, and I know you’re stressed. My sweet, hardworking girl, my good girl; you gonna let me make you feel good?”

“Yes, Danny, please,” you whimper, arching your back so that your chest meets his hands. His fingers, rough from years of gripping his drumsticks and beating on his drums like his life depended on it, find the bars of your nipple piercings and tug. You bite your lip, writhing beneath his touch as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I am still in awe of these,” he says in a voice an octave lower than normal, his own arousal evident in the timbre of his words and the hardness you feel against your back. “Can’t believe such a sweet girl has such a dirty, sexy little secret she hides from the world.” He gives another flick to the little sword shaped bars through your nipples, pausing his words to run his nose along the column of your neck and tug the lobe of your ear between his teeth. “You’re only a dirty girl for me, though, right honey?”

You nod feverishly, earning yourself a pinch to the inside of your thigh.

“Words, honey, you know that by now. Who are you a filthy girl for, hm? Who’s the only one that gets to see these little secrets-” he pulls gently again at your pierced tits for emphasis- “and all your soft, pink places?”

You aren’t sure if you’re shivering from the rapidly cooling water temperature or the feelings Danny is evoking in you, but you answer anyways, teeth chattering, “You, Danny, baby, only you.”

Abruptly Danny stands behind you, tugging your body up with his and pulling the plug so that the water drains from the tub. He grabs a towel from the hook on the wall, first drying off your body and then his own. He wastes no time in picking you up by the waist and setting you on the bathroom counter, standing between your legs and stealing your breath away with a kiss.

“What do you want, honey?” he asks in between kisses. “My hands, my mouth, my cock?”

He’s teasing and you both know it, know that he’s stolen your voice with the way his mouth is sucking bruises onto the tops of your breasts and his fingers drumming a beat against the inside of your thigh. If you didn’t know your boyfriend, you might say the tapping of his fingers so close to where you needed him most was absentminded; and if your boyfriend didn’t know you, he might think you were squirming because of the deep purple mark being left right above one of your nipples. You both knew the other like the backs of your hands, though, which means he knew he was working you up with the way both his mouth and hands moved in tandem, and you knew he was drumming into you with purpose.

A whine escapes your throat, every one of your senses flooded with Danny, Danny, Danny. His name was the only thought in your head, just the way he liked it. “Sweet girl, are you already thoughtless?” he teased. “Just give me one word, honey, and it’s yours. Tell me what you want, and I’ll hang the fuckin’ moon for you if that’s what leaves those perfect lips of yours.”

“Y-your mouth, baby,” you almost cry. “I want your mouth.”

Danny’s eyes grow impossibly dark, and his hands grip bruisingly hard onto your hips, scooting you so that half your ass is hanging off the bathroom counter. One massive hand creeps up to circle your throat, tilting your chin up with his thumb and applying just enough pressure to have you open your eyes, unaware that they had even closed in the first place.

“I told you I’d hang the fuckin’ moon for you, and I will, honey; but only if you ask the right way. Be my sweet honey girl and beg for it.”

You knew what he wanted; you’re a few months older than your drummer, enough to have put a year between you in school (which you learned shortly after meeting him) and you have both a Bachelor’s degree and a Master’s degree in Educational fields. Danny graduated high school and immediately dedicated his time to the band, practicing, performing, traveling, and living that dream. He loves the fact that, despite you being older (even if it’s by less than 10 months) and ‘more educated’, you follow his directions when it comes to intimacy. He wants to be in control and guide you, make you beg and grovel for the feeling that only he can give you; and beg you will for even just a taste of the drug that is Daniel Wagner.

“Please, sir. Put your mouth on me, fuck me with your tongue, make my pussy cry from the feeling. Please, only you can make me feel so fucking good I forget my own name, Daddy.” To add to the effect, you bat your eyelashes sweetly and reach out to skim your thumbnail over his nipple. You needn’t have bothered; Danny’s eyes flashed and he crushed your mouth to his in an instant, immediately dominating the kiss by forcing his tongue into your mouth and twisting his fingers into your wet hair. He gave your strands a tug, exposing the bare skin of your jugular to his little fangs and scraping his teeth over the vein before biting down gently.

“My honey girl wants my mouth? She wants me to make that sweet little cunt cry? Oh baby, don’t you worry; I’ll eat you so good. My favorite fuckin’ dessert.”

No sooner had the filthy words left his mouth than did he sink to his knees, spreading your legs even wider and throwing your calves over his shoulders. He pressed the tip of his nose into your center, inhaling deeply as your hands come to rest atop his head and take a light hold into his curls. Danny looks up at you, grinning like a devil from between your legs and sending you a wink before diving in.

Your head hits the mirror when he licks a long strip straight up the center of your pussy, gathering every drop of arousal that had gathered between your legs. “God damn, honey, all this for me?” he asks, nudging your clit with the tip of his nose. God, that nose. You could write an epic poem about that nose and the things it does between your thighs.

You feel a sharp sting on the inside of your left thigh and yelp, glancing down to see Daniel licking over the skin to soothe his bite. “I asked you a question, y/n. Is. This. For. Me?”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, it’s all for you, only for you. Nobody else, God, please just touch me!” You whine, chest heaving with the intensity of your need for him. Danny takes pity on you, shushing your cries with a kiss and making you jump when you feel the pad of his thumb circling your puffy clit once, twice, three times. You keen, moaning into his mouth and grasping onto his shoulders as you grind yourself onto his hand. Every time Danny touches you is like a fever; you feel fire spreading through your body and reach a peak wherever his touch meets your skin. Even if you knew it meant being burned alive, you wanted to bask in that fire, that heat, for the rest of your life.

“Okay, honey girl, okay,” Danny shushes, once again trailing his lips down your neck, your sternum, your belly, and settling onto his knees in front of you. “You’ve been so good, baby. So good. Daddy’s gonna give his honey girl what she deserves.”

You could cry with relief when you feel the tip of his tongue meet your swollen clit, burying your hands into his hair not so gently this time and grinding yourself onto his face. He gives you the softest kitten licks before traveling down to push his tongue towards your entrance, effectively fucking you with the heavenly muscle before travelling back up to your clit. Danny resurfaces only to talk to you in the way that he knows you adore, the way that only he can, pushing one thick finger into you as he does. “That’s it, y/n, use my mouth. Daddy told you he would give you what you want, but my dirty girl is so determined to take it herself. Jesus, fuck, honey, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You ready for another?”

You nod your head rapidly, still bucking your hips to ride his hand. “Shit, Danny, baby, I’m so close, can I come? Please, daddy, I’ve been your good girl, please make me come-” you cut yourself off as you feel a tear slip down your cheek. Your body feels like it’s on fire and that knot inside your belly is dangerously close to snapping. You do your best to hold yourself together, especially as Danny slips another finger into you and curls them just right to hit that spot within your body that nobody, no previous partners nor even yourself, could seem to find. Danny found it within minutes of your first time together, and has never failed to make you see stars by hitting it each time since.

“Give it to me, honey girl,” your drummer says, adding that sinful tongue of his to the wildfire that is between your thighs. “Come on my tongue.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. With a strangled cry of “oh, fuuuuck, Daniel.” your high came crashing over you in a tidal wave, the current of it pulling you under again and again as Danny licked you through it.

When you finally pulled yourself out of your orgasmic haze, Danny was stroking his own cock furiously. You had no energy to protest and watched, chest heaving, as he came by his own hand, his head thrown back and a soft “fuck,” leaving his lips.

Standing, your drummer cleans first himself off with the used towel, then walks to the linen closet and picks out a clean washcloth, running it under warm water and cleaning between your legs as well. You stick your bottom lip out when he pecks you on the nose, pouting.

“What’s wrong, honey girl?” Danny asks with his eyebrows furrowed.

You kiss the palm of his hand as it cups your cheek. “Why didn’t you let me help you come, too? I wanted to make you feel good, baby.” You chew on the inside of your cheek, the guilt at being so wrapped up in your own pleasure you failed to make your sweet boyfriend feel the same way eating at you.

Danny placed a soft kiss on your forehead, scooping you into his arms and carrying you into your shared bedroom. He placed you on your feet, making sure your legs were steady, before padding to the dresser to get pajamas out for the both of you. “Tonight was supposed to be about you, y/n,” he assures you, slipping his Church of Rock and Roll t-shirt over your head and navigating your arms through the sleeves. “You always work so hard during the first week to make sure your classroom is perfect for your students, and I wanted to take care of you tonight. You deserve to see stars after all you do.”

He moves to put on his own pjs after aiding you into stepping into your underwear and sleep shorts, sliding on a pair of threadbare plaid pants and his well-loved Howling Wolf cutoff shirt. Snuggling yourselves into bed, you lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat for several minutes, matching your breaths to his own.

“Thank you, honey boy,” you whisper into the dark. “I love you.”

“I love you too, honey girl,” comes his reply. “You’re worth hanging the fuckin’ moon for.”

Giggling, you almost drift off into slumber when you hear Danny’s voice once again. “By the way, I convinced the guys to help with your room tomorrow. I’m not sure whether to say you’re welcome or I’m sorry yet.”

Suddenly, you can’t wait for tomorrow.

#danny wagner #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner x reader #greta van smut #gvf smut #gvf fluff #danny wagner fic #I am so so so scared to post this #if it gets deleted literally pretend you never saw it #danny wagner smut

207 notes · View notes

void-wolfie · 1 year

Text

We Had Matching Wounds. Mine's Still Black and Bruised.

summary: Jenna's still grieving after you walk out on her, but you've already moved on.

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!Reader

tw: angst, maybe depression(?)... not exactly sure, let me know if I need to add something

words: 960

a/n: thanks to the anon who suggested The Exit by Conan Gray... wrote this pretty late at night so it might be trash who knows lol

Jenna's apartment was a mess; clothes splayed across every surface, dirty dishes stacked a mile high, and a pile of laundry that hadn't been done in weeks. All in all, it was safe to say she wasn't ok, not by a long shot.

She had barricaded herself in her room long ago. Refusing to move unless it was absolutely necessary, which wasn't often. She'd drowned herself in one of your oversized hoodies and a nest of blankets. If she wasn't asleep or crying, she was staring blankly at the ceiling or mindlessly scrolling through her phone.

A notification popped up across her phone. She stared at the headline, thinking about clicking on it. The dull numbness that’d consumed her days gave way to heartache the longer she stared.

Y/N and pop singer Olivia Rodrigo officially confirm their relationship!

She was finally at a place where she wasn't gnawed away by guilt and heartache every second of the day, a sort of depressive numbness settling in. But she knew seeing you with a new girlfriend would crush her, making the reality of your breakup all too real, all the more final. But at the same time, curiosity was eating away at her. The hope that maybe it was clickbait or fake news was naively tugging at the back of her mind.

Against her better judgment, she clicked on the article.

Everyone says a picture is worth a thousand words. A thousand words wouldn't begin to cover the extent of pain Jenna was feeling.

There at the front of the article was a screenshot from your Instagram. A post of you and Olivia kissing, with the caption; Happy three months, love <;3.

She felt sick to her stomach. She probably would've puked on the spot had she actually eaten anything in the past two days.

Three months. Those words shattered her already fragile heart.

Three months... The two of you broke up only four months ago.

She could still remember the night it all went wrong, like a broken record stuck on repeat.

"y/n?" She called out, setting her stuff down on the kitchen table.

It was a miserable day, it'd been raining all day and thunder could be heard in the distance. The run from her car to the front door left her soaked from the cold rain.

"y/n?" She called out again, only to get no response.

She padded into your shared bedroom, her hair leaving tiny water drops across the tile floor as she shivered in her wet clothes.

She stopped in her tracks. There was a suitcase on the bed full of your stuff, and you were packing more in.

"What's going on?"

"I'm leaving." You didn't spare her a glance, you knew if you did you'd only be inclined to stay. Those big brown eyes of hers would always be your weakness.

"Leaving?" You weren't leaving her, were you? Sure your relationship had been on the rocks as of late, countless arguments and nights spent yelling. But had it really gotten this bad?

"I can't do this anymore, Jenna."

"Do what?"

"This. Us." You closed the suitcase, zipping it up, still refusing to look at her, "The arguing, the late nights coming home, always feeling like your second choice. I just can't do it anymore."

You finally looked at her, seeing tears streaming down her freckled face. It broke your heart, but you had to protect yourself. Even if that meant breaking her.

"Do you even know what it feels like Jenna? To feel like your second choice? You come home late every other night, you're gone for months at a time, and you lie about who you're with and where you go. Do you even remember the last time you said ‘I love you’?"

"I..." She wanted to refute everything you'd said, but she couldn't. She couldn't remember the last time you had a movie night together or even ate dinner at the same table. She couldn't remember the last time she said those three words.

You had tears of your own streaming down your face, "3 months ago. You haven’t said it in three months."

Jenna was in a stupor. Her whole world was crumbling before her, and she was lost on how to fix it.

How had you moved on so quickly? It felt like only yesterday she was so deep in love, falling into a black hole of bliss with only you on her mind. She thought you felt the same, and maybe you did. But you'd already replaced her. With one of her friends, no less.

Jenna skipped reading the article. She didn't want some reporter's half-assed observations and opinions on your dating life. They didn't know you, and she could care less about their opinion.

She clicked over to Instagram, despite her shaking hands and teary eyes, and tortured herself with your latest post.

You looked happy. There were all kinds of pictures of you and Olivia together. Pictures of you two dancing in the rain, swimming at the lake, even one at that club she never had the time to take you to. Not to mention the abundance of candid photos fans had tagged the two of you in. Pictures of the two of you kissing, the two of you visiting that little ice cream shop by the beach, some at that little cafe by your house that had your favorite coffee.

To say it was agony was an understatement. There weren't words for her pain. She could never effectively describe the heartache that left her crying for hours on end, breathless and shaky from the exertion.

It hurt knowing she carved out her own heart for you and in the end, her downfall was her own doing.

You already found someone to miss, while I'm still standin' at the exit.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #void-wolfie

277 notes · View notes

azaleablueme · 7 months

Text

Ray of Sunshine - romione

Ron and Hermione are slightly older now. Ron wears glasses when he needs to read the handwritten Auror reports; he hates them - the glasses not the reports. He still enjoys his occasional strategy sessions with Harry and his team of Aurors. But the glasses are a pain. He would not have gotten them at all if not for his wife who had dragged him out after months of him adjusting the distance between the morning newspaper and his eyes, squinting hard to find the right spot that made the blurry letters clear.

Hermione has 'aged' beautifully, she is still radiantly beautiful in his eyes, her maddening curls are ever so crazy despite the occasional hint of grey here and there. She doesn't need glasses; Ron reckons that her eyes have adjusted themselves magically knowing well that her reading habit wasn't going to decrease anytime soon. "Your tea is getting cold," she informs him, even without looking up from the pile of parchments in front of her. He chuckles and sets the report aside and picks up the cup, which is now steaming, thanks to the swift flick of her wand. The morning sun streams in through the window, lighting up a patch of their dining table.

"I'm thinking of taking a small trip," he suggested, watching her over the glasses. As expected, she looks up, curious and amused. "Have you asked your better half yet?" she inquires, putting aside the parchment she was reading, resting her chin on her palm, a smile glinting in her eyes which now have very faint lines at the corners. "What should I expect?" she adds, "Will he grumble madly or come along?"

He laughs aloud and watches as she joins in, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "Harry will be okay. We might have to bribe Ginny though," he chuckles.

"Are you sure?" she asks, "Or perhaps, he knows about this already?"

He shakes his head and pulls her hands in his, smiling at the girl he was still just as madly in love with as he was back when they were young and still at Hogwarts. There are a hundred thoughts coursing through his brain now. He still finds it absolutely barmy that he was blessed enough to belong to her, to have a safe life, have two beautiful children of their own and have a house that they had turned into a home. "Let's do that," she answers, looking into his eyes and Ron knows Hermione can read him as easily as she reads her books. "I'll get my schedule adjusted. We can be back before the kids arrive home for the Easter break." They sit still for a few blissful moments before the Floo chimes and Hermione gets up to check. "By the way, Harry knows, and he has already grumbled about it," he adds when she is almost at the kitchen door. She stops, looks at him, rolls her eyes and shakes her head before walking away. "Go and take care of your better half before we leave," she advises, and Ron lets out a laugh. "Yes, I will," he agrees aloud. Harry-Cockblock-Potter had never grown out of his bad-timing habit after all.

#romoine #drabble #romance #writing after 2 years #very rusty

54 notes · View notes

v33n4-c4rn1s · 10 months

Text

♱Whisky business♱

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Damien karras X reader

(@ashley-slashley HAS TOO MANY GOOD LITTLE PROMPTS IN THEIR POSTS OH MYYY)

Miserable. He was absolutely miserable, Damien karras, a man well know by the church, by the university, was plunged into helplessness.

He missed his mother, he felt it was all his fault, leaving her to die..leaving her to rot, all he could do now was drink away his worries.

He never took himself as much of an alcoholic but he sure did look like one, his hurt was evident..he lost his faith and his mother. It was all hopeless.

"Damien..we spoke about this,, why didn't you call me?"

[Name] took a seat next to Damien, they were lucky they managed to find him.

He barely looked up as he spoke.

"..how-..how did you even find me?.."

His voice quivering from the sheer emotions he felt right now, his lip trembling. He wasn't a man for emotions unless provoked, if anything he kept a quiet life but as [Name] explained how worried they were for him, how he wouldn't anwser the phone or the knocks on the door, he felt tears welling up in his eyes, karras felt like the worst person, scaring his lover and losing his mother.

"and i thought you..- Damien?"

[Name] went on but stopped when they heard the small sniffles of a broken man.

"Damien are you?-"

crying? yes he was, he let the tears fall freely now, sobbing into his hand as he shook his head, [Name] didn't say a word, instead they just embraced him, leaning down to kiss his head as he leaned against their chest, allowing all his pent up stress and emotions to flood out, [Name] simply ran their fingers through his hair trying to soothe him.

"I'm-..I'm so sorry.. you shouldn't have to see me so weak,,"

he mumbled, it was almost like his mind was half on, all he could recognise was whisky and warmth.

"hey- nono it's okay dims, i know it's been hard on you- hell it's the hardest thing to deal with.."

They kissed his head once more, trying to wipe the many tears that fell.

"I left her there- I left her to rot. She died alone..she died alone-"

He rambled on, [Name] figured it was best to atleast take him back to their home, keep him in a safe and warm environment.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The two walked the streets back to [Name's] home, Damien stumbling as they tried to hold him up while trying to find their house keys. Eventually they did, ushering him inside and leading him to the sofa after slamming to door shut. [Name] figured to make him some tea, ease his mind a little bit, they also left the kitchen to grab him some sweats and a t-shirt, something more comfy than his vestments, they strolled to the living room and passed him the comfy clothes which he thanked them quietly as he kissed the back of their hand.

As soon as he was changed he sat back on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall, the wall was dotted with little pictures of the two lovers doing all kinds of things..dates, work, dinners. It was sweet..his vestments lay in a pile on one of the chairs while he gazed at a few pictures for a moment.

Damien felt pressure on his lap. [Name's] cat Robbie had came to lay in karras' lap, making himself quite comfortable.

"oh..hello,,"

Karras spoke softly, smiling as he scratched behind Robbie's ear, earning a purr from the feline.

"Ah..you like that? yeah,, good boy.."

he smiled as Robbie pressed his paws into damiens leg, kneading at his jeans.

"i have some tea- oh hello Robbie..your making yourself comfortable I see?"

[Name] was back, setting two cups and a cake onto the coffee table before turning to Damien, leaning in to kiss his cheek, Robbie looked up curiously at the share of affection between the two, Damiens response to the kisses was to cup [Name's] cheeks and kiss them properly, they seemed happy with this, sighing lovingly and returning his kiss.

They pulled away after a few moments, Damien reached for his cup, still slightly tipsy but he was able to take a few sips, [Name] took a few sips from their cup before switching the TV to play a random movie, Ah a romance film? The raging moon. It sounded good.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

They were around about an 50 minutes into the film, [Name] watching intently while Robbie purred softly in karras' lap..it was peaceful until Damien cleared his throat.

"..I'm sorry."

His voice was a mumble but it was clear.

"what for dear? you haven't done anything-"

[Name] let a small breathy laugh leave their lips, turning to him and tilting their head.

"ah well- I was..I was in a bit of a state earlier, I'm sorry- I should have answered your calls and stayed home instead of indulging in shitty 'whiskey business' for the night, I was so drowned in grief.."

[Name] sighed, kissing his temple and leaning on his shoulder.

"it wasn't your fault, none of it was..I'm sorry that your mother passed dimmy, she was a wonderful women and she loved you greatly.."

They looked up at Damien, a stray tear falling down his cheek which he wiped away.

"i love you,,"

He spoke softly, leaning his head on theirs.

"I love you more, you know I do.."

Damien hummed, a small smile on his face as he kissed their head.

He was a lucky man to be blessed with such an angel.

They ran into his life and stole his heart.

he knew one thing, he was glad it was [Name].

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

RAAAAAHHH THIS WAS SO CORNY

I love dims, we all do 🫶

COME EAT DAMIEN LOVERS. EAAATTTTT

#damien karras #damien karras x reader #the exorcist father karras #the exorcist damien #the exorcist #the exorcist 1973 #x reader #horror

36 notes · View notes

eventinelysplayground · 1 year

Text

This week was super busy with a holiday and preparation for my youngests birthday this weekend so didn't really have time for any writing but I threw this together, obviously inspired by them.

Favorite Flower

Emma: Whoo, finally everything is done!

Emma let out a long exhale as she flopped down exhausted into one of the kitchen chairs.

Emma: Thanks for all your help Yves I never would of gotten everything done without you, and everything looks so amazing I can barely wait for tomorrow.

Yves: You're very welcome Emma, did you triple check on everything else? If there's anything left to do we won't really have the time tomorrow.

Emma: Ya Jin and Leon got almost all the decorations up tonight and all the presents are still safely hidden in Lichts room. Prince Chevalier has at least agreed to show up and Rio and Sariel have been busy making sure everyone has the afternoon free. I feel sorry for sticking Luke on Clavis duty the last few days though.

Yves: No need to worry Emma I made a huge plate of honey beignets just for him as a special thank you.

Emma: I hadn't even thought of doing something like that you're really amazing Yves thanks again.

As Emma smiled at Yves the bells rang out.

Emma: Is it really 1 in the morning already!? When did it get so late!?

Yves: You better get to bed Emma you can't look your best for tomorrow if you don't get enough sleep, I'll finish cleaning up in here.

Emma: Are you sure Yves?

Yves: Of course I am now go on, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon.

Emma got up and headed off to bed while Yves sighed looking at the mountain of dishes still left to conquer.

The next afternoon was clear and sunny. Emma and Nokto strolled through the gardens each holding onto a tiny little hand. The little princess with silver hair and big brown eyes wore a peach dress with little blue flowers on it and a big smile. When the three of them got closer to the sitting area the little princess stopped then let out a squeal letting go of her parents hands and taking off running as fast as her little legs would let her.

Yves: Don't run so fast, you could fall and get hurt!

Licht: I got her.

Licht slowly walked towards his niece scooping her up in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way. The area was decorated in bright flowers and ribbons with a big sign that said Happy 2nd Birthday on it. The tables were piled high with sandwiches, sweets and presents. Her uncles started fawning over her as soon as Licht put her down.

Jin: Hey kiddo Happy Birthday!

Luke: Ya Happy Birthday!

Birthday wishes came from every Uncle and when they were all recieved the little princess gave a curtsey and smiled up at her uncles.

Princess: Tank Ewe Unles! I like sprises and yummy food!

Clavis stepped forward and bent down to be level with the little princess

Clavis: Well how about we start with all this boring food Uncle Yves made first my darling little accomplice.I would of made you some wonderful treats but your Uncle Luke was keeping me quite busy lately.

Yves: My food is not boring! It's absolutely perfectly crafted and tastes divine unlike those monstrosities you come up with.

Clavis: They are not monstrosities they're full of creativity and the little princess likes my creations don't you?

Sariel: The pallet of a two year old is hardly an endorsement. I'm also sure her highnesses tastes will improve over time.

Leon: Come on guys no fighting today let's just enjoy it ok. Look she's already started without you.

At Leon's words the arguing was over and everyone gathered around the birthday girl eating and laughing together. When it was time for presents the little princess sat on the sofa and carefully opened each one. There was a beautiful brush and comb set from Yves, a hand sewn fox from Luke, dolls from Leon and Jin, books from Chevalier and Sariel, a dress from Rio and a beautiful jewelry box from Licht. Just as she finished setting the jewelry box aside Clavis swept in behind her and handed her a huge box tied with ribbon. The little princess's eyes widened and she clapped her hands excitedly.

Rio: Prince Clavis what is that?

Nokto: That box looks too big for the present you ran past me the other day.

Clavis: Nonsense it's exactly what I showed you, plus a little extra flair.

Emma: Clavis what did you....

Emma's words were cut off with a loud pop! There was flower petals and leaves of all shapes and sizes everywhere, the little princess was laughing with delight.

Princess: Look Unle Lavis! Unle Valier is like a pwetty flower!

Everyone turned to face Chevalier who was sitting in a chair to the princess's side reading a book. Apparently his close proximity and the direction of the breeze meant that a larger number of leaves and flowers landed on top of him.

Chevalier: Ridiculous.

As everyone else was either laughing or trying desperately to hold it in the princess stood on the sofa leaning over to give her uncle a kiss on his cheek.

Princess: Unle Valier flower my favorite flower.

Chevalier stood to face his niece and patted her gently on the head while staring over her and giving Clavis a death glare.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince nokto #ikemen prince chevalier #ikemen prince clavis #birthday

16 notes · View notes

jadeoxfordrose · 8 months

Note

OTP asks: 5, 10, 11 for your favorite ship that has you in a stranglehold!

So I'm gonna answer these for one of my TTRPG OCs, Thea, and her paramour Adelaide (an NPC). For a little context, the game where I play her is Court of Blades which is a Forged in the Dark system focused on interpersonal relationships, political intrigue & the interplay of the noble houses as you play a retainer for one of said houses. It's very Game of Thrones meets the Borgias in fantasy renaissance Venice.

I won't go into full details of the backstory but while Della is *mechanically* Thea's paramour, the two of them are still in the longing/yearning part of the relationship - yes they are both in love with each other, no they haven't actually said those exact words to each other yet. It is complicated of course by the fact that Della is currently married to Thea's former husband who did try to kill her 12 years ago and until very recently believed he had been successful. And Della is pregnant with his baby. Like I said, it's complicated lol.

With that in mind, I'm gonna approach answering these as if the two were already at a more established point in the relationship :))

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare? Of the two, Thea is the one who struggles with nightmares more often. I can see Della putting Thea's arms around her, letting Thea hold on to her as tight as she needs to, hands resting over Della's heart and the two of them just breathing together until Thea feels ready to talk (if she wants) or fall back asleep. Then Della turns to face her, hands wrapped around one of Thea's, so she can fall asleep knowing Della is there.

5. Describe their cozy night in. Baby settled for the light, the two of them curled up together on a big pile of cushions or a conversation pit style seating arrangement. Thea working on some embroidery or sewing something, Della working on research or reading aloud to Thea.

10. Describe their first date. Arguably it was Thea bringing Della a picnic that they got to share in the vineyard in late summer, the heat of the sun kept at bay by the shade of one of the trees that are peppered through the arbor.

If they were to do an official first date? A walk through the artist's quarter, listening to music and watching performers, small gifts being bought and a meal as the sun goes down, making the canals look like they are shining pink and gold.

11. Do either try to hide their emotions if upset? Can the other still tell? Thea definitely does, a habit born of necessity, and while she isn't there quite yet, Della will get to that point soon. Roles reversed, I think Della does it less/is less practiced at it and Thea can usually tell right away. (Her inability to realize Della was in love in her is due to other factors, Thea is usually pretty emotionally perceptive.)

20. Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship. I don't know if I have found the song that does it perfectly but if I think about them while listening to First Light by Hozier, it's like being body slammed with feels lol.

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other's outfits; what is each wearing? Thea for Della: Long floaty dress in a light but rich colour, soft outer layer, well worn boots. Comfort is first priority, but also a mixture of pretty and practical. (Della has had to dress to social expectations for a long while, Thea doesn't want or expect that from her.) Della for Thea: Genuinely not sure, I kind of want to ask the GM lol. I could see it being something simple, without all the layers of (mostly metaphorical) armor Thea wears, a sign that Thea was safe enough to not need them.

44. Who would dance in the kitchen making dinner? Would the other join in or watch from the doorway? Della is making dinner and dancing, Thea would watch for a little while (probably until she's spotted) then join her because Della would absolutely hold out a hand to her and Thea is always going to take it. Thanks for the questions @emilykaldwen and @homosociallyyours <3

OTP Asks!

#ask box games #in response to #emilykaldwen #homosociallyyours #my OCs #thea cuore #thea + della

3 notes · View notes

sleptwithinthesun · 2 years

Text

hi hello hey :) i'm sleptwithinthesun, or sunday, and i wrote for someone anonymous!! this is my first 9/1/1 fic for kb's secret santa project and i hope that 1.4K words is sufficient. happy holidays to y'all if you celebrate <3

It's supposed to be a celebration.

It's supposed to be a celebration, but it sure as hell feels like the exact opposite of one.

Eddie glances across the living room to where Bobby and Athena are talking quietly with Maddie and Chimney, heads bent low together, clearly worried in the way they always are when it concerns Buck. Their youngest firefighter hasn't shown up to the Grant-Nash's annual winter party yet, even though he's usually the first one to arrive. None of them have heard from him since Thursday, when he left after his last shift of the week, and it's now Saturday.

But he'd said that he was coming.

"Heard anything?" Hen asks, but her tone suggests that she already knows the answer to that question. They all do; of course they haven't. Either Buck has disappeared, or he's driving and won't reply.

Eddie shakes his head regardless, lips pursed, and Hen offers a sympathetic smile. "You know how he is," she says, rolling her eyes and trying to change the mood. "He probably got caught up in researching something and lost track of time."

"Yeah," he says reluctantly. While Hen does have a point, it's still unlike Buck to forget about commitments he'd made, especially when they involve the rest of their firehouse and extended network of pseudo-family.

"You're still worried," Hen says. It's not a question, and she smiles when Eddie nods. "Yeah. Say what, how about we all give him another five minutes, and if he's not here by then, we'll call him. If he doesn't answer, then we'll send you over to his loft and you can check on him."

"Deal," he responds immediately, and Hen nods silently before walking straight into Chimney, Maddie, Bobby, and Athena's conversation, not waiting for Eddie to follow her before changing the topic, asking Bobby about the possibility of another probie at the firehouse, since Eddie was their most recent. Through the whole conversation, Eddie checks his phone approximately every thirteen seconds, waiting for the five-minute mark to pass before stepping away and pressing his phone to his hear. Nothing but voicemail.

Hen catches his eye at his puts the phone down. "He didn't pick up?"

"No. I'm going over to his loft," Eddie says, already shoving his phone into his pocket and shrugging back into his jacket. "I'll text you guys once I figure out what's going on."

"Drive safely!" Athena calls after him.

"Always!" he promises, then practically runs the rest of the way to his car once he's out of sight.

Buck doesn't answer the door, either, and Eddie resorts to using the spare key Buck had given him to get in. "Buck?" he calls into the space, glancing around the kitchen and living room, noting the absolute absence of. Well, of anything. The rooms are empty, with no sign Buck's eaten anything or even been downstairs lately. "Buck?"

"...Eds?"

"Hey, man," Eddie calls, toeing off his shoes before heading up the stairs to his bedroom. "Are you alright? We missed you over at Bobby and Athena's— holy shit."

Buck smiles weakly up at him, coughing into his fist a second later. "Yeah, it's been a rough couple of days."

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Eddie asks, glancing around the room. There's not a single mug of tea or bottle of medication. "Have you just been suffering for the past two days?"

"Kind of," Buck murmurs, then buries his face in the pile of blankets on his bed and sneezes. "HT'SCHH'uh! USSHHU!"

"Salud, dinero," Eddie says, walking over to him and brushing his hair out of his face. "No fever, that's good."

"It's not that bad, really," Buck says. "I'm not even congested. Just..."

"Completely miserable."

"Exactly. Right on the money."

"Again, why didn't you say anything?"

Buck shrugs. Even if he's not feverish, he's still pale and disheveled, and he looks sick in that coldish way, all exhausted and haggard with dull eyes. "I thought it was a twenty-four hour thing, didn't want to bother the rest of you if it wasn't a big deal." As if to completely contradict him, he ducks into his elbow again. "huh'TSCHHU!"

"Salud," Eddie says, raising an eyebrow at the previous comment. "Buck, you didn't show up to Bobby and Athena's party tonight, that counts as a big deal."

And with that statement, Buck completely freezes, his eyes going deer-in-the-headlights-wide. "That was tonight?" he squeaks, and Eddie would laugh if he didn't look so distressed.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Eddie reassures. "I'll just text them and let them know you're alive, then make sure you stay that way."

"You know, I've nearly died at least six times," Buck points out.

"Don't remind me," Eddie grumbles, pulling out his phone and opening the 118 + Athena group chat.

Eddie: I found Buck.

Chim: Excellent. We placed a bet on why he didn't show up.

Eddie: Why?

Chim: Why not?

Maddie: I think the better question is why isn't Buck here, Eddie?

Eddie: Your brother got himself sick and decided not to tell anyone.

Bobby: Again?!

Maddie: Not again.

Eddie: ...What do you mean, "again"?

Hen: He's done this multiple times before. Don't give Buck peppermint tea; he's allergic.

Chim: Y'all owe me five bucks.

Eddie: Thanks, Hen. Chim, not the time.

Athena: Sometimes, I wonder how half of you made it to college. Buck included.

Eddie rolls his eyes and tucks his phone back into his pocket. "So, you've done this before?"

"Maybe once or twice," Buck says, shrugging. Eddie gives him a skeptical look, and he instantly capitulates. "Okay, are we talking over my entire life or since I came to the 118?"

"I don't even think I want to know." Eddie sighs. "Think you're up to eating something?"

Buck wiggles his hand back and forth. "I could try."

"Good. Get up, change your clothes, and meet me downstairs."

"Sir, yes, sir," Buck says, rolling his eyes but pulling off his shirt as Eddie heads back down the stairs.

In the kitchen, the first thing Eddie does is search for tea. Surprisingly enough, Buck largely prefers tea over coffee, it's just that the latter is more abundant and easier to make than a cup of earl gray every morning, especially with their schedules. Still, Buck has a pretty large tea collection in the cabinet over his stove, although Eddie notes that there's no peppermint, just as Hen had warned.

He hears Buck before he sees him, the other man sneezing just as Eddie sets the kettle down on the electric stovetop and turns it on. "HT'SHUHH!"

"Salud," he says, pointing to one of the stools at the table. "Sit."

"Yeah, good idea," Buck says, and Eddie goes to search for soup. "You really don't have to do this, you know."

"You're not going to if I leave, though, are you?"

Buck's silence speaks volumes, and they sit there for a moment as Eddie triumphantly pulls out a can of chicken noodle soup. It should strike him as strange, how unfamiliar he is with Buck's kitchen when Buck knows where everything is at his house, but the younger firefighter is at his house a lot more often than Eddie's over at his loft. In fact, he could probably count the times he's been over here for leisure on one—

"hih'ISHH! ISCHH'uh!"

"Salud, dinero," Eddie says absently, still rooting around in Buck's cabinets for the bowls.

"SCHH'UH! H'SHHH!"

"Amor... I don't think we have a word if you get past three—"

"USHHUU!"

"Jesus," Eddie mumbles to himsel, finally turning around to see Buck rubbing miserably at his nose. "You okay?"

"Peachy," Buck grumbles, but softens as he says, "Thank you for coming over. I appreciate it."

"Of course," Eddie says. "That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

Buck laughs. "If you call opening every cabinet in my kitchen in a desperate search 'taking care of me', then sure. Bowls are the second cabinet to your left, by the way."

"Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother."

"Believe me, I do the same thing."

Eddie laughs. "By the way, the rest of them bet on why you didn't show up."

"Of course they did," Buck says. "Who won?"

"Chimney."

"Over Maddie?" Buck asks, disbelieving. "Over my own sister?"

"I think she thought you'd be better by now," Eddie says innocently, ignoring the indignant shout from behind him as he finally locates a bowl. That's what friends are for, he thinks. Gentle insults are just another part of the package.

#9/1/1 snzfic #snzfic #9/1/1 #e/van b/uckley #e/ddie d/iaz #swts fic #kb secret santa

24 notes · View notes

i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

Text

The Coin

Nuisance

Warnings: Homelessness/hunger/cold, but it’s mostly fluff, even if I have to drag Cedric kicking and screaming into being nice

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Heavy rain pattered on the decrepit wooden panels above where Merridy was sitting on the ground. It had been raining for days. The wood was soaked, the puddles outside so large, there was barely space left to walk in between. Not that she wanted to leave the shed and walk out there. There was no point to it.

In weather such as this, the marketplaces were all but abandoned, the merchants grumpy and watchful. The inns saw fewer patrons than usual, and no one left their home unless they absolutely had to. There was no work for her to find, no chance for her to steal any food. It didn't look like it would let up anytime soon, either. Dark clouds filled the sky, and heavy wind tore at the barred door.

Merridy reached into her pocket, to fish out the last meager copper coin. It would get her what, half a loaf of bread if she found a baker nice enough to give her the previous day’s goods for a discount? She spun the coin between her fingers, pondering if it was worth it; to walk through the rain, to get soaked to the bone, knowing there was no way for her to dry herself. To spend it now, knowing that tomorrow, the hunger would be worse.

Somewhere behind her, the rain had found its way through a crack in the wood and was now steadily dripping down. To avoid the small rivulet of water on the ground, she had hoisted her belongings up on top of the furniture stored here. Garden benches and chairs, as well as the occasional table. No one would go into this shed before the next spring, which was why she had decided to make camp here.

It was better than being out in the open, but not by much. Everything was damp. Her hair, pressed cold against her neck and hanging limply in front of her face. Her socks and her shoes, leaving her toes freezing. The ratty blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders, to ward off the worst of the cold. Worst of all, it was barely even winter yet. She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive once the rain would be replaced by snow and the nights became freezing cold.

Last winter, she had only survived because of Cedric. He had let her stay with him until her foot had fully healed, which had taken weeks. The pile of blankets on the floor of his study had been better than every place she had slept in since. Yvan had apologized for it, but she had seen no reason for it; it had been warm, and dry, and safe. Safe.

It was ridiculous, thinking that Cedric’s house had been the safest she had been in years. Ever since she had left the circus, deciding to chase a hope that had always been futile. It wasn’t only the sleeping place they had offered her. Cedric had let her join their meals, and allowed her to read most of his books. Yvan had taught her much about locks, and how to pick them, and had let her help in the kitchen.

It could have felt like home, if not for the knowledge that she didn’t belong there. She had been a mere intruder, unable to offer anything worthwhile in return for their generosity. One morning, Cedric had pointed out that the weather was finally getting warmer, and she had taken it as her cue to leave. She had returned to her life on the streets, finding her bundle hidden where she had left it, a few things blackened by mildew, or sporting holes bitten by rats now. Not that she had owned much in the first place; the clothes and other things Cedric had gotten her were her most valuable belongings now, save for a few objects she kept for purely sentimental reasons.

But if she was honest, it was not the memory of a dry sleeping place that made her chest ache, and neither the thought of a warm, hearty stew that brought tears to her eyes. It was a relaxed evening in front of the fireplace, with quiet conversations and sweet tea. It was a card game escalating into mock insults, and a lockpick sliding into place. It was all of it, in a way she couldn’t put into words.

She missed it. She missed them. Less so in the summer months, when she had been busy with odd jobs here and there, keeping herself afloat. But when she sat alone in whatever hideout she had currently chosen, with nothing but wind and weather and distant voices as company, she was so incredibly lonely. The day she had said goodbye, Yvan had hugged her and told her that she was always welcome to visit. So why, by the Seven, had she never done so? What was she afraid of? Was there anything left for her to lose?

Her life was all she had left—as hopeless and pathetic as it was—and she believed Cedric that he didn’t want to kill her. It had been hard to get over her fear, to believe that most of the rumors had been just that: rumors. Most, but not all. She had seen him angry once or twice, and had no doubt that this anger of his could be devastating.

Merridy threw the copper coin up in the air, watching it spin and fall, catching it before it hit the ground. She would have to leave soon anyway, to find something to eat one way or another. The thought of attempting to steal it twisted her stomach. She couldn’t risk getting caught, to be sent back to the dungeon.

So why not pay them a visit, to find out if Yvan had really meant it. If there was one place in this world where she was welcome. She felt guilty just thinking about knocking on Cedric’s door just because she needed something, but her stomach was so empty, it was painful. Even if he sent her away, she wouldn’t have lost much, only another shred of hope.

With this resolution in mind, Merridy got up. The movement left her dizzy, making her cling to a stack of chairs until her world stopped spinning and her legs would carry her. Then she pulled the blanket off her shoulders, folded it and placed it on top of the chairs. After pushing the door open just far enough so she could squeeze through the crack, she left her shelter, hurrying out of the garden.

A few steps in, she was soaked to her underwear. Water flooded her shoes, leaving her socks disgustingly wet, squelching with every step she took. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to walk as fast as she could. She hated it. She hated the rain, and she hated the cold, and she hated the slick cobblestones under her feet. She hated every house she passed, the warm glow of candles and crystals behind cozy curtains. She hated this whole city, for the hope it had once given her.

By the time she had reached Cedric’s house, she had run out of energy to hate things. All that was left was her exhaustion, joining her hunger in sapping the strength from her limbs. She stumbled onto the porch and spent a couple of freezing minutes just staring at the door. It wasn’t courage that made her eventually raise her hand, to knock against the wood; it was sheer despair.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. What if he wasn’t home? The thought that she might have come here in vain made tears well up in her eyes; she didn’t think she’d have the strength to walk all the way back. Not with her clothes dripping water, and her hands shaking and teeth chattering.

Just when she thought she had truly come all the way for nothing, the door finally opened. There was no light in the short hallway, so Cedric’s face was bathed in shadows as he looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

His tone wasn’t quite hostile, but there was an edge to it that made Merridy’s skin crawl. Whatever words she had prepared on her way here died on her tongue, and she could only stare up at him quietly.

When she didn’t reply, he pushed the door fully open before turning his back on her. “Come in,” he said, already walking back into the living room.

Merridy hurriedly did as she was told. She shook the sleeves of her jacket, trying to shake off as much water as possible. Then she stepped out of her thin canvas shoes, shoving them to the side. Her socks were just as wet, but at least that way she wouldn’t drag any mud inside.

In the doorway to the living room she froze. It was just like she remembered it. The dark furniture, making the room seem smaller than it was. The sprawling sofa she had spent countless evenings on, with the low coffee table in front of it. The fireplace, a pile of logs and embers glowing inside. It was warm inside, so wonderfully warm. Even in her soaked clothes she could feel how her frozen muscles slowly relaxed.

“Don’t just stand there.” Cedric still didn’t look at her. He wasn’t using his cane, but his steps were heavy and slow as he walked across the room, to sit down in his armchair. “Grab a blanket before you freeze to death.”

Merridy numbly stumbled over to the sofa, picking up the woolen blanket and wrapping it around herself before she sat down. She didn’t dare to lean back, staying at the edge of the seat, her feet firmly on the floor. For a moment, the old fear came crawling back. What was she doing here? He was dangerous, and he was clearly in a bad mood.

“So. What do you want?”

She had tried so hard to convince herself that what she had planned to ask for wasn’t unreasonable. Talking to someone who didn’t consider her vermin, barely worth the time it took to tell her to fuck off. Spending a few hours inside, until she could remember what it felt like to be warm. Staying for dinner, if she was lucky, and if Yvan would have her. Forgetting for a while that this was all life had in store for her; the cold and the loneliness, and trying to make it through the next day, somehow.

Perhaps it was unreasonable.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep her breaths under control and her tears at bay. Cedric owed her nothing. It was her who owed him, more than she could ever repay. And now, once again, she stood here asking for something without having to offer anything in return. Merridy tried to swallow the lump in her throat, to find anything to say; anything that would allow her to leave, if not with her hope, then at least with her pride intact.

“I…”

She broke off before she could tell him that it had been a mistake, beg him to let her go. It would surely hurt his feelings, perhaps even make him angry. She didn’t know what would be worse.

The sudden shifting of weight on the sofa made her eyes snap open. She hadn’t heard Cedric get up, but now he was sitting next to her, way too close for comfort. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, a shimmer of green dancing over the piercing blue.

“Did someone hurt you?”

She heard the words, but they made no sense. Her hands started to tremble, so she dug them deeper into the blanket. She couldn’t figure out how to reply, what to reply, staring at the swirling magic in his eyes. He was furious, and she couldn’t convince her body to believe that it wasn’t her his fury was directed at.

“Merridy.” He started to reach out for her, but let his hand drop before he touched her. His gaze never once left her face. “Did. Someone. Hurt you?”

She managed to shake her head, but not to hold back her tears any longer. His face turned all blurry, but she still thought she saw relief on it.

“Then what is it? Talk to me, godsdammit. I can’t read thoughts.”

How could she explain her feelings to him? How pathetic was it, to admit she had been so lonely, she had returned to the only people who had shown her a bit of kindness. That all she wanted was to sit here while the feeling slowly returned to her toes. That she needed a bit of comfort even more than she needed food right now.

“I missed you,” she managed to choke out.

“What?”

Cedric stared at her, but she didn’t have it in her to repeat her words. She lowered her gaze to her hands, the fingers stiff from the cold, clutching the blanket. After a moment of silence, Cedric got up, quickly crossing the room. He messed with something, but Merridy didn’t have the energy to find out what he was doing. She pulled one leg up, put her chin on her knee and looked into the fire.

When Cedric returned to stand in front of her, he threw a bunch of clothes next to her onto the sofa. “Here. You look like a drowned rat.”

“Asshole.” Merridy bit her lip. Insulting him should make her worry much more than asking him for help. For some reason, it didn’t.

“Nuisance.” He turned to walk away from her, only to pause in the doorway to the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna finish making my coffee. Change, and hang your clothes up to dry.”

Then he was gone, and Merridy left alone with the clothes. She started to pull them apart, finding a long, flowing skirt and a wide sweater. The skirt was sewed together from patches of autumn-colored fabric, and the sweater knitted from dark red wool. Both had obviously seen lots of use, with frayed edges and thinning spots, but were clean.

The moment she managed to strip off her wet clothes and slip into the sweater, she could barely suppress a delighted sigh. The wool was warm and soft and dry, and possibly the most wonderful thing she had ever felt on her skin. She quickly put on the skirt next, finding that it was so long, she had to take care not to step on the hem as she walked. She hopped on one leg, then the other, pulling off her socks as well. Her underwear would unfortunately stay damp, but it was a small discomfort compared to before.

She grabbed her clothes and brought them closer to the fireplace, where she spread them out on the floor. Then she went back to the sofa, to sit down—properly this time, with her bare feet pulled up and tucked under the blanket she wrapped around herself once more.

In the kitchen, Cedric cleared his throat overly loud. “My coffee is very ready,” he announced, “are you done yet?”

“Yes. Yes! Of course.” She hadn’t considered he might actually be waiting for her to finish dressing herself. “Sorry.”

He returned to the living room, a cup in each hand. One of them he placed on the coffee table in front of Merridy, before retreating into his armchair.

Merridy reached out from under the blanket to pick up the cup. It was blessedly warm, and she closed both her hands around it. She really didn’t like coffee much. During the weeks she had spent here, she had learned to work around it, drowning out the bitter taste by adding a ludicrous amount of sugar.

When she finally took a careful sip, she found that the brew inside the cup was just as sweet as she had always taken it. It was this little gesture, knowing that he remembered, that he cared, that made her tears well up again. This time, Cedric didn’t comment on it, merely drinking his coffee in silence.

Halfway through the cup, Merridy’s stomach started to rumble. She lowered her gaze, staring at the ground and feeling her cheeks burn. Perhaps she was lucky and he hadn’t noticed it. At least he didn’t say anything, but he did get up and left the room. When he returned, he put down a filled plate in front of her. Haphazardly cut slices of bread, so uneven Yvan would have made fun of them, a small block of cheese, and an apple, quartered, the core cut out.

“Help yourself,” Cedric said, settling down on his armchair once more and picking his cup of coffee back up.

Her hunger won against whatever reservations Merridy might have had. She shuffled to the edge of her seat, reaching for a piece of bread, a mumbled ‘thank you’ on her lips. Cedric only hummed in reply, a deep rumbling sound that was so achingly familiar. His expression was stern, dark even, but he didn’t look at her.

She wanted to take it slow, she really wanted to, but the moment she tasted Yvan’s fresh, crispy bread, she couldn’t contain herself. She broke a piece of cheese off, stuffing it into her mouth so quickly, she was glad she had still some coffee left to wash the food down before she could choke on it. After catching her breath, she at least managed to chew properly, though she still ate as quickly as she could.

“Where have you been? What have you been doing all those months?” Cedric asked once the cheese and most of the bread were gone.

Merridy shrugged, a piece of apple in her hand. “Whatever I could to survive,” she said, taking a bite. It was sweet and crisp, and almost made her cry again. Most fruit she got her hands on these days were whatever she managed to pick from wild growing trees in the parks, or the damaged ones that were sold cheaply at the end of a market day.

Obviously not content with her answer, Cedric gave her a pointed look, prompting her to continue.

“I made camp in some rich guy’s garden shed,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. It was hard when she thought about the worn wooden panels and the barren ground of damp earth. “I’ll be good there until spring, when the gardeners pull out their benches and flower pots. Probably.” Her voice broke. Then she would have to leave again, would have to find a new spot, but at least it wouldn’t be as cold anymore.

“Been earning money wherever I could,” she continued after taking a deep breath. “Helping to set up a market stall, or scratching moss off a wall, or… anything really. It’s… a lot of it is luck. If I can find something, that is. Weather like this isn’t helping.”

The plate was empty now, as was the cup. Needing something else to hold onto, she buried her hands in the blanket once more, making herself small.

“Mhm,” Cedric said. He picked up her plate, and stacked the two cups on top of it. “I’ll do the dishes, so Yvan won’t rip my head off when he comes home, and then we’ll talk.”

Merridy barely managed to suppress a bitter laugh. Talk? As opposed to what they had been doing so far? She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t know what to say anyway, and she didn’t want to think about her bleak life or her just as bleak future. Allowing herself a moment of respite before the inevitable, she sank deeper into the blanket, leaning against the armrest. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, her body was no longer tense. She closed her eyes, giving in to the illusion that this could be real, not merely a fleeting moment.

When Merridy opened her eyes, the light in the living room had grown dim. The fire had burnt down, and the curtains were closed, no hint of brightness behind them. Her heart started to hammer in her chest as she struggled to sit up, freeing herself from the blanket her limbs were tangled in. She had fallen asleep. Cedric had wanted to talk to her, and she had just fallen asleep.

She looked around frantically, but she was alone in the room. There was no light in the kitchen, either. She didn’t know what to do. Half a year ago, she would have gone looking for Cedric, expecting to find him in the salon or somewhere upstairs. Did she still have the right to wander around his house?

She sat up, wrapping the blanket around herself once more and staring into the glowing embers. If not for the worry sitting like a stone in the pit of her stomach, she could have been content. Warm, rested, not hungry, and for once not afraid someone might discover her.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

Merridy flinched. She hadn’t heard him enter the room, too lost in her thoughts. Deeming a reply unnecessary, she merely watched Cedric as he approached the sofa, then sat down on the other end. He looked her up and down.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Merridy nodded mutely. The underlying aggression she had sensed earlier seemed to be gone, but she couldn’t pinpoint his mood. It made her nervous, but not scared, so it could probably be worse.

“Need anything else?”

This time, she shook her head.

“Mhm.” Cedric leaned back, his gaze lost somewhere between the sofa and the cabinets in the back.

Perhaps this was his way to tell her that it was time to leave. She should leave. She didn’t want to. Even though she couldn’t see the world outside through the closed curtains, she could still hear the heavy rain. Now, after sunset, it would be so much colder out there.

“Can you write?” Cedric suddenly asked. When she didn’t reply, only giving him a confused look, he added, “I know you can read, so I would guess so, but you know…” He raised his left hand, gesturing as if he was holding a pen. “A handwriting more legible than chicken scratch?”

Merridy swallowed. “It’s all right. I guess.” She didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Follow me.”

He got up, and even though he still wasn’t using his cane, his steps had become lighter. Merridy followed him up the stairs and into the study, the one room that was even more familiar to her than the living room.

There was still a pile of crates stacked against the right hand wall. The largest one was the same as it had been months ago, but the others had changed. Cedric pushed one of them aside, lifted another off the pile, and finally pulled a medium sized one forward with a strained groan.

“Can you help me with that one?”

Merridy hurried to his side, reaching for the other end of the crate. Together, they managed to lift it and put it on the floor. Whatever was in there, it was incredibly heavy. Cedric took a step back and reached behind himself to grab a crowbar, which he then used to pry the lid off the crate.

“This crate,” he said as the lid clattered to the floor, “is filled with all kinds of coins. I got them for cheap—for their material value, that is—after their owner died, and his brother didn’t want to deal with it. Most of them are probably not worth more than the metal they are made of, but the thing with collections like those is: Sometimes, there’s treasures among the rubble. Certain collectors are willing to pay a lot of money for some coins. The older and rarer, the better.”

During his explanation, he had reached into the crate, pulling out a single silver coin. It was tarnished, almost completely black. He held it out to Merridy, and she took it carefully. That sure was interesting, but she didn’t understand why he had brought her here, or what he was getting at.

“I have quite a few books on that topic,” he said, gesturing at one of the shelves at her back, “but to be honest, there’s little that’s more boring than trying to figure out which shitface found themselves important enough to immortalize their ugly visage on some pieces of metal. So here’s my offer: You help me catalog those things, and I’ll pay you for it.”

He couldn’t be serious. Merridy stared at the crate, in which she couldn’t see much more than the top layer of dusty cloth, hiding the coins Cedric was talking about. There must be hundreds of them in there!

“But that would take—”

“Quite a while,” Cedric interrupted her. “I am aware. Of course, while you’d be busy with that, you could stay here. It’s getting dark early, and I wouldn’t want you to walk back each day after nightfall.” Something about his expression was hard as he spoke, but Merridy had no chance to dwell on it, for he continued, “We already know it’s no trouble for Yvan to feed you as well, so you can just join us for our meals.”

Merridy could only nod, too stunned by what he was offering her. She knew Yvan always cooked ridiculous portions; a remnant of having learned it from his mother, who had managed to feed half a dozen hungry mouths with ease.

“I’d pay you once per week, and if you manage to find anything worthwhile in that pile of junk, I will make sure it will be in your favor. What do you say?”

She couldn’t believe it. “... yes?” she said, still wondering if there was a catch somewhere.

Cedric smiled, one of his rare, genuine smiles. “It’s a deal, then.” He reached for her hand, and it was so unlike him, she didn’t know how to react. “You can start tomorrow. Tonight, we’ll set up your bed, and tell Yvan that he’ll have someone again who can tolerate his bean stew.”

When she made no attempt to move or reply, his smile slowly faded.

“Merridy?”

The concern in his voice was what broke the spell. She looked from her hand in his up to him, fighting against the tears burning in her eyes. She forced herself to smile and nod, because she didn’t think she’d manage to get a single word out right now.

Cedric sighed. “Come here.” He pulled her towards him, and into an awkward hug. “You should have come sooner,” he said, so quietly, she wasn’t sure if she hadn’t just imagined it.

Merridy closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest, allowing herself to believe that it was true. That she was welcome here. That she was going to have a roof over her head, and food each day, and actually a chance to earn both. That she would get to sit in front of the fireplace again, a book in her lap, and to help Yvan in the kitchen.

That, at least for a few weeks, her life would be all right.

[ID: The banner shows a broken window, outside which the sun sets behind an iron fence. The sky is bright yellow and orange. The title nuisance is written across it in scribbled looking letters with a orange to yellow to orange gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging:@dont-touch-my-soup @freefallingup13 @kixngiggles

#Nuisance #whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #my writing

22 notes · View notes

czigonas · 2 years

Text

This Abjured Land of Bliss

Summary:

Jango is dragged through space and time while investigating an abandoned house, only to end up right back where he started (even if he doesn't realise it at first).

All Hallows JangObi Week Day 5: Ritual Gone Wrong

Under the cut for length. Also on AO3. Mando'a is in-line translated here, hovertext enabled on AO3. (There is one word left untranslated on purpose; the translation will be at the end of the fic.)

It’s a mundane call that brings him out to the house. A welfare check passed off to the detectives from the beat cops because of a bullshit jurisdiction restraint and of course he gets the job just because he’s at least ten years younger than the next bastard, never mind his superior experience. Someone called in, worried about their sibling’s kids or something - living outside town in a rundown farmhouse on 20 acres no one bothers to plant anymore - and now he’s here making sure someone just turned off their phone for a few days instead of doing something inconvenient like dying. Jango doesn’t slam the door of his patrol car, but it’s a near thing.

He knocks first, disappointed but not at all surprised by the lack of answer. Walking a quick perimeter doesn’t give him any more hope; all the lights are off and the windows are covered, either with curtains or piles of junk. He knocks at the front door again, this time announcing himself. Still no answer. He calls a warning that he’s coming in and tries the knob.

It is really not encouraging that it opens without resistance.

No one comes to investigate and, when Jango tests the lightswitch, nothing happens. He swears in his head, returning to his car and radioing back to the bored desk sergeant that he’s investigating further and they should get ready to send backup if things turn out as bad as it’s looking like they might. He gets a non-committal mutter back, and he snarls under his breath as he checks his pistol, taser, flashlight, and phone. Reflexively he checks for his knives as well. A hold-over from his days in the military, he’d never felt safe with anything less than three blades on him at any time once he'd gotten out.

As ready as he can make himself, Jango returns to the house and finally steps inside.

It’s crowded inside; the product of a hoarder’s lifestyle. It makes Jango’s instincts go haywire with all the potential hiding spots. He moves methodically through each room, checking every dark corner for signs of present life. He announces himself at every doorway, not sure if he’s hoping for a response or not, but no one answers.

He sweeps from the narrow entryway into the cracked linoleum of the kitchen, sharp gaze lingering on the piles of trash and stacks of unwashed dishes. There’s food still left out, spoiled and crusted onto nearly every surface, but no signs of recent life. He moves through to the living room, the bright beam of his flashlight washing over the matted shag carpet and nicotine-stained wallpaper. The ancient, sagging couch is buried nearly completely beneath mounds of filthy clothing and crumpled paper but Jango dutifully confirms there isn’t a body hiding under the mess.

The whole house is the same, full of teetering piles of boxes, bags of junk, and so much dust. He checks in every corner and under every piece of dilapidated furniture and finds absolutely nothing but more of the same. The bathroom is probably the worst of it, with rust stains in the tub and black mould starting to grow under the window sill.

The bedrooms upstairs don't look like they've been used for sleep in at least a month; the beds are covered in books and blankets and stained clothing. There's a child's room too, slightly cleaner but just as empty of life as the rest. The flashlight beam passes over haphazard piles of stuffed animals and blocks, toy cars and a tiny tea set, all abandoned in the middle of play. Jango clenches his jaw so hard he thinks he might crack a molar.

There's only one place left to check now and Jango really, really hopes it’s empty also. As it is, he stops back at his patrol car to radio in that he’s so far found nothing but to keep that back up on standby. The response from the station is dismissive, and Jango is going to have to crack some heads when he gets back; the Captain is going to get an earful at the very least. For now, he has a job to finish.

Before he returns to the house though, Jango pops the trunk of his cruiser and grabs a second pistol and three extra clips. He knows he’s just being paranoid as he finds places for another pair of knives as well, but he has a really bad feeling about this. More than kitted out and hopefully prepared for anything he’ll find, Jango locks his patrol car back up and makes his way to the back of the house again. Steeling his nerves, he grabs one of the handles on the heavy cellar doors and heaves it open, jerking quickly to the side so as to be out of the direct line of anything that might burst out.

He waits for a beat in the yard, flashlight barely penetrating the deep darkness of the basement, before taking a deep breath and opening the other door. If he has to make a quick retreat, he wants as little in his way as possible. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Jango starts down the stairs, straining to hear any evidence of activity below.

The basement is humid - unusually so, for the time of year and the drought they’ve been having - and it sets him even more on edge. The place is a warren of short halls and small preserving rooms, thankfully without doors. There are shelves built right into the old limestone walls, throwing menacing shadows from their cluttered surfaces, and every corner feels like it could hold a monster. The whole place feels too deep and too large, like it extends well beyond the foundations above, and it seems like it gets more humid the further in he goes. He turns a corner and, there, at the end of a slightly longer hall, is a dim glow.

Jango announces himself again, calling down the passage with a firm voice, all of his nerves locked behind his teeth. There’s no answer, but he thinks he hears movement; dear gods, he wishes he had backup for this. He paces silently down the hallway, stowing his flashlight and hovering one hand over his taser and the other on the handle of a knife. He pauses at the corner, drawing in another steadying breath, and then leans out for a quick look.

At first glance, the room beyond seems abandoned like the rest of the place. With no immediate apparent danger, Jango steps fully into the doorway to take a closer look around. The glow comes from dozens of candles, most of which are half melted into the dirt floor but there are a few stuffed into the necks of wine bottles. How cliché. There must be a fresh air source somewhere, because the flames flicker in a breeze he can’t quite feel.

The rest of the decor is similarly over-the-top occult, with a chalk-drawn circle full of angular symbols that look vaguely familiar taking up most of the floor. There’s ragged fabric tacked to the walls, sloppily painted with more of those angular marks and thankfully out of reach of the candles’ flames. On the far side of the room is the only door he’s seen down here and, unfortunately, it’s closed. Thankfully, there’s been a distinct lack of blood so far, and that eases some of the tightness that had taken root in Jango’s chest ever since he saw the playroom in the house.

He takes a few photos of the room on his phone before edging around the ritual circle. It’s more out of a desire to preserve evidence instead of superstition, but his bad feeling hasn’t gone away yet and there’s every chance he’s not going to like what he finds behind that door. Up close, the humidity is almost oppressive, sticking his shirt to his back and making his holsters chafe uncomfortably. He takes a moment to recheck all his weapons and then, hand on his taser, he announces himself one more time and tugs open the door.

What happens next, Jango doesn’t know if he’ll ever fully understand. In a riot of sound and sensation that throws him off his feet and makes his head spin, the door jerks out of his hand. A hot, wet wind howling like a hundred wailing, discordant voices lashes out from the now-open room. The storm slams into him and he stumbles back.

Right into the chalk circle.

The world explodes into light. A hundred ribbons of colour - a new one for every voice and just as painful to look at as to hear - wrap themselves around him until he can see nothing else. And then he simply sees nothing at all, and he falls.

-----

The next Jango knows, he’s standing before two elaborately robed beings. It’s extremely disorienting given that, as far as his body and mind were concerned, he’d just been falling backwards. One of the strangers looks like a human, probably male, in maybe their late 40s. The other one is either in some really good special effects makeup or Jango has been abducted by aliens and, frankly, he’s not ruling anything out yet. He puts his hands on his hips - right at the grips for both pistol and taser, depending on how this plays out - and takes a quick look around before focusing back on the two before him.

“Master,” the human finally speaks, wide blue eyes boring into Jango intently. “We’ve done it. Is this the life you sought?”

The alien hums in response, the noise rendered flat and mechanical as it filters through the mask that covers their lower face. Their yellow eyes rake over him in poorly-concealed disdain. “Perhaps.”

“He does not feel especially dark, but that hardly means anything.” The human’s gaze turns calculating. “However, he does not feel especially powerful either.”

Jango says nothing, mostly because he’s still reeling from the change in scenery, but also because they haven’t yet actually asked him a question. He’s itching to check his phone and call in to the station, but these two set all of his instincts on edge and he refuses to take his eyes off them. He shifts his weight and relaxes into the comforting press of one of his knives at the base of his spine beneath his protective vest.

The alien hums again but Jango can’t get a read on their expression. The air grows heavy with anticipation and he forces himself to stay relaxed and ready to move at a moment's notice. They stare each other down for several long minutes before the alien turns away with a flick of unnaturally long fingers.

“No, this was not the desired outcome,” they declare dismissively, heading for a desk in the shadows. “The experiment was a failure. Dispose of it.”

The human’s small smirk turns cruel and Jango has his pistol in hand before the bastard can draw any kind of weapon. He puts a tight cluster of shots in their torso as they draw a black and silver cylinder from their belt, then lets his aim stray up to try for a headshot before their mind can catch on that they’re already dead. He twists, skipping back and to the side, looking to put distance between himself and the alien as they turn back towards the noise.

There’s a sudden pressure, like gravity’s been turned up, and time slows down; everything that happens next, he sees as though he’s outside his own body.

Face twisting in what Jango would call a snarl from a human, the alien pulls a similar silver cylinder out of their robes with one hand as Jango brings his pistol to bear. There’s a sharp snap-hiss before some kind of energy blade sprouts from the end of the tube with a buzz that shivers through Jango’s bones. The alien throws out a hand, pushing Jango’s gun out of line with an invisible wave of pressure, and he’s forced to drop it when he dives to the side to avoid their decapitating strike.

Rolling to his feet, he pulls a knife and lets it fly, not at all surprised when it’s swatted out of the air by the glowing red laser sword. He uses the distraction to draw his second pistol, firing almost as soon as it clears the holster. The alien sweeps the blade up to deflect his shots, hissing in displeasure as Jango’s bullets melt on contact and splatter them with molten metal. Jango keeps moving, sidestepping even as he continues to fire.

It’s sheer luck that prevents Jango from taking more than a glancing blow from the laser sword, twisting just far enough that it only burns through the outer covering of his vest before stuttering against the high-tech chainmail buried inside. Unexpectedly, the blade glitches out, warping and faltering before shutting down. Jango takes ruthless advantage of the alien’s surprise; he empties the rest of his clip in their centre mass before burying a knife in one freaky eye for good measure.

He snaps back into his body with starling clarity, running on adrenaline and flashbacks as he steps away from the corpses. He retrieves his abandoned gun and knives and takes both of the weird laser sword hilts with him as he retreats to cover. He ends up putting the desk between himself and the only obvious door, regulating his breathing to keep from spiralling into his memories. He checks his weapons - the knife that got hit by the laser sword is absolutely ruined, half melted as it is - and waits ten minutes in silence for someone to come in and check on the noise. When no one does, he manages to talk himself into standing and securing the room.

There’s no physical lock on the door and no furniture nearby that’s large enough to fully block the opening. There is a keypad on the wall glowing red in what he hopes is a universal sign for no entry, so Jango decides to accept that as the best he’s going to get for the time being. Besides the desk, the room doesn’t contain much more in the way of decor despite being rather ornately decorated; a couch, a couple of chairs, a bar along one wall, a few potted plants, a few paintings and some rugs.

Finally, he pulls out his phone. It’s not really a surprise that there’s no service of any kind if he’s really been abducted by aliens, which is still somehow the most believable explanation. With trepidation, he checks the wide window set into the wall opposite the door. Unfortunately, the view only confirms that he’s not anywhere near where he should be.

Sure, the world outside the dimly lit office Jango found himself in is beautiful, there’s no doubt. The stone walls that enclose the courtyard below look to be barely holding back a dense jungle that could easily be somewhere back on Earth except for the fact that he can clearly see the too-small curvature of the surface beneath it. If that isn’t enough, the growing presence of a large, swirling gas giant swiftly overtaking the view of unfamiliar stars certainly seals the deal.

Jango firmly shuts his rising panic down; there is nothing he can do without more information. To that end, he starts with the corpses. Searching the human produces two tablets that look kind of like e-readers, a stack of what appear to be a cross between a small circuit board and a barcode, and three similar but different handheld electronics that could have developed from walkie-talkies. The alien carried less, having only another cylindrical hilt like the two he’d already picked up, another stack of the circuit boards, and one of the little maybe-walkie-talkies.

He takes his spoils back to the desk and lays them out beside the three tablets and messy stack of weird plastic paper that already occupied the surface. The plastic sheets are covered in both geometric symbols and also a series of dots and dashes that remind him of Morse code, but that don’t produce anything but gibberish when read as such. Jango isn’t the best at codebreaking and it’s possible a lot of the words won’t have direct translations because, well, aliens, but he has a go at cracking the more angular language. He has a pretty good feeling about it partially because he had understood his abductors when they spoke and partially because the symbols really do look familiar. The longer he stares at them, the more they seem to make sense.

It’s disconcerting when he realises he can read full sentences in just under an hour of studying, unfamiliar alien words and all, but he’s not going to question it just now. Security is his highest priority, followed by figuring out where the hell he is and how he’s going to get home. Clarity of language unfolds related information in his mind; he now knows the tablets as datapads, circuit boards as credit chits, walkie-talkies as comlinks, plastic paper as flimsi.

He pockets the credits, because one never knows when they’ll need money, and begins inspecting the comlinks. They appear to be mostly paired. The one from the alien links to one of the trio off of the human, a second from the human has only one number programmed in, and the last looks like it has limited range and is currently not within it. The datapads are all, bar one lucky exception, password protected. He doesn’t have the skill to slice them open or the insight to even begin to guess at what their codes might be, so he pokes at the one he can use and tries to determine where in the universe he’s been abducted to.

It might take him a while.

-----

“Mand'alor [Sole leader]! You need to see this!”

Jaster doesn’t groan in frustration, but it’s a near thing. Some days it feels like everything needs his attention, no time for even a quick meal. He waves the verd [soldier] into his office, brow furrowing as he takes in their shaken appearance. Something must be very wrong; his warriors aren’t easily rattled and this one looks ready to vibrate right out of their armour.

“Me’vaar ti gar [What's going on]?” he barks, all weariness falling away.

The verd [soldier] visibly collects themself and sets a holoprojector on his desk. “Message came in, sent to the public contract line. It’s…” They swallow heavily and Jaster frowns. “We ran it through every check we can think of but everything comes up unmodified.”

“Ke’pehir [Spit it out],” he orders, impatient.

They gesture helplessly at the unit. “It’s Jango.”

Jaster’s gaze snaps back to the holoproj, sitting innocently on his desk. “Nu ret’yc [Not possible],” he rasps out, even as he reaches to turn it on.

Jango has been missing for over a decade - ever since Montross betrayed them on Korda VI - but the projector springs to life and there, looking older and oh-so-very-tired, is Jaster’s adopted son. He’s staring down at something out of the viewfield, wearing very strange clothing and not looking at the receiver at all, but Jaster would know him anywhere. After a moment, the image finally speaks.

“I don’t know who’s going to get this. I don’t know where I am or how I got here, but… fuck.” He rubs a hand down his face, shuddering ever so slightly. “The ‘net says you’re Mand'alor [Sole leader]; that this number should get to you eventually. If there’s any chance you’re still alive, Jaster…”

Jango breaks off, shaking his head. He still won’t look at the camera. “I can’t tell you how to get here because I don’t know where here is except it’s a moon orbiting some fucking gas giant I’ve never seen before. I don’t know if you can trace this, or if sending this out will only bring more trouble. I’ll need to leave this room to secure the perimeter and find supplies, so I might not answer if you try to call back. If you can call back.”

He swears again, softly, then laughs just a little hysterically; Jaster’s heart clenches at the sound. “I feel like I’m talking to a ghost. If you’re here, who else is? Does that mean Ben…” Jango trails off, shaking his head again, expression crumbling into grief. “Couldn't ever be that lucky,” he mumbles, more to himself than the comm.

There’s another stretch of silence before Jango finally looks up, anguish plain on his face. “Just, if it’s you, Jaster, if you’re alive, then this is at least worth something. I really hope you are.”

Jaster forces himself to stay still and not jump into action without a plan when the message ends. He sends a call out to his closest advisors and barely resists watching the transmission again while he waits for them to arrive. He keeps the verd [soldier] who brought him the holoprojector also, though they still look shaken, and when everyone is together, he shows them all the recording.

There is, predictably, chaos.

“Even if it isn’t really Jango, we have to retrieve them,” Silas manages to be heard above the noise.

Tr’sush nods, helmet tilting towards the so-far silent warrior standing nervously in the corner. “Did we manage to trace it?”

The verd [soldier] nods rapidly, then shakes their head just as fast. “Spinward and rimward from us, but the trail fell apart in the Albarrio Sector. We have the comm code though, so if we can get close and keep a line open, we should be able to pinpoint its origin.”

Jaster tilts his head and Kuuran slips from the room, drawing the verd [soldier] away with her. Silas hums, tapping the table and staring at the dormant holoproj in thought. “It’s probably not Republic space, but it could be and it’s close enough that they might come knocking if we charge through without reason.” He grimaces. “Well, reason that they’d accept, anyway.”

Cazne nods as well. “Jango… he mentioned a Ben,” the twi’lek wrinkles his nose, lekku twitching. “It’s a long shot, but I think we should contact Kenobi. It would also take care of our Republic problem, having jedi representation.”

“You can’t possibly think Kenobi is the Ben Jango mentions,” Silas denies incredulously. “It’s a ridiculously common name. When would they even have met?”

“Anytime in the past eleven years, I would assume,” Cazne shoots Silas an unimpressed glare. “I said it was a long shot.”

Jaster intervenes before they can start fighting. “If we have to deal with the Republic, I’d rather it be someone who knows us.” He gives them all a wry smile. “Better to get ahead of their bureaucracy and request Kenobi directly. I’ll send the comm as soon as we’re done here. Any objections?”

No one speaks up, so Jaster nods again. “Let’s get moving then.”

“Oya [Let's hunt]!”

-----

Obi-wan is pleasantly surprised at the call from Mandalore; it adds some much-needed spice to his day. Dantooine is peaceful, of course, but in the way a full day of meditation is: relaxing, but absolutely mind-numbing at the same time. The abandoned temples he’s exploring are interesting, but thousands of years of looters have left little for him to find even among the areas too dangerous to reach without Force assistance. He’s not entirely sure why the Force called him here in the first place, but considering he’d been halfway across the galaxy when he’d gotten a vision of the ruins, it could have just been that it wanted him close enough to be able to offer timely assistance with whatever the mandalorians needed.

“I am, as always, pleased to be of service,” Obi-wan smiles at Mand'alor [Sole leader] Mereel before he glances to the side. “I have, however, acquired a little shadow. How dangerous do you expect the retrieval to be?”

Jaster hums. “Unknown. We won’t be able to fully trace the call until we’re closer to the source. They indicated a perimeter still to be secured, but didn’t seem to be in much of a panic. How well trained is your prud’ika [little shadow]?”

“Quite well, for his age. Unfortunately, he’s only six,” the jedi returns wryly. He contemplates the issue for a moment, Jaster politely leaving him to his thoughts, before continuing. “I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“If you say so,” the Mand'alor [Sole leader] nods, trusting that Obi-wan knows his own limits and those of his charge. “We’ll meet you on Aris in four days. We lost signal tracking there, so that's where we’ll start our search.”

“Aris in four days,” Obi-wan confirms. “Ret’urcye mhi [Goodbye], Mand'alor [Sole leader].”

“Ret’urcye mhi [Goodbye], Kenobi.”

Obi-wan tucks his comlink away and turns to his little companion. “Up for a different kind of adventure, uli-ah [child]?”

“With Mandalorians?” The child’s mask buzzes on the sibilants, making strange echoes against the rock formation they were exploring when the call came through.

Obi-wan smiles, collecting his small bag and gesturing for his apprentice to do the same. “Yes. The Haat Mando’ade [True Mandalorians], specifically. They’re exceptional warriors - and something like friends. I helped them for a year shortly before I met you and your father.”

There’s a fritz of static - an exasperated huff of air against the vocoder - as the boy abandons the miniature settlement he had been constructing from bits of rubble. “If they’re good fighters, why do they need you?”

“That, my dear,” Obi-wan laughs, “is pure politics. They’ll be travelling though Republic space, which is cause enough for concern to some people, but they’re also looking for one of their own and they aren’t sure where exactly they are. So it’s possible the verd [soldier] - that’s the word for ‘warrior’ in their language - it’s possible the verd [soldier] needs to be picked up from a Republic world as well, which is cause for even greater concern. As jedi, we will act as assurance that their mission is only what they state it is, not whatever strange idea the local government thinks it is.”

The pair make their way through the ruined temple carefully as Obi-wan explains, heading back out onto the plains towards where they had set their camp in the shade of a great blba tree. They take down their traps - more for aggressive wildlife than any fear of bandits - and pack them and their tent onto their rented speeder. The trip back to the small landing pad outside the ancient jedi temple was only a few hours, but they hadn’t wanted to have to make the round trip every day they were out researching.

Even so, there was no hurry. Aris was barely more than a day's jump coreward, so they had time before they needed to meet up with the Mand'alor [Sole leader] and his verde [soldiers]. Aris was even more remote than Dantooine in a lot of ways, with only one spaceport and no native sapients, but as the intersection of several hyperlanes it would have a little more entertainment for a curious child than the vast plains and crumbling ruins they’d been exploring. That’s not to say they hadn’t found anything of interest on Dantooine, but six-year-olds are still less interested in dusty archaeological studies of centuries-dead jedi than they are in climbing giant trees. Obi-wan’s apprentice deserves a break for enduring it as long as he had.

-----

Either by some stroke of luck or as a creepy mirror to the house where this all started, the space fortress Jango has found himself in is completely empty of any other organic life. There’s a couple of droids wandering around, but they speak in beeps and whistles he can only half parse. He does manage to get one of them to help him find a cold storage room where he can stash the bodies of the human and alien so that they aren’t just laying around rotting, though.

He also finds what passes for a kitchen, interrogating the droid stationed there as best he can to find out what kind of food he can eat from their stock and gathering a supply of water before he retreats to the office again. The room is the most defensible he’s found so far, at least in the way he judges such things. It has a good view of most of the grounds from its window - including actual spaceship landing zones, what the hell - and bottlenecks any hostile approach through the singular door.

It takes four days - both by his phone’s count as well as the clock on the one datapad he has access to, marking out a 24-hour day as standard no matter how fast this damn moon spins around its gas giant - for the comlink embedded in the large desk to light up with an incoming call. He answers it warily, staying out of the visual pickup until the image resolves into a painfully familiar-looking electric blue hologram.

“Jaster?” Jango stumbles into range, reaching like he can grab the man through the connection.

“Jango,” Jaster chokes out in return. “Ner ad, su cuy’gar [My child, you're still alive].”

Jango sobs out a laugh. It’s been so long since he’s heard that language, that voice. “I think that’s my line, old man. I saw you get shot.”

His adopted father’s face crinkles with confusion before it clears. “We can talk more about what happened when we get to you. Did you find anything new that might help pinpoint your location?”

“No,” Jango shakes his head, wincing a little. “I had to kill the two that brought me here in self-defence and the droids left aren’t much help. Most of the datapads are locked and I didn’t want to take my chances cracking them. I wasn’t going to try my luck with the ships either.”

Jaster nods, glancing to the side. “We can trace you as far as Gelda but after that we’ll need to drop into sublight and keep the connection open in order to pinpoint your system.”

Most of that goes over his head, or it should, but he hasn’t spent his time alone just wallowing. Every new inquiry he makes on the holonet - what a space name for the galaxy-wide internet - seems to unlock memories associated with the relevant search results. He’s put off thinking too hard about it for now, but he knows the moment he feels safe enough it’ll all come crashing down. That’s a problem for future-Jango, though.

“How long until Gelda, then?”

“Another day, or just under,” Jaster replies. “Will your supplies hold out?”

He nods. “They were well stocked. From what notes I can decipher, they were planning to hold something called a Gathering soon. Probably won’t go down now but if it does, there’ll be a lot of dangerous company arriving next week.”

His dad swears, echoed faintly by someone out of view. “Good news is it shouldn’t take us that long to get to you. Hopefully it also means any planetary defences are down, but maybe see if you can confirm that.”

Jango nods again, already shuffling through the stacks of flimsi for the one he mapped the fortress out on. Jaster looks at something out of holo range again and winces. “I’ve got to go so we can make the jump. There’ll be plenty of time to talk once we hit Gelda. K’oyacyi [Stay alive], ad’ika [child (affectionate)]."

Jango swallows around the lump in his throat. “K’oyacyi [Stay alive], buir [parent]."

The hologram flickers out and he can only stare at the space it had occupied, trying to process the conversation now that it was over. Jaster is alive - really alive, even if he isn’t the same father he’d had to bury too young - and is coming to get him. That means the only thing he regrets about this abduction is having to give up on the possibility of Ben coming home, dead or alive. He tries not to focus on those memories, on his last months in the military and the terror of captivity in an active war zone, but the whole situation has boiled them to the surface.

Jango pushes away from the desk, reflexively checking his weapons as he reminds himself he’s not a prisoner here, transport is coming. There’s plenty of food and water, he has unrestricted access to every part of this building and there’s no one left alive to tell him otherwise. For all intents and purposes, Jango is the master of this fortress and all it holds.

Despite recognising all of these points and more, he knows his dreams will be filled with more nightmares than usual and he debates keeping watch all night instead. He dismisses the idea quickly; he wants to be as alert as possible when Jaster next calls and he shouldn’t feed his own paranoia so blatantly anyway. Reluctantly, Jango turns to the nest he’s constructed in the corner of the office, built from blankets and cushions scavenged from elsewhere in the building. He curls up as comfortably as he can and forces himself to sleep.

-----

Obi-wan makes sure his apprentice is set up with both snacks and a moderate selection of learning modules before leaving their berth and heading towards the communications room, nodding affably at anyone he passes on the way. He’d docked their little starfighter in the bay of the Mandalorian’s larger freighter, not at all surprised that Mand'alor [Sole leader] Mereel had brought nearly two full squads of his best commandos to retrieve one of his own from an unknown situation.

Obi-wan got the sense the verd [soldier] had been presumed dead, though no one had explained who they were coming to the assistance of. It seemed everyone was eager to see them and his heart clenches at the thought of those who assumed the same of him. Most of them are within reach if he just picks up a comm and calls, but there is one he’d been torn from just before arriving on Mandalore two years ago that he would give nearly anything to be able to talk to again. Wherever Jango is, Obi-wan hopes he’s happy.

The comm room is relatively calm at the moment, likely due to their imminent arrival. They’d confirmed the signal originated from an unnamed system a day’s flight further along the galactic arm from Gelda, but the call is being kept open to be able to pinpoint which of the several moons around the only gas giant in the system is the one they want. At the moment, the holotable in the center of the room shows only flickering blue static, indicative of an empty receiver on the other side.

“You’ve just missed meeting them; they stepped out to double check landing protocols with one of the droids,” the tech overseeing the room says in mando’a, gesturing at the table, as Obi-wan steps inside. “They should be back shortly, if you were looking to meet them before we land.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Obi-wan smiles, responding in kind and waving off the apology. “I was actually looking for Mand'alor [Sole leader] Mereel. I thought they’d be here since they weren't in the armoury or the cockpit.”

They nod back, tapping a few things on their console. “They’re in their room. You can stop by if you need to.”

“Vor entye [Thank you],” Obi-wan sketches a quick, shallow bow and turns away again.

He’s halfway out the door when he hears the tech straighten and offer a cheerful welcome back to the verd [soldier] on the other end of the open line. Something urges him to turn around but the door slides shut and takes the decision from him. Obi-wan almost goes back in, but he really does need to talk to Jaster and get back to his bunk before his student decides exploring is more interesting than galactic history or learning bocce. He gives himself a shake and continues down the hall towards the crew quarters. He knocks lightly at Jaster’s door, palming it open at the call to enter that comes from within.

“Obi-wan,” the Mand'alor [Sole leader] greets from across the room where he’s checking over a pair of well-cared for vambraces. “Ready for descent? We should arrive within the hour.”

Obi-wan tilts his head; Jaster’s already in full armour and the paint doesn’t match besides, so this pair likely belongs to someone else. He puts it out of his mind and focuses on the question. “Yes, I was just coming to ask whether you wanted us to stay on the ship, since this isn’t a Republic system and we’re quite redundant given the skill of the ramikade [commandos] you’ve tapped.”

Jaster pauses, then shakes his head with a wry grin. “No, you may as well come along. I’ve dragged you this far anyway.”

“It was hardly against my will,” Obi-wan retorts. “Or out of our way.”

That gets him a rough laugh as Jaster sets the vambrace down and turns fully towards him. “Still, thank you for coming. You saved us the trouble of finding another sympathetic ear we could drag across the quadrant.”

Obi-wan ducks his head with a grimace. “No debt, Mand'alor [Sole leader]. I’m still repaying you for the help you gave me when I so rudely dropped in on you two years ago.”

Jaster sighs; they’ve had this argument before and neither is willing to back down. He checks his chrono and shakes his head. “Better get back to your ad [child] and strap in. We don’t expect a rough ride, but I wouldn’t want the kid tossed around for nothing.”

“As you say,” Obi-wan nods. “We’ll follow after the last of your verde [soldiers], in case something goes wrong. Not that I think it will,” he adds with a quirk of his lips. “I have only good feelings about what we’ll find down there.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Ob’ika,” Jaster waves him out of the room, attention already returning to the armour laying on his desk.

Obi-wan leaves him to his thoughts.

-----

The call is still open even as the freighter it’s connected to drops expertly onto an empty landing pad. Jango watches from the office window as the door seals disengage and a landing ramp extends.

“Jaster first,” he demands into the comm, loud enough to be heard because they can’t see him where he stands.

There’s what sounds like a scuffle on the other end and then an exasperated voice that Jango places as Kuuran, Jaster’s second. “He’ll be in armour and he won’t take it off until he’s in cover or we’ve secured the site ourselves. C’mon, kid; you know better.”

“I’ll meet you at the doors,” Jango accedes, pushing away from the sill. “But I want to see Jaster first, tayli’bac [got it]?”

Kuuran huffs out a laugh. “Sure thing, alor’ika [little leader].”

He lingers just long enough to confirm the silver and red paint on the first warrior to disembark before he ends the transmission and winds his way through now-familiar halls. He tells himself there’s no hurry, but by the time he reaches the ground floor he’s jogging anyway. He forces himself to open the door slowly, watching the armoured form on the other side freeze for just a second before their hands reach out.

Reflex has him stepping back out of range, even if he wants desperately to be closer. He needs to see, to at least have that up-close visual, before he can let his guard down. His eyes dart warily across the cluster of armour crowding the doorway, lingering on the visible weapons. Several sets of hands raise almost in concert, the hiss of seals releasing as they draw off their decorated helmets. Jango zeros back in on the one in front, breath catching as their face is revealed.

“Buir [Parent],” he chokes, still holding back, drinking in the sight of the man he thought dead for over a decade.

“Jan’ika,” Jaster replies, equally overwhelmed.

They come together with a sob, Jaster’s helmet crashing carelessly down to the stone floor as they wrap each other in a bruising hug. Jango buries his face in his father’s shoulder, shuddering at the reassurances murmured in his ear. The rest of the verde [soldiers] ease past them, circling around the embracing pair in a loose guard.

“We brought your armour,” Jaster says, pulling back to get a better look at his son. “What even are you wearing?”

Jango opens his mouth to reply, but a soft voice from behind Jaster steals all of his breath.

“It’s a tacvest, in a style I hadn’t thought I’d ever see again. Hello again, Jango.”

He freezes, staring blankly up at his buir [parent], even as the man himself twists to give the speaker an incredulous look. “You know my son, Ob’ika?”

“Mm,” Ben - a ghost, he can’t be real, Jango isn’t that lucky, it must be a ghost - agrees wordlessly, shuffling closer and watching cautiously as Jango’s breathing stutters and his hands begin to flex.

If he says anything further, Jango doesn’t hear it as he falls into memories. Years serving together, building trust and learning how they fought together. Months of captivity eased ever-so-slightly by that familiar presence. Torture sessions soothed by gentle hands and soft words when he’s dumped back in their cell, beaten and bloody. Returning the favour when his fellow prisoner is taken instead until, one day, they don’t give him back at all. He’d broken, then. Snapped the necks of those who came to subdue him, escaped that camp, and left nothing but destruction behind when he couldn’t find even a trace of the body.

Gentle hands cradle his face now, and soft words cut through the fog in his mind, drawing him back to the present. When he finally focuses, he’s kneeling on the ground and it’s not Jaster before him but someone else he’d thought lost, pressing their foreheads together to ground him. Jango stares for a long while, completely oblivious to anything else in the room.

He swallows dry, throat clicking, but manages to speak. “Ben?”

“I’m here,” Ben agrees, tender. “We’re alive.”

“What,” Jango rasps, forcing the words out as best he can, “what was the last thing you said to me?”

Ben’s expression crumbles into anguish, his thumb stroking the scar at the corner of Jango’s right eye. “‘I’ll be right back, darling, don’t worry about me.’ I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Oru-ah [Teacher]? Why are you on the floor?” A tiny voice pipes up from the doorway before Jango can even think of telling Ben he’s forgiven, if only for being here when he was otherwise thought lost.

Jango forces himself to lean back, though he refuses to let go completely. There’s a child watching them with a confused tilt to their head. Ben smiles, freeing one hand to run it softly over the wrappings that cover the child’s crown.

“We sit on the floor all the time, uli-ah [child]. What has you so concerned about this time?”

There’s a fritz of air through the vocoder, the child stares pointedly at Jango for a few seconds before turning back, and Ben huffs an answering laugh. “He’s my tuyuraayt. Does that pass inspection, little warrior?”

Before Jango can enquire about the unfamiliar word, Jaster speaks up from where he's crouched beside them, gentle command in his voice. "Maybe we should move this to somewhere more comfortable.”

“The office,” Jango manages to grit out, trying to force himself to stand while still holding on.

“Built yourself a nest, did you?” Ben grins knowingly as he helps Jango up and towards the stairs.

Both of them pointedly ignore the flashing hand signs and swift exchanges of credits between the ramikade [commandos] who fall in like an honour guard. Jaster directs verde [soldiers] to begin setting their own perimeter when they get close, though most follow them into the lavish space. Ben grimaces as they approach the middle of the room, drawing the kid in tight to his side as they skirt the dried bloodstains to settle on the couch.

-----

The room Jan’ika leads them to clearly served as the operations center for whoever owned the place. It's defensible and secure and Jango obviously agreed when he took over from them and built, as Obi-wan called it, his nest. Jaster sets a couple of verde [soldiers] to cracking the datapads and a few more to searching and documenting everything else in the room.

“Oru-ah [Teacher],” Obi-wan’s apprentice says, as quietly as they can, “it feels bad in here. Do we have to stay?”

“Feels bad, ad’ika [child (affectionate)]?” Jaster questions, turning to Obi-wan when the kid shifts their shoulders in a loose approximation of a shrug. “Is it a Force thing?”

The jedi wrinkles his nose and nods. “They must have been doing quite a bit more than whatever summoning drew Jango back here though. The whole moon feels dark, but it’s concentrated most heavily here.”

Obi-wan leans into Jango where he’s slumped against the back of the couch, angling his body to keep himself between Jango and the rest of the room even though there’s no active threat. Jaster doesn’t think his son views any of the assembled ramikade [commandos] as potentially hostile, but he clearly trusts Obi-wan to watch his back more. The knowledge stings just a little, but Jaster didn’t miss their entwined fingers either, as though the display in the front hall when Jango got lost in his battle trauma wasn’t a clear enough sign.

“Jan’ika did say he had to kill the two who brought him here,” he muses, looking again at the bloodstains and trying to recreate the scene in his head. “I assume this is where it happened.”

“Their bodies are in the cold storage off the kitchens,” Jango rasps out, waving away Silas' canteen but accepting Jaster’s when it’s offered next.

“I assume these lightsabres are theirs, then?” Cazne drawls from the desk.

Obi-wan jerks upright, eyes wide. “Lightsabres? What colour?”

"Red," Jango answers before anyone tries to turn one on, looking between the verde [soldiers] at the desk and the man at his side warily.

“Osik [Shit].” Ben clutches both his apprentice and Jaster's son closer. “Mand’alor [Sole leader], everyone needs to be very careful touching anything else in here, especially any datacubes or weird looking artefacts. They definitely weren’t dark side amateurs; it’s likely they were Sith.”

Jaster swears under his breath, sending the order out to all verde [soldiers] not with them to regroup immediately. When they’re all assembled, he relays what to avoid and starts barking more commands. “Pack up what we can take safely and get those bodies into stasis. We’ll make a holorecord walkthrough of the place for proof and then we leave.”

“I’ll call the Temple from your ship, if you permit it Mand’alor [Sole leader],” Obi-wan says, gently extracting himself from both his apprentice and Jango so that he can assist the verde [soldiers]. “They can send a Shadow team to investigate that will be much more experienced in darksider magics.”

Jaster nods, about to turn away to continue coordinating their departure when Jango speaks up again, sounding at least somewhat more settled. “They might need protection. Assuming invitations went out before I arrived, anyone coming for that Gathering thing will be showing up within the next few days.”

There’s a brief pause as that information is processed and then a flurry of scattered curses as everyone picks up their pace. Obi-wan stands to help and Jaster isn’t at all surprised to see Jango follow. He leans in to speak quietly with Obi-wan, then they both turn towards the waiting Mand’alor [Sole leader].

“Buir [Parent], I think Ben should see the dead guys before they’re crated up.”

Jaster tilts his head at that. “Any particular reason why?”

Obi-wan nods, eyes drifting to the trio of lightsabres still sitting ominously on the desktop. “If they really are dar’jetiise [Sith]… I’ve heard a few legends about death-like states and Sith with the ability to revive themselves.” He pauses and grimaces a little. “Also I think at least one of the ships out on the pads is registered to the Republic, which means we’re going to have to have an airtight story about why a presumed dead mando’ad [mandalorian] killed a Republic citizen.”

By the stars, Jaster hates Republic politics. A flick of his hand calls Kuuran to their huddle. “You and Ben are in charge of the stasis containers. Take two others, in case the dar’jetiise [Sith] are somehow not actually dead down there. Ben’s your confirmation, and if he says retreat, you follow that order. I’ll keep your ad [child] safe here until you’re done,” he adds to Obi-wan as Kuuran salutes and calls orders of her own to a pair of commandos.

Jaster steps in front of Jango, careful not to touch him unexpectedly, before he can follow them out the door. “No, I need you here, Jan’ika. Walk me through what happened when you arrived and we’ll see how we can keep this from blowing up worse than it already might.”

Jango visibly hesitates until Obi-wan gives an unfamiliar hand signal. Whatever Jango signs back is likely rude, given the way Ben’s laugh echoes down the hallway, but at least he stays. One eye on Ben’s ad [child], thankfully still sitting on the couch, Jaster turns on a holorecorder and waits for his own child to collect his thoughts and begin his report.

-----

They make it back off the moon in under 36 hours, with the majority of that spent methodically working through the fortress and clearing it room by room. It’s surprisingly nostalgic for Obi-wan, in a ‘this will probably give him nightmares later’ kind of way. Jango hardly leaves his side; the only one who can draw him away is Jaster and, even then, not for long. That, too, is comfortingly familiar, even in this new-old setting.

“Where are we headed?” Jango murmurs in the dark of their berth, conscious not to wake the child curled under a pile of blankets on the opposite bunk.

“Garqi,” Obi-wan replies just as softly. “There’s an AgriCorps Chapter House there that doubles as a Shadow waystation for this part of the Outer Rim. I can take the crates down in my ship and by all appearances be just another Corpsmember coming back from assignment. Provided this ship stays out of sight behind the moon, no one else on-planet should know any different.”

The Council had been just as confused as they usually were when Obi-wan contacted them. He’s become something of a legend like Jon Antilles now, he thinks; presumed dead until he makes contact again after months or years of silence. Still, they’d offered up the knowledge of the closest Shadow enclave and urged him to make contact. They would organise a secondary force from Coruscant, of course, but with the death of two dark side users and how he’d emphasised the feel of the Force encompassing the moon, it’s clear they needed to begin their own investigations as soon as they could.

“I’m going planetside with you.”

“Jango,” he sighs, ready to argue against it before a thought hits him. “How much of this place do you remember?”

There’s a long pause, a tightening of grip where Jango’s hand rests on Obi-wan’s hip, and finally an answering sigh. “Enough. It’s been coming back in waves, usually when I see something I used to know. Sometimes it takes a bit, though.”

“You can’t wear your armour,” Obi-wan concedes, “but we’re going to make use of one of their meditation rooms so I can help you sort it out. Hopefully that will help the rest come back faster too.”

“Sure, sure,” Jango grumbles goodnaturedly. “Meditation and yoga poses; just like old times.”

"Force, I missed you," Obi-wan murmurs, shifting closer on the small bunk.

Jango takes the invitation and pulls him in until they're practically flush from chest to knee. "Missed you too, even if your ideas on relaxation are too much work sometimes."

Obi-wan laughs under his breath, curling his hands into the soft fabric of the tunic someone gave Jango to sleep in. They lie in the dark, letting the minutes drift by peaceably, matching breaths and revelling each other’s presence.

“What will you do now?” Jango whispers, barely louder than the hum of hyperspace around them.

“I go where the Force wills,” Obi-wan hums, sliding just that little bit closer so he can press their foreheads together, “and right now it’s telling me I am exactly where I need to be.”

“And after?” He asks haltingly, almost like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Darling, I thought you had it figured out.” Obi-wan gives another soft huff of a laugh, tightening his grip when it seems Jango might pull away. He slips one hand beneath the tunic to rest over Jango’s heart. “No matter how far apart we seem, I will always return to where you are. You have my heart.”

“Ben,” Jango chokes out, twisting to steal a breathless, bruising kiss. “Ni kar’taylir gar darasuum [I love you]. Vercopa ni gar shekemir an’vaiise [I will follow you anywhere].”

Obi-wan muffles anything further with a kiss of his own, tugging Jango over himself. Years of longing burn away under eager mouths and tongues, slowing only as fatigue and the reminder of a child nearby bank their passion.

“We were going to get out,” Jango murmurs into this new calm after a long moment. “We were going to break out and go home and then I was going to get you a ring. Show up at your post and tell command I didn’t go anywhere without you anymore and damn what they thought about it.”

“I wasn’t going to wait that long,” Obi-wan says, a smug smile curling his lips. “One of the guys on forward base owed me a favour and he pulled some strings. We were supposed to have those rings as soon as we got back from that patrol. Would’ve had them as soon as we dragged ourselves out of the med tent after, if he didn’t just drop them on us while we were still in.”

It’s Jango’s turn to muffle his laughter, burying his face in Obi-wan’s throat. “As long as we’re on the same page, then. Let me make it up to you. Will you take armour instead?”

Obi-wan swallows thickly. “If it’s yours, darling, of course. I’ll take anything you give me.” He pauses for another soft, sweet kiss. “And everything of mine is yours if you wish it.”

“All of it, then.”

“We’ll tell your father in the morning.”

Jango groans good-naturedly but agrees, curling around Obi-wan until they hardly seem separate people. Then, thoughts full of a much brighter future, they finally drift to sleep.

tuyuraayt: chosen partner (lit. hunter-water-person, or "person who would hunt water for me" with implied reciprocity) [an entirely made up word]

#star wars #all hallows jangobi 2022 #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #jangobi #this abjured land of bliss #fanfic #day 5: ritual gone wrong

2 notes · View notes

amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Love knows not its depth (until the hour of separation)

pairing: Kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! warnings: a tiny smudge of suggestive content wc: 4.9k m.list ~ taglist. ~

a/n: this is my rendition of a grown up Kuroo. life has been a little hectic for me recently, so i’m only getting around to posting it now. pls be kind and i hope y’all love it <3

“I need a break.”

Kuroo continues to snore. You are unsurprised he doesn’t hear you. After all, he came home glassy eyed, smelling strongly of alcohol after yet another night of drinks with his boss before quickly falling asleep in bed. It’s what he does most weekday nights, leaving you alone at home to manage your two daughters and tuck them into bed.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro.”

You are too tired to even tell him how you feel. You have a career of your own, two daughters to raise, a never ending list of chores and errands that must be done. You are a mother, a wife, a career woman. You have so many roles to play yet there is no space for you.

You must do something, anything or risk your heart imploding in your very chest.

You cannot survive that.

The next morning, you call your boss, ask for a day off. Then you pack your girls off to your mother’s place with two little suitcases with toys and clothes enough for a long weekend before you take the train to Hakone, check yourself into the ryokan with a view of Mt. Fuji that you spent your honeymoon at - except this time, you’re alone (but then again, you’ve been lonely for so long, you hardly notice the difference anymore).

You dip yourself into the hot waters of the onsens, watch bamboo sway in the breeze. It’s been at least a year since you’ve been even able to take a bath uninterrupted. There’s always something - Aiko needing help with her homework, Fumiko whining for another piece of mochi, your boss calling to chase for yet another report, so all you’ve ever had time for is a hurried shower before placating your daughters or seating yourself in front of your laptop to deal with your boss.

Finally, you’ve stolen a day to yourself. It’s absolute bliss.

The water is kind to you. Its heat soothes your aching muscles, the rising steam steadies your breath. You walk out of the baths feeling refreshed, renewed, but when you enter your room you find Kuroo Tetsuro waiting for you.

“I’ve been calling your phone all afternoon”, he says, face pinched. “I was worried.”

“Were you?” you say before you can stop yourself. “Really?”

“Of course”, he says, uncrossing his legs to stand. “You’re my wife and the mother of my children, of course I care.”

Wife. Mother. Employee.

The roles that life has handed you haunts you again. There is no escape for you.

Your skin suddenly feels as if it’s stretched too tight over your frame. Your bones rattle, brittle. They threaten to break if you take another breath. Yet you laugh and laugh and laugh, the sound spilling from your lips filling the room, suffocating the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“If you really cared, you would have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between bouts of laughter. “I tried fixing myself with a break but you can’t even give me that.”

Kuroo stares at you, equal parts horrified and confused. He takes a hesitant step forward towards you before thinking the better of it, swerving over to the kettle instead, clutching it as if it holds the cure to your madness.

“Calm down”, he says, “take a seat”, and you do. He offers you a cup of tea. You accept it, even though you’re still shaking from the aftershock of your laughter. “Drink”, he says, and you bring the cup to your lips, though you wonder absently why you taste salt in the bitter tea.

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.”

You want to tell him that you’re not strong enough to do what’s expected of you. You want to tell him that you’re drowning from the weight of being his wife, the mother of his kids, from being a working woman that he can be proud of. You want to tell him that you understand his career is important, but so is yours, and you can’t carry the weight of the world alone.

But that would take too many words, and you are far, far too tired for that.

So you say blankly - “I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.”

His face falls.

You should remember that Kuroo Tetsuro, first and foremost, is a child scarred by his parents’ divorce. You should remember that you made promises that you and he would never put your daughters through that. But you’ve floated beyond hysteria into a grey indifference, your mind too broken, too tired, too numb to consider him when you can barely even hold on to yourself.

You don’t even notice the hot tears soaking through your yukata. You are deaf to his pleas to give him another chance. There is nothing left in you to give because you’ve poured all you’ve had into him, into your family, into your job. You are so, so empty, and you just sit and sip your tea and wonder idly if the warmth from the liquid you’re ingesting will make you feel a little more alive, or if it’s possible to ease the dull ache in your heart.

It is only when you wake up the next day and the sun is high in the sky that you register that he rolled out your futon for you, tucked you into bed, and kissed your forehead as a goodnight and goodbye. But all of this is washed away by the relief you feel when you read the note he’s left behind telling you that he’s returned to Tokyo, and to enjoy your break.

So you do.

You relish every bite of the meals you have at the ryokan. It’s nice not having to cook or scarf down your food at your office desk for once. You fill your time flitting between the onsens and curling up in your room with a book, taking frequent cat naps until tomorrow comes around again and it’s time to check out and head home.

There’s a brief moment of surprise when the reception informs you politely that your husband already paid your bill - but you suppose that’s just Tetsuro being efficient at racking up credit card points. The bullet train takes you back to Tokyo, and a couple stops on the subway takes you home.

“Okaeri”, you call softly out of habit, not expecting anyone to respond, but Kuroo responds with an even softer ‘Tadaima’, striding over to take your bags from you and usher you into the apartment. There are pink roses sitting in a vase, but you pay it no mind.

“The girls?” you ask, already headed in the direction of their room.

“I picked them up from your mom”, Kuroo responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed”.

A peek into their room and it settles your mind to see that your girls are safe and sound asleep.

“Thanks,” you say, back in the kitchen, checking the fridge for what you can whip up for breakfast for you and the girls tomorrow. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine”, Kuroo answers, scratching his head. His hair seems a little more rumpled than usual. “I’ll cover it. I should’ve realised you needed a break.”

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me, I’ve got money of my own.”

“No, let me pay for it, please. It’s the least I can do.”

You shrug. “Okay”, you say gracelessly. “Thank you.”

He continues to watch you over the kitchen counter as you lay out bread, eggs, ham, cheese. It’ll do for a quick breakfast for the girls tomorrow, never mind the guilt eating away at you that you really should do better than feeding them processed food all the time. You’re so preoccupied with planning the morning rush, the best way to clear the stack of reports that must have piled up on your desk at work by now that you miss Kuroo rounding the counter to stare down at you worriedly.

“You haven’t had dinner?”

“Oh no, I had a bento on the train on the way back.” It’s second nature to you to brush away anyone’s concern. “It’s for the girls’ breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them to childcare before work tomorrow. Sleep in and take a break.”

“Really?” You stare back at him, confused. He doesn't even take charge of the girls in the mornings when you’re sick, your mother always has to fill in your place. He only ever turns up on the first day of school each year.

“Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve rearranged my work schedule so I can take them to school all of this week at least.”

“Oh”, you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, I guess. Wake me up if you need my help.”

“I won’t”, he replies, with a cocky smirk that seems almost false. “Goodnight, love.”

You don’t think of Kuroo’s strange behaviour overmuch, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Kuroo continues to act strangely all of next week.

As promised, he takes charge of getting the girls out of bed and ready for school. But you’re taken aback when he starts coming home for dinner, completely floored when he hands you a whole armful of bath salts and orders you to take a relaxing, hot bath while he wrangles both the girls and the washing machine into submission.

He even calls your mother to ask her to babysit on a Saturday evening so he can take you out for dinner at a fancy restaurant that serves foam instead of food. You manage to stumble through conversation with him - a commendable effort, since it’s been so long since you’ve even held a proper conversation with him besides snatches of discussion about the girls.

At least until he states during dessert - “we can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.”

The mousse on your spoon melts by the time you put it down on your plate.

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls? Is that what this is about?”

Kuroo shakes his head frantically, reaches across the table for your hand, but you yank it away with a glare. The extra rest you’ve gotten this week has injected a little more fight in you.

“I try my best to be a good wife and mother, but I’m sorry I can’t be perfect and be there for you and the girls 24/7.” You press down on the sliver of cake with a vengeance. Clink! goes the flat of your spoon against the porcelain plate. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to be reliant on you.”

You regret your harsh words when Kuroo slumps back into his chair, murmuring “I just wanted you to be happy. Forget I ever said that.”

He pays the bill and you walk home in silence. He bids you goodnight with a crumpled smile.

It finally clicks when you are startled awake by Kuroo’s shout of alarm.

You roll over, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake from the nightmare that has him in its grip. His eyes jolt open, and the sight of your face makes him sink back into the pillow with a sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.”

“Why would I leave? This is my home, isn’t it?” You mumble, turning your back to him again.

You feel the bed shift as Kuroo sits up.

“No”, he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I was afraid you left me”.

Oh. So that’s what all of this is about.

You must stay quiet for far too long, because he gingerly crawls over to you.

“Dearest”, he says, your heart suddenly aching because you don’t remember the last time you heard him use that pet name with any amount of affection. “Darling”, he tries again, pawing at your back. You shut your eyes resolutely and refuse to turn to face him.

He doesn’t give up, even though the distance between you seems to yawn wide and wider with each passing second.

“Are you?” he asks, his words small, shrunken in the still, dark room. “Going to leave me, I mean.”

No, you’re about to say, the word balancing at the tip of your tongue but it feels wrong. Your break has given you the space to breathe, the time to think. It’s made you realise what you’ve said to him in the ryokan that night remains true.

This week has shown you that Kuroo can do better as a husband, as a father if he wants to. But he’s poisoned your marriage with neglect, forced you to dress up your sadness in silence, allowed your resentment to fester and simmer into frigid indifference. If you reassure him that you aren’t going to leave him, it’s only because you’re too tired to, not because you actually love him anymore.

“I don’t know, Tetsuro. Our daughters deserve to grow up with both their parents, but I’m not sure I want them to learn from my example that it’s okay to shoulder the weight of marriage, parenthood and a full time job all by themselves. Your dreams and career are important, I know, but I’m just so tired of being alone in this marriage when it was always supposed to be a partnership between me and you.”

You hear him choke back a sob. You should comfort him, but the exhaustion you feel at being honest with him, with yourself, weighs your bones down, forces you to sink further down into your mattress.

“I’m sorry”, he finally says.

“I’m tired, Tetsuro”, you whisper brokenly, clutching the blankets to your chin. “I think I deserve better.”

“I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

You want to ask him how, but your eyelids grow heavy, and you allow yourself to submerge into slumber.

You’re not sure what to expect, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. Things start to change.

Kuroo continues to take your daughters to childcare in the morning on the way to work as he did last week. That very weekend, he straps Fumiko to his chest, takes Aiko by her hand, and within an hour at the department store aided by a flash of his credit card, he purchases a dishwasher and robot vacuum for the house. He loads the dishes without you asking, runs the robot vacuum remotely once a day. It buys you time to breathe, a little more time to sleep.

He doesn’t always make it home in time for dinner, but he tries his best to rush home so he can read the girls a bedtime story and tuck them into bed.

“Dada”, Fumiko lisps, chubby fists wound around Kuroo’s tie. ‘I wanna hear another princess story!”

“No Fumiko! Papa promised to tell us how he met mama!” Aiko prods Kuroo’s side with the wooden doll Yaku sent from Russia that you know he abhors. ‘Keep your promises, papa!”

“Alright, settle down you monsters. I’ll tell you two stories if you promise to go to sleep right after that.” The girls cheer. “Now. Let’s see. A long, long time ago, your papa met your mama when she decided to beat him up because she thought he was trying to steal her food.”

“You were trying to steal my food”, you interrupt, leaning against the doorway amused. “You didn’t stop til I stabbed you with my fork.”

He glances up, surprised when you sit beside him on the bed. Then he grins.

“You left it on the table, dearest. What was a guy supposed to think?”

“Mama, please let dada tell the story”, Aiko interjects with a huff.

“Hurry up, dada! I want the princess story next!” Fumiko pulls at her silly dada’s shirt, pouting.

You both laugh. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips when his eyes meet yours.

Travelling all around Japan is still part of his job as a marketing director of the Japanese Volleyball Association. But now Kuroo pares it down to the bare minimum, makes sure he’s always back by the weekend at the very least to sweep the girls in his arms and shoo you off for a break of afternoon tea with your friends or shopping with your mom.

“Will you be ok when I’m gone?”

You hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.”

He bends down to kiss Aiko on her forehead, pinch Fumiko’s cheek playfully.

“Yes. Well. I’ll come home soon”, he says, quietly. You startle slightly as he brushes his thumb over your wrist, lets it drift over your pulse point. “Please wait for me.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’ll see you soon then”, you reply. His smile widens, his eyes are hopeful, bright.

On the weekends, he stops flitting off for work functions and events. Instead, now he joins you for lunches at the kaiten zushi near your house, indulging the girls by ordering yet another plate of sushi just so Aiko has another chance to win a toy from the gachapon and Fumiko has another chance at feeling grown up when she lifts the plate from the conveyor belt. He stops ducking out from dinners at the grandparents’ place - both his and yours. Your mom stops giving him dirty looks when he actually turns up more than three times in a row with sake in hand.

Once every so often, he even throws little parties for your family of four, going so far as to buy a frilly pink apron that makes your daughters giggle when he whips it out for the first time. After a few mishaps (and a number of frantic calls to Fukunaga), he masters how to make takoyaki and okonomiyaki, and in the colder months, he makes steaming pots of nabe and shabu shabu.

“Itadakimasu” you murmur, and the girls follow suit. “It tastes good”, you say.

He ducks his head bashfully, pink dusting the column of his neck.

“Thank you”, he replies. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

You start to savour the bubbles of happiness in your chest when you see how your daughters’ eyes shine when they see their papa whip out the pink apron. You learn to laugh when you hear the pitter patter of little feet, their delighted squeals and shrieks when they tell you the latest exploits their silly papa is cooking up - sparklers under the stars one weekend, a nerf gun fight, the next.

The weight on your shoulders grows lighter and lighter until one day you hardly notice it at all.

“What’s wrong?” you frown at the sight of your husband dashing out of your bedroom, hair a frazzled mess.

He whips around at the sound of your voice. “Oh. Oh.” He approaches you, slowly, carefully. “You’re still here.”

Your frown deepens. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed. Tetsuro, is everything alright?”

He nods. “It’s fine - I just... I just woke up and thought you were gone.”

You take a closer look. It’s dark, but the shadows of the night fail to hide the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the fine lines carved into his brow. His shoulders are bowed, his lips downturned and he looks broken, battered.

Your heart hurts for him.

“I’m here”, you say, beckoning him towards you. Physical affection has been scarce between you two for so, so long but he looks so distraught it’s only natural to pull him close, let him rest his head on your lap. “I’m here, Tetsuro. I’m not about to run off into the night – you know I don’t like the cold.”

He doesn’t laugh at your feeble joke. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?”

“Yes”, you say firmly, combing your fingers through his hair, rubbing circles along his back. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do.”

You can feel him sag in relief.

“You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for me. That’s – that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired, you need to take a break.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can bear it as long as you don’t leave me.”

“Tetsuro –“

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his.

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he begs, head bowed. “I know I’ve been a shit husband to you for so long. It’s no excuse, but I thought - ” he swallows heavily, waits until his voice stops wavering. “I thought we were ok, ‘cos we didn’t fight, not like my parents did before – before my mother left.”

“I was too tired to fight with you”, you say simply.

He nods once, jerkily. “I know – I know that now. When you disappeared that day, I didn’t know what to do. I went to your mom’s place and she reamed me out, screamed at me in front of the neighbours. I took the kids back, and it made me realise how fucking hard it was for you to do it all alone.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if the memory aches. “I know it’s late but I’ve changed, I swear. The girls need you. I need you. I’ll do anything as long as you stay.”

His fingers are freezing, but you do not pull away. Not when the desperation reflected in his irises makes your heart lurch in pain.

“It was hard”, you confess, and he shudders, struck in the chest by your honesty. “It was so hard, Tetsuro. You hurt me so damn much that I think I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was really functioning for a while. For a long while.”

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, and you nod shakily.

“I know”, you reply, reaching out a hand to cup his face, a bittersweet twist to your lips as he melts into your touch. “That’s a chapter of my life, of our marriage that can’t be re-written. We can’t rewind that. But the past few months have been so different. I – you’ve shown me you’ve changed. And I think –“

You fall silent.

He prompts you. “Dearest?”

You recall the glimmer of light in your daughters’ eyes every morning when he takes their hands to walks them to school. You hear the echoes of their laughter, the lilt in their sweet voices every night when they welcome him home. You think of the tea parties he throws, the blanket forts he builds, the frilly pink apron he wears without shame and the bedtime stories he weaves every night.

“I think”, you say, with a smile that reminds him of the rising sun. “I think we can make this work again.”

He stares at you until the weight of your words dawns upon him, and he surges forward to fold you into his arms.

“Thank you”, he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

“Don’t thank me, you silly man”, you nuzzle into his neck sleepily, draping your arms around his waist. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.”

He laughs wetly, cradling you close as you fall asleep against his chest, soothed by his heartbeat and the tenderness in his gaze.

Fumiko wakes you up unceremoniously before the sun even rises by climbing into your lap, and you open your eyes to Aiko pouting, hands on hips, demanding to know what’s for breakfast, and dada, dada, make a ham sandwich, pretty please with a cherry on the top.

“You guys are little monsters”, Kuroo teases with dancing eyes. “Can’t even give your papa a break to snuggle up to your mama.”

The girls shriek in dismay. “Don’t be mean”, you admonish him gently.

He mock sniffs. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.”

Aiko and Fumiko crowd the sofa, clamouring to give their papa a kiss, but he stalls them with an imperious wave of his hand.

“This morning, only a kiss from your mama can chase my crankiness away”. His tone is teasing, but his shoulders remain tense.

“Nonsense. You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine”, you scold, swatting his arm lightly as the girls giggle.

“Yours do!” he protests, and you roll your eyes as you press your lips to the corner of his lips, laughing when he puffs out his chest and declares his day can now start, that everything’ll be as right as rain.

Some days are full of sunshine, whilst others are full of rain. That’s life – but it’s bearable, enjoyable even, now that you and Kuroo face each day together, thanking the sun when it shines, and splashing through puddles on rainy days.

Things recalibrate.

The mornings are his domain now – he’s a master at concocting the most random breakfast items to satisfy your finnicky daughters. Aiko sniffs when she informs you that she’d prefer her papa to braid her hair, thank you very much, and when you shoot a look of death at Kuroo, he can’t even keep his face straight, his trademark hyena laugh erupting from his chest.

You cook dinner in the evenings, appreciating the times when he can join you at the table, not counting the nights he can’t against him because you know he’s trying his best. The girls clamour for his stories every night, laughing when he teasingly scolds them for yanking on his tie, demanding goodnight kisses from both him and you.

Now you force Kuroo to take some time to himself, shoo him off for lunches with Kenma, get-togethers with his Nekoma schoolmates. “I know you can manage it”, you tell him archly, “but you need breaks so you don’t burn out, or worse – you’ll lose your hair and we don’t want that”. When he opens and closes his mouth without a smart retort, you smirk. You get your way.

Both of you organise parties and playdates, inviting your shared friends – Kenma, of course, is a frequent guest, Bokuto, who brings along Akaashi and his sweet tempered little son (who Aiko always manages to pick a fight with, much to Kuroo’s amusement). You host Kai, who always brings offerings of flowers from his garden, Yaku, when he’s in town with his daughter, son and alarmingly fat cat. The adults congregate in the kitchen with food and alcohol, cracking good natured jokes at Kuroo and his frilly pink apron, watching the children cause a ruckus in the living room.

But you cherish the quiet moments you share with Kuroo at night when the children are asleep in bed. The chats you have whilst soaking in a hot bath about your day at work, the snippets of stories he shares about his boss, his crazy colleagues, the warmth of his arm around you as you stay up to clear emails late into the night, the heated kisses he presses to the nape of your neck to distract you when he thinks you’re working too hard.

It’s a good life. You’re happy, and so is he.

A year slips by.

The seasons come full circle. You return to the ryokan, finding peace in soaking yourself in steaming pools, watching the bamboo sway, the sun rise over Mt. Fuji. But this time, you’re not alone. You persuade Kuroo that he, too, needs a break - deserves one, truly. So you leave the girls with your mother and take the bullet train down to Hakone.

He shoots you a smirk as you both emerge from the private bath he’d insisted on booking. You swat at him, pulling your yukata higher up your neck, scowling as he winds an arm around your waist to press you into his side.

“You couldn’t wait til we got back to our room?” you hiss at him.

He chuckles lowly in response. “Didn’t hear you complaining”, he retorts.

“We were in an onsen, Tetsuro!”

“A private one”, he says with a waggle of his eyebrows, laughing aloud when you try and fail to slap your hand over his mouth. “What d’you think I was going to do with my lovely wife? I’m not a monk, sweetheart”

You try your best to shush him, but his cackling manages to capture the attention of everyone in the lift.

“What a happy couple”, an old lady remarks, within your earshot. “They must be newly married”

You think she must be a little senile. Or a little blind.

Neither of you are in your first flush of youth anymore - there are streaks of grey in Tetsuro’s mop of hair, extra weight in your hips and lines in your faces. No one could conceivably mistake you for a pair of newlyweds.

“Nah”, Kuroo drawls easily into your ear. “Just your regular old, married couple.”

You don’t speak until you’re safely in your room.

“A regular, old, happily married couple”, you say, as he hands you a cup of tea. “That obaa-san got that part right at least.”

Kuroo chokes on the lump of emotion in his throat as you serenely sip your tea.

The tea tastes bitter (as it always does), but the kisses that follow are so very, very sweet.

#haikyuu angst #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader angst #Haikyuucafe #haikyuucreations #love knows not its depth

2K notes · View notes

thebibliosphere · 3 years

Note

soooo I’m finally watching Marie Kondo’s Netflix show in an attempt to motivate myself to clean my room, and while a lot of the tips seem like things that will be good for my ADHD and anxiety, the homes she looks at are... kind of already clean? Like, no dust, no trash, no dirty laundry, no spiderwebs. There’s lots of clutter, but not a lot of actual dirtiness. And especially with my worsening depression, I’ve been trying not to think about how bad my room is for so long that there are Actual Cobwebs in a couple corners. I know I’m an extreme exception, but if you had any tips on how to tackle that aspect, I would fully appreciate it

Marie Kondo is less of a “clean your home” show and more of a “keep it organized.”

It’s also important to remember that no matter how real the people are, parts are staged. Because I guarantee you, some of those houses with the amount of clutter that is in them? Will absolutely have dust, cobwebs, and mold problems. We’re just not being shown them.

But that doesn’t mean you also can’t use Marie’s techniques to actually clean.

I’ve talked before about removing the lid from the laundry hamper helped ETD actually start putting laundry in the basket instead of on the floor/any flat surface. What I’ve yet to talk about is how that in no way helped us keep on top of doing laundry. The thing that really helped us was buying multiple cheap laundry baskets (this kind) and sorting our laundry out as we got changed. For example, there are three laundry baskets lined up near the door in our bedroom. One has t-shirts, another one has underwear, and another has, like, pants and jeans and shit. They serve both as visual reminders that we need to do laundry and help with pre-sorting laundry. Once they get full to a certain point, it’s time to do a laundry load.

We’ve also got baskets like these for towels, kitchen things and bed linens. Everything just goes into visible baskets, which can, if necessary, be stacked and shoved into a closet if company suddenly comes over. (Though that doesn’t happen so much these days.)

I also use spare hampers for doing 15-minute-pick-ups, which is exactly what it sounds like. I set a timer for 15 minutes, and I pick things up from places where they don’t belong and throw them in the hamper. So, for example, Holly’s toys and blankets are currently scattered all through the house. If I want to dust, vacuum, and clean, I will walk around the house picking her stuff up and putting it in the hamper, clearing a path for me to do the other things I need to do without worrying about organizing a space for her stuff.

Another example would be my work desk. My work desk is currently covered in everything from my work printouts, bills I need to pay, medical gear like my blood pressure cuff, all my charging cables, multiple books, some of Holly’s toys, and for some unknown reason, four measuring tapes. If I want to dust my desk, I will put everything in a basket, wipe the surface down, then pick out the things that belong on my desk. Like the printouts and the bills. My desk is now, in less than 15 minutes, dust-free and organized. But Joy, you might say, what about the things in the basket? What do I do with those? Easy, keep them in the basket and take them to where they do belong. But what if the space they belong needs cleaned? Rinse and repeat, take your basket to the next space, clear everything into the basket, clean the area, then put back the things that belong. Congrats, you may have just cleared multiple spaces. And if you run out of energy in the interim? That’s okay; it’s better to have things contained in baskets than scattered everywhere across your house. It reduces them down to smaller problems and reduces your visual exhaustion from clutter, making tasks easier for ADHD brains in the long run. (This also works for other types of executive dysfunction. Visual exhaustion is a real problem for brains that are already trying their hardest.)

So, now you’ve got things sorted into manageable piles, what do you do next? You prioritize what is necessary for your space to be safe and sanitary. Cobwebs might be gross looking, but they’re not really an issue compared to, say, actual trash or dirty dishes that might be molding in your space. Remove those things first. Set another 15-minute timer, pick up as much trash as you can, and put it in a trash bag. If the timer runs out and you’re still good to go, set it for another 15-minutes, or keep going until you’re done. I find music helps. I’ve actually tricked my brain into realizing that dishes take me 12 minutes (instead of the literal hours my brain thinks it is), so for me, that’s 3-4 songs from my favorite band. Other people like to watch “clean with me” videos on youtube. They can be quite motivating, sort of like second-hand dopamine from watching people be productive.

Once you’ve sorted one major task, assess how you’re feeling. Are you tired and need to stop? Great! You’ve achieved a lot already; well done. Have a sticker and or reward of choice. Tomorrow you will do another 15 minutes of something else, and slowly but surely, your space should become more manageable and less intimidating.

Think you can do more? Also great! Let’s maybe try to get the dishes next. After that, I’d suggest tackling the cobwebs, then dusting, then sweeping/vacuuming, and then if necessary, mopping the floor. And I don't mean all at once, I just mean in that order, just so you’re not having to go back and dust again.

I try to do 15 minutes of housework every day in this fashion. I also keep a rough schedule on our fridge and tick major tasks as we go. So did I do laundry this week? Yes! Excellent, gold star. No? Okay, well, that gets priority next week. (Still gold star for what I did achieve, though.)

It helps keep things manageable while also not being Too Much for either my ADHD or my physical disabilities. For some people, that 15 minutes is too much, and I would say even doing 5 minutes a day is better than none. Anything you can do to keep your living space safely habitable for both your mental and physical health is good and worthy of praise and pride.

Anyway, I hope some of this helps and wasn’t too long!

Take care and good luck!

#adhd #adult adhd #executive dysfunction #cleaning #sodapopmermaid #long post

2K notes · View notes

wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

All I Need is You

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You do so much for everyone else and so little for yourself that when you almost collapse, Loki finally gets you to agree to let him take care of you. Warnings: the reader skips some meals; a lot of fluff A/N: Its really just Loki taking care of you. But please remember to take care of yourselves too everyone!! Hope you enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedficrecs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163 @lokislittlesigyn @wolfish-trickster

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki was watching you even more carefully than normal these days. Yes, you’d caught his eye even on your first day in the Tower back when you were just a new recruit, a SHIELD agent with some kind of sixth sense that let you anticipate things, recently transferred to the Avengers Tower. Even now no one was entirely sure if it was a power or just an uncanny knack you had that made you extremely good at your job. Regardless, the trickster god could see how the ability had shaped you.

You’d only been in the Tower a week when you’d started running errands all over the city, offering things to people before they could even think they needed it themselves, then going to pick it up for them. Loki had declined the offer after hearing all the places you were already going. He’d hoped it was a fluke, that you wouldn’t make it a habit of taking care of everyone. Not that it was inherently bad, he just knew how tiring it could be to please everyone, worried that you would burn out. Of course, you had kept doing it, and his worries turned out to be justified.

“Darling, are you going out again?” Loki asked as you passed his seat in the common room on your way to the elevator. He set his book down, frowning. “Did you not just go yesterday? Unless, of course, this time it is for you. Then by all means, please be on your way.”

“No... It’s just Steve and Bucky were talking about some cereals they used to like and we don’t have any in the Tower so...” you trailed off, shuffling your feet.

“And can they not wait for it until the next scheduled trip to the supermarket?”

“Well, yeah, they said they could. But I don’t mind.”

Loki stood and sighed, walking over to you. Gently, so you didn’t have to comply if you didn’t want to, Loki lifted your chin to look at him. You looked tired. Admirable as it was that you wanted to do things for others, you needed a rest day.

“And tell me, darling, when was the last time you did something for yourself?” He waited a moment for an answer, but was met with silence. “What about that drawing you started two months ago? Have you worked on that more?”

“It wasn’t any good, anyway,” you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“It was wonderful,” he reassured you. “What about eating, though? Have you eaten today?”

“I... I had a mint.”

“That does not count.” Now he was outright worried. You did this every once in a while, saying you just got so caught up in other things, you forgot to eat. Whatever the reason, it troubled Loki. “You have had some water at least? You know what, do not answer. I am sure I know already. Just wait here a moment.”

You waited by the lift as Loki padded to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle. The problem went beyond just these shopping trips. Sometimes when Tony or Bruce got stuck on one of their projects, you’d pore over books and blueprints for hours, searching for the answer, losing sleep. Then other times, you took it upon yourself to plan events for the team. It was more than a simple, casual invitation. No, it usually involved at least three days of extensive planning. Everyone enjoyed them and was appreciative, needing a break from their day-to-day lives, but it just took up more of your time and brainpower. Pile that onto your own training and missions, it was enough to wear anyone out.

But what he both loved and hated the most was how you’d always be there to talk. Not just for him, but for everyone. And not merely a laid-back chat, either. No, they were practically therapy sessions. Again, just like all the other things you did, that would be all fine and good, except for the fact you never talked about your own issues. You just did so much for everyone else and practically nothing for yourself, even something so basic as remembering to eat, that it broke Loki’s heart a little more every day.

“Here,” he said, handing you the plastic bottle. “But I am coming with you.”

Smiling brightly, you led the way out into the city streets. You chatted as you went about your task, and Loki was yet to take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t until you started the journey back, however, that he began to grow worried. You hadn’t taken even the smallest sip of the water he’d fetched for you, and on this hot day, it was clearly taking its toll. You stumbled a little, suddenly looking more out of it than Loki could stand. He gently gripped your arm to steady you and led you to a bench. Grabbing the water out of your backpack, Loki uncapped it and held the bottle to your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered, but with kindness in his tone.

One of your hands that was gripping the bench a bit too tightly in an attempt to ground your dizzy mind came up to take the bottle from him. Complying, you downed nearly half the bottle in one gulp. It seemed that was a mistake as your empty stomach gargled, rebelling against the sudden intake. Loki rubbed large circles on your back while you scrunched your eyes closed, breathing deeply as you tried to force yourself to feel better.

“Are you alright, darling?” Loki asked when you felt well enough to take another few small sips. You nodded your head, eyes still closed. “Now do you see why it is important to take care of yourself? Will you please get some rest this afternoon?”

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry, I-”

“That is madness!” Both Loki and you flinched at his sudden increase in volume. He removed his hand from your back, feeling unworthy to make contact with you after snapping like that. You were his friend, and he was yelling at you for something like this? It made him disappointed in himself. He sighed. “Listen, I am sorry. All I mean is I care about you. I do not like to see you like this. It is not healthy, and I believe you know that.”

You opened your eyes, blinking at him. “You-you care about me?”

Loki felt heat flood to his cheeks as he realized that he had, in fact, said that. “I do. So will you please let me take care of you?”

You bit your lip for a minute. “I will,” you sighed, giving in.

Satisfied, Loki coaxed you into accepting a piggyback ride the rest of the way home. You placed your forehead in the crook of his neck, enjoying his cool skin against yours, which was noticeably overheating. He quickly tossed the grocery bags of cereal onto the counter and brought you to your room, your own little pocket of the world that you trusted Loki enough to share with him if even for a moment. Laying you down on your bed, he told you to rest for a minute, lips placing a ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

The god moved to your bathroom, looking for what he needed. After preparing a bubble bath with nice, cool water, Loki left you to sink into it with only the order to relax. While you did, he hurried to prepare you a light meal, something that wouldn’t upset your stomach. When you padded out of the bathroom in the soft pajamas Loki had left for you and saw the meal on a tray on your bedside table, a smile tugged at your lips.

Loki peeled back the silken sheets he’d put on your bed so you could get under them. With a little bit of difficulty—Loki never had gotten a firm grasp on understanding Midgardian technology—he flipped through the channels on your TV until you found something you wanted to watch while you ate.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked once you were done eating, before leaving you to your own devices.

You bit your lip as you thought before ultimately shaking your head no. “I’m good thanks.”

“Please, darling, be honest with me,” he pleaded. “Anything you want. Name it, and it is yours.”

“Will you stay with me?” you blurted out. “No, I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Darling,” he tsked. “The only thing on my schedule today is taking care of you.”

You smiled as he slid under the sheets next to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap. You twisted your body so you could look at him and tuck a few locks of his raven hair behind his ear. You were living in your own place in time, the two of you finding a safe haven in each other’s arms.

“You know what would make me really happy, Loki?” you began. “If I got to give you a little, thank you. Would that be alright?”

The god hesitated for a moment. “I suppose. Depending on what it is.”

“Can I... Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“Well, that depends, again.”

“On?”

“On whether or not we can make it a regular occurrence,” Loki replied with a playful grin.

“You know, you are always saying I should do things that make me happy. So yes, yes we absolutely can.”

“In that case,” he said, already leaning in, “what are you waiting for?”

Giggling, you bridged the gap between you. As Loki smiled against your lips, he realized something. No matter how stubborn either of you were when it came to accepting help for yourselves, you’d always have the other to take care of you. And even more importantly, Loki thought, you’d have each other to love.

505 notes · View notes

angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Bubbles

Summary: After a long hot day at work and a nightmare journey home, you find your husband has a very welcome and refreshing surprise for you in the form of a full size jacuzzi in your back garden.

Pairing: Captain Syverston x Female Reader Wife (no race or size mentioned)

Fandoms: Sand Castle (Movie), Henry Cavill.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Established Relationship, Semi Public Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Alcohol consumption.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications for future stories. All past works can be found on there or on my AO3.

Bubbles

It had been a long day. Work had been hot and sweaty, customers were grouchy and some even tried to pull the 'speak to the manager' bullshit, even though you were the manager. Traffic had been a nightmare, your car deciding that the middle of a heatwave would be the perfect time for the air conditioning to stop working, simultaneously with a truck of maple syrup hitting the central concrete barrier and spilling its sticky load.

Snerk. You snorted a laugh through the sweat. Sticky load… your husband would have made a whole bunch of dirty comments and jokes about being covered in sticky loads. You couldn't wait to get home to see him, it was the fact that he had now retired from the Army and would be happily waiting for you at home every night that made each day worthwhile.

When Sy had finally retired you'd wept tears of joy, every day was a blessing. You'd discussed what you were both going to do with jobs, your contract was up in 3 months time, Sy was drawing a military pension and had saved a considerable nest egg. He'd also taken to industrial upcycling; making lamps and coffee tables out of engines and car parts, which had been massively popular. You had to admit when you saw him in his workshop with his acetylene torch and welding mask on, cutting enormous chunks of metal in half and creating brutal beauty from the elements you were immediately turned on by the raw virility of the sight.

When you eventually pulled onto the driveway, a quick glance towards his workshop told you he'd finished for the day, and as you let yourself into your house you called out to him;

"Sy?"

"Out here" came his slightly muffled reply, and you realised he was probably sitting on the patio out back, nursing a beer.

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a shower, the aircon in my car has stopped working"

"Darlin, come out here first… i got something that'll refresh you"

Rolling your eyes you started to unbutton your blouse;

"Really Sy, i'm all sweaty and stinky…"

"Woman…" he growled; "I said get out here…"

If any other man had called you 'woman' you'd knocked them out, but you knew Sy and for him it was a term of endearment. Quietly walking through the kitchen you reached the back door and patio;

"Sy…" you started to speak, but was cut short when you saw what he'd been referring to.

Sat on the corner of your patio, shielded from view by the trellis covered in Clematis blooms was an inflatable hot tub, bubbling away with your mountain of a man sat in it, arms spread out on each side as he held a beer and grinned at you;

"Told ya' i had something that'd cool you down"

Pressing your hand to the side of it you tested the water, smiling when you found it the perfect temperature;

"You bought a hot tub?"

"Rented. Wanted to see if we liked it before we made the investment. Why don't you get in and give it a go?"

"Sure, i'll just go get changed into my bathing costume"

Sy's glinted with mischief;

"Why? I ain't wearing one…"

You weren't sure;

"Its rented? Is it clean?"

"Spent all afternoon flushing the system and giving it a full wipe down, even though the rental company says they do it after each use… i know how you are with hygiene" he moved in the massive tub, moving to the side where you stood;

"Now are ya gonna get naked or am i gonna have to rip those clothes off of ya?"

A minute later you were climbing in, work clothes hastily discarded in a pile on the patio, Sy holding your hand as he guided you into the bubbly water and you immediately let out a long low moan as the jets of water soothed and massaged your weary body;

"Oh Sy… this feels amazing…"

"C'mere…"

His massive hands cradled your torso, pulling you through the water until you were able to straddle his lap, his mouth meeting yours for a fierce kiss. As your tongues danced together he smoothed his hands over your back, massaging the day's stresses away to the point where let your head tilt back. Resting in his strong arms you let your back touch the water, smiling as the warm summer breeze danced over your breasts, before that skilled mouth was on your breasts, sucking on one nipple then the other, before he shifted and you were floating on the water, his mouth on your pussy.

You weren’t the tiniest of girls, but you had utter trust in Sy that he could hold you up whilst eating you out. The man would easily heave around 10 foot iron beam railroad tracks to make into coffee tables, he’d pushed his truck home when the engine had died and that is no mean feat when it comes to a Ford F350. So with that knowledge safe in your mind you could thoroughly relax and let his tongue work magic on your clit as his beard tickled your folds. You came with a cry and he swallowed down your essence, before lowering you into the water and onto his lap.

As he lowered you you felt his hardness seek you out, sliding through your folds before you reached down and positioned him at your entrance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you let yourself be slowly impaled on his shaft. With the worries and stresses of the day easing away with each blissful bubble that popped on your skin you sought out his lips for another kiss as you started to ride him, the friction palatable as the noise of the motor covered the sighs and moans the two of you were making. Sy’s hands firmly gripped your ass, pulling you up and down on his gnarled shaft;

“Fuck… You look so fucking good riding me Darlin’. Definitely gonna get a permanent one of these installed… might get you a coupla’ white bikini’s as i’d love to see these titties through the soaked fabric, would be such a treat…” he grinned at you; “A titty treat…”

Grinning at him you squeezed your pelvic muscles, finally shutting him up so you could concentrate as you chased your orgasm;

“Sure Sy, i’ll get a white bikini… you want me to do the gardening in it too? Watching me on my hands and knees as i plant the petunia’s?”

“Woman, i’ll fucking take you from behind right on the lawn if you do that” he growled, thrusting his hips up sharply and finding your g-spot. One of his hands crept around your hip and between your bodies, seeking out your clit as he ran his calloused thumb over the sensitive nub. From the way he was bouncing you on his lap you could tell he was getting close, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold off from cumming, but with no luck. His hands gripped your hips to stop you from moving in the hope it’d delay his orgasm. You watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and his head fell back against the side of the spa, thrusting his hips up as he swore out a litany of curses as his body reached its peak before he’d have wanted to;

“Fuck fuck fuck… ah god… i’m sorry… fuck…”

Cradling the back of his head in your fingers you stroked at the short hair as you dipped your head down and pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulders. With his eyes still shut he pulled a hand out of the water and raked it down his face before looking up at you, his blue eyes sparkling;

“Ah fuck i’m sorry Darlin’... lemme see about getting you sorted…don’t get off just yet…”

He slid his hand back between your bodies, his thumb back on your clit. His other hand moved to your breasts, using his mouth on one nipple as he pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger. Writhing on his lap you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, Sy knowing exactly how to play your body like a guitar as you sang out your siren song that was a blessing to his ears.

As your orgasm washed over you Sy held you in his arms, letting you ride out your pleasure as he relished the feel of your body surrounding him. Slumped in his arms you nuzzled at his neck, happily riding the waves of pleasure that echoed around your body.

“You ok there Darlin’?” Sy purred, smoothing his massive palm over your back like a giant bear paw.

“Hmmn” you hummed, stopping mid response when you felt him shift and realised he was hard again; “Sy?”

He looked at you, a smirk on his face as he cocked an eyebrow;

“Darlin… you know when i blow my load real fast i’m ready for another round… your sweet little pussy massaged me back to full health” he pressed a kiss to your nose; “Now turn around and bend over, hand on the side… i’m gonna rail that juicy pussy from behind, see how many times i can make you cum before i shoot load number two”

Manhandling you in the water you let out a shriek as he thrust into you from behind, your walls still tight from your previous orgasm and he did exactly as promised, splitting you open from behind as his powerful thighs railed you harder than the transcontinental express. With his heavy ballsack slapping against your clit you were soon cumming again, Sy fucking you straight through it before he brought you to another orgasm soon after as he filled you with another sticky load.

As you both tried to recover from the energetic synchronised aquatics he pulled you flush with his chest as he sank down into the water, letting you lay back against his chest as your bodies were still joined. His hands skimmed over your torso beneath your breasts, cupping them tenderly;

“We’re getting one of these, right Darlin’?”

“Hmmm, absolutely”

You sat there for a good half hour, cradled in Sy’s arms as you told each other about your day, before your skin wrinkled and it was time to get out.

Later that evening Sy had driven the pair of you to the main hardware store in town that he’d rented the Spa from, and you’d ordered the parts and equipment for your very own one. As Sy had started getting deep into conversation with the sales guy who turned out had also recently retired from the Army you tugged on Sy’s sleeve;

“Honey, i’m gonna pop to Walmart next door”

“Sure thing Darlin, i’ll catch up with you in fifteen minutes”

Just as promised Sy found you fifteen minutes later as you browsed through the clothing section, and you spotted that he was swinging a small clothes hangar from his finger;

“What you got there?” you asked

Sy held it up and your eyes practically bulged out of your head; He had found the tiniest white bikini, that although was your size, was little more than three small triangles of fabric connected with the thinnest of strings;

“Exactly what we discussed… now i see ya got a bottle of tequila and some snacks, how about we head home and we can test this out?”

Grinned you nodded;

“Just one thing…”

“Yeah Darlin?”

“We need to grab a few more of those… there’s no way that is gonna survive one wear with you around”

Nodding in agreement Sy grinned, taking the basket from your hand as he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders;

“See, that’s why i married ya’, thinking ahead…”

He pressed a kiss to your hair as he led you back to the display of swimwear, grinning as you pulled out numerous other cheap pieces of swimwear, knowing full well Sy would destroy them as thoroughly as he destroys your pussy.

#syverson x you #syverson smut #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #henry cavill

645 notes · View notes