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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months

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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER THREE: ALL TOO WELL

AND I KNOW IT'S LONG GONE AND THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO, AND I FORGET ABOUT YOU LONG ENOUGH TO FORGET WHY I NEEDED TO.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, description of panic attack, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.7K+

☆ A/N: it'll be a short fic, i said. short and sweet and simple, i lied to myself.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The moment your name leaves his lips, you swear the world halts on its rotation.

This was real. Every fear and every anxiety you had wrestled with over the last twenty four hours wasn’t for naught – he was here, sitting before you, breathing your name out like a sigh of relief when all you felt was pain. Stabbing, radiating pain. It’s even worse than looking at pictures and headlines of a stranger on a phone screen. Something about him suddenly being tangible, suddenly being real, sends you reeling.

Lydia looks wildly between your showdown with the ghost of a man before you, “I’m sorry… Do you two- do you know each other?”

Not anymore.

“I-” you choke on your stutter. You’re frozen under his stare, going ashen as your head spins. Leave the room. Think of an excuse, get out of this room, run away. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

It’s the world’s most pathetic excuse, but the only thing you can spit out before you’re turning heel and running, just as your body had so desperately craved. You nearly bump into one of the security guards you’d just bravely had a confrontation with.

They’d demanded your phone, you had put up a fight. You had stood your ground. Had held your chin high, dared them to push further even once they had your cell phone in their grasp, and displayed all that self-assuredness you had curated in the last two years. Only to end up scampering past them like a wounded animal mere seconds later.

Pathetic.

Lydia calls out something after you, but it reaches deaf ears as you blaze down the hallway. Your chest is squeezing, as if someone had wrapped it in shrink-wrap and sucked all of the air right out of it, swathed so tightly you could feel every pounding beat of your pulse racing. Your eyesight completely blurs, not quite from tears but rather a mere loss of focus. You nearly knock over one of the god forsaken fake plants Lydia insists as a primary form of decor, hardly being within the right mind to reach out and right the oversized bush of green plastic.

But you don’t have to. Right as your back collides with the wall off to the side of the plant, breathing only coming in short and miserable pants, a different hand reaches out to catch the plant. A ringed hand.

When Eddie says your name again, it’s not a sigh. It’s laced with panic as you support your full weight against white plaster and stare at where knuckles wrap around faux wooden stems.

“Hey,” he stresses, hand leaving your line of sight as he puts a large palm on each of your shoulders. You can’t look at him, not yet, “Hey, can you breathe for me? C’mon, big breaths.”

This close, you can smell the cologne. It’s not even the same woodsy drugstore scent that had lingered on the pillowcases he’d left you to cling to while on tour. Even that, something so miniscule as what cologne he now wore, had changed. And the new and unfamiliar scent chokes you, turns your desperate gasps for air even more futile.

You had walked out of that apartment two years ago, without any intention of ever being this close to him again. You’d sworn to yourself you’d never be this close again.

“You’re having a panic attack,” he squeezes your shoulders within his hold ever so slightly, as if attempting to ground you, “You need to breathe.”

Your eyes nervously find his brown ones. For a second, you recall summer days when the sun would hit them just right, turning them into molten honey for your tasting. Soft and glowing, warming you from the inside out so effortlessly.

But there’s not a single shred of sunlight in this hallway. The dark brown falls flat against your vision.

“I’m fine,” you very clearly aren’t, struggling to even get the words out into the air between you two, “I’m- I’m fine.”

He doesn’t fight you when you reach up to swat away his hands. He lets you, hands falling away with ease, touch retracting as if it had never burned you. You take the chance to look over the metal now settled on his fingers, and you realize he still wears all the same ones you remember so vividly. A cross, a pig’s face, an animalistic skull. But there are new ones added to his collection, adorned on his right hand rather than the left. Unfamiliar and odd, the bulky metallic additions are more plentiful. A silver snake wrapped around his pinky, a large spider with the body of a Magic 8 ball on his pointer, a bat spread eagle on his middle. There’s a chunkier one on his thumb, thinner ones added above a few of his second knuckles, but you can’t clear the haze of your vision long enough to pick up on the designs. You choose to focus back on the familiar ones instead, old and comforting even in your panic.

New rings, new cologne, new habits – the Eddie before you is not the Eddie you once knew.

“Okay,” he’s whispering now. You’re not even sure what excuse he used to follow you out here without causing a scene. Maybe he did cause a scene, surely a grander one than you. He had that privilege now; he was an untouchable rockstar, he could afford to raise a ruckus. “I… Are you sure?”

It’s hard to believe there was a time he was a familiar comfort when all that remains now is the awkward distance between the two of you.

But when he takes a step back from you, the new cologne leaves your stratosphere and the new rings leave your field of vision, and the breaths finally come just a tiny bit easier. Still not enough to satiate your lungs, but enough that the headrush begins to pass.

“I’m sure.”

You try to insert such finality in those two words. As if whatever had just happened would fade and never exist, as if you could walk back into that conference room and take yourself off this project. You can’t. Eddie has a sense of control, a grip on his reality and the reigns of his choices, but you don’t. If you were to demand Lydia remove you from the project, you’d be risking termination. You’d be risking everything – and it may not be much, but you’d built it brick by broken brick these last few years. You’d salvaged what you had been able to out of the ashes of what had been, but it hadn’t been enough. It had hardly been enough for a foundation. You’d built up the person that now stood before him from practical scratch.

The weight of just how much you had to lose hits suddenly – the realization that this was happening and you had no control of it.

But Eddie did. He had to.

“You need to go back in there,” you start, voice still shaking and eyes still averted, “And you need to demand that they reassign you guys. You… You need-” you begin to stutter and fumble to find the right words. You could have lashed out, could have tried to pour salt in a wound you weren’t even sure still existed so that Eddie made the choice on his own. But your mind is muddled and you’re desperate, “Someone else can take on the project. You need to go and demand that someone else takes on the project.”

“What?” Not the response you wanted. Not the response you needed, “I- No.”

Two years later, and he still found a way to do significant damage.

Your eyes snap up, “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no.”

“I haven’t asked anything of you. Not back then, not after everything happened, I-”

He cuts you off with a scoff. “Can’t ask for anything if you just fall off the face of the fucking earth.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but as his walls begin to build, you realize that the prior interaction had been something vulnerable. Something where neither of you were on the defense quite yet like you’d always imagined a reunion would go. All that had mattered ten seconds ago was you being okay, him coming after you, making sure you were fine. He’d allotted you all the care and attention you had craved so terribly two years ago, nearly begged for until your knees had bled for.

“Eddie,” you whisper, getting too distressed to think straight, “Please, for the love of God, just make them reassign the project-”

“I can’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “Do you think I’d put myself through this if I could help it? I fucking can’t. I have absolutely no control in there. I didn’t even-” he cuts off his sentence, looking you in your eyes, leaving more to be said.

He didn’t even what?

“I can’t do anything about it,” he says instead of whatever had been on the tip of his tongue, “Trust me – if I could, I would. But I can’t. So why don’t you say something?”

It’s your turn for scoffing and disbelief, “I can’t. I’m not the one with all the power and glory-”

“Is that what you think I have?”

“That’s what I know you have.”

You both go quiet as a battlefield fills the distance between you. All anger, all regret. None of the love or care that had once existed between you two exists here in this quantum plane of sharp words and deadly jabs.

“Just- please ask for a reassignment,” you try with one final plea, eyes hard on him, “Say that that first impression left you unimpressed, I don’t care. She won’t fire me for that.”

“Once again, no. As it turns out,” his voice is low, dangerous, unfamiliar. A tone he had never used before with you, “Even the one with all the power and all the glory can’t make miracles happen. Sorry, doll.”

He doesn’t await your response, leaving you on your own as you stay pressed against the wall and he’s walking away.

What is the saying? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?

You were certainly feeling scorned.

You felt ripped wide open, beaten and bruised and damn scorned as he leaves a conversation you weren’t finished with. You can’t tell which limb aches the most – the shoulder where his now strange hands had held onto you, your fingers that had curled into pained fists at your side to show you were prepared for a fight, your rib cage that still struggled to expand and accommodate the air now vacant of his cologne that you needed after your panic attack, or the legs that had once carried you away from Eddie Munson only to lead you right back to him.

There’s nothing you can do, though, beyond composing yourself. You take the same big, deep breaths that Eddie had tried to coax out of you moments before. Your fists slowly unfurl and your palms rake against the side of your jeans in an attempt to wipe away the sweat of the interaction.

Fine. If he wouldn’t help you, you could handle this. You could manage this project, plan a goddamn party for your ex-boyfriend’s new single. You would treat it just as you did every other previous project you had excelled at, and you would avoid all unnecessary contact with him just as you had with previous clients.

As a matter of fact, you could probably get away with avoiding all contact.

He hadn’t hired you. His management had. And, according to him, he had no real power in this situation. If he had no say in the matters, then there would be no reason to reach out to him.

You could do this. You could handle this.

It’s a mantra of salvation that you repeat to yourself internally as you take confident strides back to that conference room, not even stopping for the guards this time before you burst back into the room when your imminent doom awaits.

The repetition falters a bit when all eyes land on you as you take your first steps into the room.

Your name comes out of Lydia’s mouth like a hiss, her teeth locked into a smile that would better pass into a grimace as she asks, “How nice of you to join us again. Please, take a seat.”

“Of course,” you can’t look her in her eyes for very long, immediately rushing to sit at the chair she’d motioned towards. You haven’t spared Eddie a single glance – you haven’t spared any of the boys you’d once known a look. Instead, you look up to direct an apology at the only face you don’t recognize before you, “I’m truly sorry.”

The older gentleman, wrapped in a certain kindness and warmth below his professional attire, smiles. And in an instant, his face isn’t quite as unfamiliar, “No worries. When Nature calls, right? Regardless, I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.”

You can guess which hole in Eddie’s life he’s attempting to smother, which shoes this man serves to fill. He has more hair than his predecessor, but the grin is the same.

If you picture the man he reminds you of back in Hawkins, you’ll surely begin to ache.

When you reply with your name, you can hear a fragment of your youth in your voice. Better days spent in Forest Hills trailer park, loitering about a trailer as Wayne Munson asks you how well of an eye you’ve been keeping on his nephew. You’d always lie, say you were keeping him in line when you knew you’d spent the day following him right into trouble, like some sort of lost puppy. Like some sort of loyal soldier. It occurs to you that that’s who you had always been; a fierce soldier over the shoulder of Eddie, ever the brave commander. You would have followed him into battle without a second of consideration, you did follow him all the way to New York without ever taking a final glance at your hometown.

You wondered if he had tried to replace you as well. You imagine it; the new and fresh face that replaced yours in picture frames, that laid beside him at the end of each night he returned home, that heard a whisper of I love you over the line to the backtrack of a sound rehearsal.

Were there ever any bloody wars between him and his new lovers that could compare to the battles never fought between you two? Did anyone else in this world know the wounds of his gun never fired?

The smoke clears. You still don’t look at Eddie, afraid to only see the commander you once knew. You force a smile, putting on a soldier's bravado that doesn’t fit quite right anymore.

Bullets never fired, triggers never pulled, but the blood stained the same.

“So, where shall we begin?”

—

Matt does most of the talking for the next hour. Sheet after sheet of paperwork is laid down in front of you, your hand beginning to cramp from signing your name so many times, and the details are discussed.

A new single, set to release in three months. A release party that needed to be grandeur and garner the type of attention that Matt feared had been waning from the band due to radio silence on their music front. The outlines of the project were clear cut, simple enough, and you had yourself fooled just well enough that this would be easy.

You kept your eyes set on the prize and never once noticed the tomfoolery occurring between the band members. The words on the tip of their tongues that Eddie keeps quiet through quick kicks to their shins beneath the table, the individual hurt reflected in each of their eyes as you treat them no better than strangers. That treatment of Eddie, they understood. But them?

They could never understand.

“What’s the name of the single, if I may ask?” you question as you look over one of your copies of the paperwork. Lydia had been eerily silent, allowing you to take the lead.

Despite the rough start, it was paying off. Having a switch for your emotions can be a good thing, as it turns out.

“You may,” Matt nods before turning to the boys. It’s the first time he's looked to them for answers during the entire meeting, “Shall I do the honors, or would you boys rather do it yourselves?”

It’s a chance for all the members of Corroded Coffin to open their mouths without silent reprimanding from Eddie beneath the table, but he beats them to it.

“Dial Tone.”

You freeze your reading.

There’s something in the way he says it that forces you to look up. As if he’s only speaking to you, and the rest of the room is a faded mirage for him to send away for these private moments. Still a commander, even when his bravest soldier has left him.

“Sounds… interesting,” you murmur, taking a few seconds too long to meet his gaze, unsure of what to say, “Rolls off the tongue easily.”

“It certainly does. Which, ironic, given the situation that inspired the song.”

“And what would that be?”

You’re both wearing masks in front of an audience half made up of people painfully aware of your history, and the rest being painfully oblivious.

Does Matt know about you? Lydia certainly doesn’t know about Eddie.

“Words never said. Answers never given. Phone calls missed and never… returned.”

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. It feels a bit selfish, a bit self absorbed, to so quickly assume you’re the inspiration.

But how could you believe anything else when Eddie is looking at you like that?

Hollow eyes, devoid of all the honey you once reveled in. Not so much of a stain of sweetness you swear you still taste on the back of your tongue. He’s looking at you with blame, well-deserved anger, and yet not an ounce of the guilt that should exist somewhere in those depths.

“How riveting,” you play along, trying to swallow down the waves of emotions, “Sounds like it’ll really draw in your audience. Might even be relatable to a few.”

Answers never given. Like how someone could stop saying they loved someone they’d spent years planning their life with, like how he could stop calling so easily, how he could leave so easily.

“Fingers crossed,” his forced smile in return is almost sinister, and you know it was the right choice to avoid speaking to each other until this moment.

There will be no contact. You know now that if you take on this project, which you technically have through law-binding contracts, that you won’t be able to be civil with Eddie. There is a history that can never be erased, mistakes made and wounds inflicted by both sides. Two worlds of hurt caused by opposing sets of hands that can only clash when they try to meet in the middle.

But then Matt, sweet Matt that you had come to actually like during this meeting, has to burst your bubble.

“Right, well, the good news is the boys aren’t on tour for the time being, meaning there will be plenty of time to talk about the small details and how the single will come into play during planning,” he explains, happily and still so unaware, “As a matter of fact, I would like to emphasize just how much I would appreciate you including the boys, especially Eddie, in this ordeal. His participation would be very helpful.”

Some silent form of communication happens between Matt and Eddie, glinting eyes and sudden frowns meeting raised eyebrows and fake smiles, but it’s not your concern.

The last thing you want during this project is Eddie’s involvement.

“Of course!” You need to think of an excuse, push for a way to keep him out, “But if Eddie is too busy, I’ll completely understand. I know that a single usually means an album, and that can be very time consum-”

“He won’t be too busy,” Matt interrupts, still staring at Eddie as if he’s daring him, not even questioning you singling him out as he does the exact same.

You recall what Eddie had insisted in the hallway, that his reach of control wasn’t as far as you had been assuming.

Swallowing hard, you see another relic of Wayne Munson in this man – he wasn’t someone to argue with, “Right, of course. Eddie will be involved. Absolutely.”

All the power and all the glory – but did it really rest in Eddie’s palms like you assumed?

“She has a point,” Eddie finally finds his voice, leaning back in his chair, trying to relax the tension from his shoulders, “I do have the album to work on.”

“And now you have this. I’m sure you can find a way to multi-task.”

Your comparison was accurate. It had been a while since you had seen another grown man capable of shutting Eddie down so quickly, tearing down his walls of affinity for challenging authority and reducing him to nothing more than a shell of his younger self. Matt and Wayne would have gotten along well. You doubt that they’ve met, but you know a bond would have formed between the common denominator of being able to subdue the once-rambunctious boy before you.

Eddie pouts nearly the complete remainder of the meeting. And those foolish, bitter shards within you become determined to be the bigger person. To smile and nod along, even when you disagreed with certain terms discussed. To be agreeable, to be good, to be better. This new version of you has something to prove; that you’ve done better without Eddie, that you’ve changed into something that no longer aligns with who he is.

It’s all for show, but you tell yourself no one can see through the cellophane disguise.

The only remaining signatures aren’t required from you but the rest of the boys. A single contract is passed down the line, and each of them sign themselves away to the agreement. Line after line of swooping black ink locks the five of you into an entrapment, a crowded dance of newly made strangers who have no choice but to play pretend.

Eddie makes it a deliberate point that he’s the last one to sign. Forces Grant to slide the prettily detailed paper right in front of him until it’s clear he’s making no move to pick up his pen, and the poor guy has to stretch a bit further and let Gareth take it rather than the stubborn rockstar. Only once Jeff’s own night-shade of ink has looped over one of the many lines does it return back to Eddie.

He looks you in the eyes for several seconds too long, pen crooked beside the paper on the table. You can’t take a single breath as you register how lifeless his eyes remain.

He’s not the person you once knew, but you are no longer the girl that once saw the world in him.

You will not drop to your knees before him, you will not worship the ground he walks on, you will not break. Certainly not first. Certainly not at all.

There’s no final words before hands donning unfamiliar rings pick up a pen amongst the silence. Just the click of bringing the ink to life, and the soft scratch of promises that will not be kept. It’s nothing new amongst the two of you.

As a matter of fact, if the scratch of the pen could echo, it might just resemble the sound of the door on that haunted and vacant apartment closing for the final time behind you two years ago.

—

“Do you two know each other?”

You had been waiting for this moment. Once Matt had called for a quick break so that he could organize and make copies of all paperwork, you knew Lydia would be chasing you down.

“What do you mean?” you question airily, topping off the small paper cup of water you had used as an excuse to dismiss yourself into the corner of the room, “Me and Matt? No, I’ve never-”

“Not you and Matt,” she moves to stand in front of you, your back to the room and the band, as she continues in an authoritative whisper, “You and the band – you and Eddie.”

“Why do you think we know each other?”

Please don’t catch on. Please don’t notice. Please don’t make me admit it.

Please don’t fire me.

She retrieves her own water, moving as if she wasn’t having such an intense conversation with you at this moment. All a show for the clients, no doubt. You weren’t the only skilled actress in this room, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you ran out of this room when you saw him, maybe the way he ran after you without a word. Maybe the way the two of you spent a good ten minutes alone in that hallway, and how the rest of that band has been looking at you like you’re a ghost. Please don’t tell me you had a fling with Eddie before this. I really need my best person on this project, but I can’t have personal relationships interferin-”

“No, we don’t know each other,” you cut her off, ignoring the compliment and taking a sip to give your chance to formulate a better addition to the lie. It wasn’t really a lie, though, was it? “I promise it’s nothing, and it won’t interfere. I just…” I just hate him. I just miss the version of him I used to know. I just need you to take me off this project as quickly as possible for a reason that won’t make you think less of me or affect my future career here. “I don’t like the band, you know this.”

“I knew you weren’t a fan of them, but…” she trails off and looks over your shoulder, no doubt surveying the band. When you stood up from the table, they’d all been feigning boredom as if they hadn’t been taking turns staring you down so intensely. You felt like an animal under observation. “I thought it would be a good thing. To have a neutral party take this on. Why, exactly, don’t you like them?”

“ I don’t think he’s a good person.”

He as in Eddie. It goes as unspoken knowledge. And, technically, it isn’t a lie. Based on the headlines, based on his coolness this entire interaction, you don’t think he’s a good person. Not anymore.

You can feel the four sets of eyes on you even now. Your exchange with Lydia has been too quiet for them to hear, but you know you’re still being watched carefully.

“You don’t have to think he’s a good person, but you do need to play nice,” Lydia reminds you. You open your mouth, prepared to argue that you had been playing nice when Lydia waves her free hand to stop you, “I know, I know. I’m not saying you haven’t been perfectly professional. You have been, aside from your… bathroom break at the beginning, but please just remember that.”

You nod, stiff as ever. She was giving you more grace than you deserved if you tried to look at it from an outsider’s point of view.

“Of course,” that tone of professionalism, that mask to hide the whirlwind of emotions. You could do this.

You had to do this.

Choice is an illusion when Matt returns with the copies of paperwork, dividing the files up between himself and Lydia. Choice is an illusion as fake smiles are exchanged and pleasant goodbyes are offered. Choice is nothing but smoke and mirrors when all is said and done, and the entire group of you all stand outside the conference room, ready to part ways with a promise of next time, meaning the next meeting.

You never had a choice in any of this. Eddie did, somewhere along the line, but you didn’t.

Lydia and you both hand over business cards to Matt’s waiting hands, a deliberate move on your part. You bypass Eddie’s expectant glare entirely. The quicker this is over with, the faster he’s exiting the building and no longer occupying the same room as you, the better.

“We’ll be in contact,” Matt promises as he tucks the cards away carefully.

“I look forward to it,” you assure him, as if you weren’t dreading every second of what those contracts had detailed.

Three months. You had just signed on to guarantee Eddie Munson being back in your life for three months. The thought makes you nauseous.

Matt, ever the normal person, takes it as his queue to leave. Lydia has nodded, turned and began her short trek to her office as the band’s manager starts his journey to the elevator. Most of Corroded Coffin scampers after him, gazes on the floor as they retreat to a private space that will certainly be filled with questions. You almost wish there was a way for you to hear what will be said. The topic of conversation, undoubtedly, will be you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. A pair of intertwined souls that had taken a sharp knife to your connection only to end up with Fate cruelly retying it on this dreadful day.

Fate, and Eddie, it seems.

His hand reaches out and catches your upper arm before you can escape the exchange properly.

“Can we talk?” You stare at him blankly to hide the racing of your heart and pounding in your mind. Those hands on you, skin on skin, leaving an inevitable mark. An inevitable stain. “Go for coffee, go for lunch, just-”

“No.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Your pause was only born out of shock.

His eyebrows furrow, “No? What do you mean no?”

It feels like a pathetic repeat of your interaction in the hallway, when you had begged him to save you from this doomed union. Except now, you hold the cards in your hand. The first sense of control you’ve been offered this entire time.

“I mean no,” you repeat yourself clearly. Matt is halfway down the hall, and the boys trailing right behind him seem to fumble over their steps for a second. Jeff even goes as far as to look over his shoulder at the brewing storm appearing behind them, but clearly thinks better of intruding, “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want coffee, and I don’t want lunch.”

End of story.

Except, it isn’t, because Eddie’s face only twists further in pain, “We have to talk at some point-”

“Actually, we don’t. I’d prefer we didn’t. I think we can both agree it’ll be better, easier, for both of us to keep this strictly professional until we can go our separate ways again.”

He looks as if you had physically reached out and struck him. The force of your words nearly makes him rock backwards, face falling and mouth agape as he tries to grapple with the determination in your words.

If you were a fool, you’d mistake it for a flash of disappointment. But it’s not possible – it couldn’t be disappointment, only arrogance. He had obviously been assuming you would just give in. Your change just hadn’t become clear enough to him yet. It would, in time.

And now, the two of you seemingly had too much of it to endure.

“Actually, I think we can both agree that’s a load of bullshit,” he crassly argues back once he’s regained composure, “You know that’s not possible.”

You shake your head, suck in a bit of the skin of your inner cheek between your molars as an internal encouragement to stand your ground, “It is. It’s not only possible, but is exactly what’s going to happen.”

“You heard Matt. We have to talk at some point, even if it’s just about this and not us.”

“And we will. We can talk about this project all you want, Eddie. But not over lunch, and not over coffee,” you swear you draw blood from your cheek as you take back on that tone of professionalism, ice cold and completely disconnected, “My preferred form of contact is email. I usually respond in a timely manner, even after hours-”

“Don’t do that,” he stops you.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m just another one of your clients.”

The metallic flavor floods the deepest corners of your mouth, overtaking the aftertaste of a honey you once knew on the back of your tongue, “That’s exactly what you are. One of my clients.”

Just a client, and nothing more. A boundary must be drawn, or else there will be more blood spilled than a mere drop from biting your inner cheek. And you aren’t prepared to bleed for him – not again. Never again.

He opens his mouth, as if he has more to dig out of the grave of this conversation, when Matt’s voice calls from down the hallway, “Eddie! C’mon! There’ll be time to talk later, we’ve got a meeting with the producer across town now.”

His stance goes rigid, annoyance rolling off him in waves, eyes still focused on you.

Maybe the reminder of time, the three month timeline, hurts him just as much as it hurts you. Maybe, just possibly, his arm has also been twisted in carving out a space for you in his life once more, whether strictly professional or not.

He deeply exhales through his nose, “I don’t even have your email.”

“Matt does. He has my card.”

“Yeah, he does. I don’t. How am I supposed to reach you through your preferred form of contact without it?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

You mean to smile at him just as you would the owner of the bakery opening on Third Street, or the mother of a bride trying to share the weight of responsibilities for a wedding. It doesn’t come off that way, though – you can feel the sadness of it tickle the corners of your mouth before he’s even slowly turning from you.

You watch the figure of Eddie Munson walk away from you, and you begin to wish he were walking out of your life rather than only out of the building for the time being.

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#ghost's stories #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #i couldn't access my taglist response list for a few days so the taglists are NOT updated! they will be soon :)#half-assedly edited #i am now going to bed because i am the sleepiest girl to ever exist EVER #playing around with formatting don't mind me

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greycaelum · 1 year

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Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters { Say You Won't Let Go }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Synopsis: It was because over the years you never let go

𑁍 Genre: song lyric fanfic, family theme, fluff, angst if you squint, comfort

𑁍 CW/TW: (3k)—teen to marriage life timeskip, domesticity, crying, kisses, slight profanity, kids, mentions of pregnancy, overall fluff

𑁍 A/N: Okay so first, thank you for the 2k everyone, I can't believe the small corner I started has grown to this extent 🥺 and on top of that Satoru's finally back. So here's my little something to celebrate with you! I hope you like it! This song is one of my favorite and I find it so fitting for Kaleidoscope Series~ —Grey

I met you in the dark, you lit me up

You made me feel as though I was enough

We danced the night away, we drank too much

I held your hair back when you were throwin' up

Satoru met you long before you uttered a word to him. On a night, wearing your thin pajamas and messy hair as you hurriedly put on a curtain before the sorcerers arrive to contain the curse, he knew you caught his eyes. The lady wasn't ethereally beautiful but she was breathtaking in the midst of chaos.

And after many years of sleepless nights and sealed lips of unrequited admiration he now has you, dancing sloppily in the living room in a silly truth or drink game. The light turned off with only the dim candles and the clumsily made pillow fort at the back and a bottle of wine now empty on the floor.

Sharing this silent moment, staring into each other's eyes, a little tipsy and flush with your giggles every time gets him swooning, his heart racing faster than it should and he's left wondering how to keep moments like this forever. In your cuteness or in your mess. Satoru wants to be there every moment he's allowed.

Then you smiled over your shoulder

For a minute, I was stone-cold sober

I pulled you closer to my chest

And you asked me to stay over

I said, I already told ya

I think that you should get some rest

"You look like you're breaking apart." Your hand reaches to cup his cheeks, cheeks that have grown prominent from waking nights of sporadic sleep. Dinners together were the thing he look forward to spending with you. Hating it when the clock strikes 9 telling him it's time to go. "Stay here." You held his hand, stopping Satoru from leaving. It's one of those days he needs you more than ever. Need to feel you close by as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head tucked under your chin, letting you cradle him as he presses an ear over your heart. It's when your fingers thread through his hair, lulling him into the touch his soul craves the most.

"Feeling better?" You questioned in a hush, stopping your hand from lightly scratching his back. Satoru groaned, dismayed from the loss of your caress. "Don't stop." He whines making you chuckle at the pouting tone. "You needy baby, my arms will be sore." You complained but you resumed stroking his head and running your nails on the curve of his spine knowing he needs some rest.

I knew I loved you then, but you'd never know

'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go

I knew I needed you, but I never showed

But I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old

"You can't marry her. She's a civilian." It was a cold day. A day he knew would eventually come to the second he chooses you. After all, he is a greedy man. Greedy enough to pull you into his world. Would you hate him if he does so? Satoru could feel his heart waver at the mere thought of your eyes looking at him with pain and sadness. And hope against hope you would never look at him in that way.

"Who says I can't?" Satoru knew even if he was the strongest he is still restricted. "Who do you think I am?" But who can restrain him from having you? To have the only person that makes him more human. His fists clenched, turning his back on his clan leader. "I will only have her, only her." Even if he has to wrestle that chance with his tooth and nail,

Just say you won't let go

But he was foolish. Running after the power to keep you by his side only to break your heart until you're worn down. How heart-wrenching it was when you're his happiness but he was the reason for your pain.

"But Satoru... I am tired." You beat your chest finding it so hard to breathe, that the physical pain is so much better than this agony and confusion tearing you apart.

His heart is being stabbed seeing the beads of tears rain down your sweet cheeks. He brushed them with his thumb but you look down, evading his touch. Denying him of any right to console the pain he has caused you. And fuck that damn hurts. When all he wanted to give you is his love but he's the one to hurt you the most.

"I'm not yet tired!" He groaned. "Baby if you're tired, rest. I'll do everything. Just please don't leave me Y/n."

There was a foreign thing in his voice. A crack of desperation, and he's begging. Something he has never done in his life. His eyes look up at you filled with pain and yearning.

"No one understood me! No one cared enough. As long as I do my job as the strongest. Until now I'm still doing my best to be the strongest. To make everything okay, and I could continue shouldering all of it Y/n, I will carry everything... As long as you're mine." he whispered holding your hands tightly.

I'll wake you up with some breakfast in bed

I'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head

And I'll take the kids to school, wave them goodbye

And I'll thank my lucky stars for that night

Perhaps deep down there was a part of him that very night he first saw you that envisioned this moment. Or was it when the clouds are grey that pushed him to talk to you first, offering you an umbrella that led to this life with you and his mochis running around the home you two built.

The morning sun streams in the room while you're fast asleep. Satoru is watching the rise and fall of your chest. Brushing your pale cheeks with his thumb. You'd be the first he sees in the morning and the last to see at night. Something like seeing you sleep so comfortably in his presence stir the urge to curl you and wrap you in his arms.

And that love could only expand as Satoru's children barged into the room, squealing and scrambling to climb onto the bed to smother you both in their tiny arms. The little balls of chaos need some morning love before the busy day starts.

"Good morning Papa," Saika quickly crawled on top of Satoru's chest. While Kouki is busy waking you up with kisses. "G'morning Mama."

It's those mornings that keep him smiling to have you and his children all huddled up. So simple within the four walls of the bedroom that holds Satoru's entire world.

Every day can't be like this so he can never waste a single one to remind you with a kiss how much he loves you. To carry his kids in his arms as long as he can. Bring them to school with his hand holding theirs. Seeing them grow day by day, loving them with all the love he could give

And he knows those small things that make up the smile on your face whenever he sees you. Seeing you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips love brimming in your eyes like the stars that night he first saw you. He was never a believer in stars or the fates, but maybe just maybe there was a shooting star that heard him and granted his wish.

Because if not for the interference of the universe... He doesn't think he would be the man to hold your waist and kiss you passionately right now.

When you looked over your shoulder

For a minute, I forget that I'm older

I wanna dance with you right now, woah

And you look as beautiful as ever

And I swear that every day you'll get better

You make me feel this way somehow

I'm so in love with you and I hope you know

Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold

We've come so far, my dear, look how we've grown

And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old

"Come inside already Satoru, you're all gonna get sick." He could hear you yell from the doorstep, your figure holding towels for him and the kids.

"Mama let's play in the rain!" Kouki shrilled while Saika jumps over the puddle giggling when it splashed on her Papa making Satoru shield his face as he runs in your direction, grinning wide at your glaring eyes and a few drops of his soaked hair wetting your clothes.

"Awee c'mon, a little rain won't hurt and I'll bathe them after." Satoru winks at you and unceremoniously leaned down to pull you over his shoulders, like a sack of potatoes.

"What are you—?! Satoru!" You shrieked at the raindrops instantly drenching you and the kids running with wide smiles on their faces at the sight of their father carrying their mom all around. "You're going to pay for this! Satoru you rascal!" You huffed running a palm over your face but the rain instantly soaked your face again.

"Mama! Booo!" Kouki splashed at you with his pail and run to hug his Papa's legs, laughing so identical to his father.

"Ahhhh! I got my Queen no one can stop me now," Satoru swung you around, chasing after Saika while Kouki clung to one of his legs cackling. "Next I must get the Princess and the whole kingdom is mine." Satoru did an evil laugh while Kouki run away and played the knight shielding his sister in form of splashing his Father over and over.

"Satoru put me down, oh you!" You cannot be more thankful that the house has a very tall fence with the tall shrub adding more privacy and no one can easily your family from the streets. Seeing you with your husband and kids drenched like poodles isn't the typical sight a neighborhood wants to see on a rainy afternoon.

"The knight defeated the curse of the dragon and returned the King." Satoru ended, putting you down and holding your waist. "And the King finally reunited with his Queen, and got his true love's kiss." You should see the way you blush, it's so cute he can't help but chuckle.

Kouki put his hand over his sister's eyes and closed his too. But their father had more things in store.

"I'll make chicken soup 'kay? Now give me some kisses." Satoru puckered his lips making you squirm at his cringy attempt to kiss you.

"You're so ugh!" You sighed and loosely wrap your arms around his neck, letting his hands sway you in the dips of your waist.

"Romantic? Handsome? I know Baby, part of my charms."

"You're annoying." You rolled your eyes and he's going to prove you wrong—

Or so he thought until you leaned over to kiss his lips, shaking your head with a bashful smile adorning your face.

"Again," Satoru whispered.

"Mama, Papa are you done?! I'm hungry now." Kouki asked interrupting you both making you slip away easily and scoop your kids to run into the house while Satoru followed, chasing after to kiss you one last time before you step into the home.

Just say you won't let go

There are times Satoru would catch you staring blankly at the wall. And in that, you're wearing this complicated look of pain in your eyes. It's been years but the strain of life as his wife has always followed you. It's one of those days when you need him more than ever.

"Love... what was the box like?" You sat on the couch, with your knees on your chin. Satoru drapes a quilt his mother sent for you after he visited the Gojo Estate for a meeting.

Satoru was unable to answer. It's not that he doesn't want to answer but he knows it will leave you more heartbroken.

"It was dark, and not very nice." He settles beside you. Patting his lap for you to lay on. "I told you I'm fine Honey, really."

I wanna live with you even when we're ghosts

'Cause you were always there for me when I needed you most

I'm gonna love you till my lungs give out

I promise till death we part, like in our vows

So I wrote this song for you, now everybody knows

That it's just you and me until we're grey and old

"But I'm not." You honestly replied. "Would you hate me if I tell you after that I want to cage you? Every time you leave the door my mind goes hysterical of many things that will tear you off us." You clutch your heart. "I thought I was going crazy every time I hear the door open, wondering if it's you or people going after me and our children."

His arms quickly wrap around you and you clung to his biceps. Satoru tucked your head under his chin, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. He has never been vocal about the demons in his past. And you know it. If it's up to him, he would rather forget yesterday, or else it'll weigh him down. After all, suppressing unpleasant things has been his forte ever since he was young. A force of habit that he will keep on doing as long as he can.

"Never. I'll never leave you or our kids." Satoru shushed you, running his hand over your growing bump. And if ever he did, unfortunately, meet anything that will overpower his Infinity. He will most probably turn to a vengeful curse, and haunt anyone who dares to do you harm. He will follow you and the kids around like the menace he is and keep you all safe even if he burns in hell after.

Satoru chuckled without humor at his dark thoughts.

Just say you won't let go

Oh, just say you won't let go

"Love?" You called from the kitchen, a small whine in your voice.

"Mnnn? In a minute." Satoru adds a little water to your orange juice to tone down the little sourness of the fruit. He comes back to the living room to see you struggling to stand up from the kotatsu with your heavy belly and hopeless eyes.

"What's wrong?" He sets down the glass and looks at you quizzically.

"I can't get up."

You're normally a person with your head on your shoulders. But pregnancy brings out that side of you that craves your husband's attention more than ever. It's that period of time you're more doting than ever, more affectionate than you already are, and more needy than normal.

"You want to walk Baby?" Satoru helps you up carefully. He went home early, and the kids are still in school. Now that you're a month to the end of your 2nd trimester, Satoru's been more and more at home to keep an eye on you.

"I just wanna hug you." You buried your face into his warm chest, nuzzling to inhale his intoxicating scent. Satoru on the other hand sighs at that. He would greatly appreciate it if not for the reality you forced him to use dishwashing liquid as soap after finding his usual body wash "stinky".

"Awee, acting cute are you?" He pinches your nose and rubs your back. "How about we fetch the kids? Y'know, a walk to keep Mommy and baby healthy?"

With the autumnal equinox nearing the breeze is starting to get colder. Walking on the slightly busy street on the outskirts of Tokyo Satoru kept you close. The kids are attending a decent size middle school with little to no problem. Other than a few quarrels of kids trying to get on Kouki and Saika for their different hair and eyes they are doing fine, much better than the two of you expected. Satoru has assigned several guards for the kids hidden from sight, and based on their report he doesn't need to intervene in his children's quarrels. As much as he loves them to the bone, he also needs to let them stand for themselves rather than sheltering them too much.

The two of you arrived at the school gates just in time for the school bell to ring and in a few seconds children are filling out of the school. Some are running, some are talking with their friends. In the crowd, it is easy to spot the vivid white long hair of your kids. Kouki and Saika talk with a group of friends on their way out. Kouki was the first to notice you and Satoru standing by the gate and immediately said goodbye, calling Sai to look at the gate.

"Mama! Papa!" They run to your and Satoru's leg, bright smiles in their faces.

"Hi munchkins, did you miss us?" Satoru was quick to pick up Saika while Kouki grab your hand.

"Missed, are you tired Mama?" Saika asks as Satoru held your shoulder and guide you to the side.

"I'm fine sweetie, are you two hungry?"

"Yes!" They chorused making you and Satoru chuckle.

"Well pass by a cafe later then go home, c'mon." Satoru held Kouki's hand while you held the other and the four of you started walking home.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

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bellofthemeadow · 4 months

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Dawn Ends the Night - Chapter 3

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the attack sees Prince Aemond wrestle with new feelings.

Notes: Hello everyone, I hope you are all enjoying this chaotic posting schedule just as much as I am!!! I am back with a new chapter, a little window into Aemond's very messy mind. That man is a softboy at heart, he just needs like 20 years of therapy. RN its the beginning of a slight "obsession" as our boy for the first is feeling... something that is not murder, or hatred, or the need to burn everything with Vhagar. So yeah.

Like always thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented I love interacting with y'all and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter 💜💜💜

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

Through your Eyes

In the silence of his bedchamber, Aemond's pulse raced like the chained dragons lagering in the dragon pit, its beat echoing from the cavern of his chest to the very tips of his fingers, awakening the primal blood-rage that slept within his Targaryen blood. The air around him trembled with his ragged breaths, each one a stormy gust tearing through the otherwise stillness of the room. Alone, he wrestled with his armor, the leather stained with the day's deadly encounter. He would need to get the leather treated so the blood wouldn’t leave its reddish mark, Aemond thought with annoyance. His hands, though shaking with a fury he struggled to contain, methodically peeled away each layer, dismissing the need for a manservant's aid. This was his ritual of solitude, after a lost fight in the yard with Ser Criston, or an annoying dinner with Aegon, Aemond needed to take a moment to confront the tempest within, a moment to try and tame the dragon.

“My thanks for saving us” your sweet words echoed in Aemond’s brain like the hymns his mother had once insisted he memorize, trapped in his mind – relentless in their grab for his undivided attention. Although he had just met you earlier (had it only been 3 hours?) each detail was etched into his memory with unnerving clarity —the putrid stench of Flea Bottom that now seemed to permeate his very being and clung all the way to his smallclothes, the satisfying melody of the guard's screams echoes loud as he replays the moment he severed the man's hand from his foul body; an act of true dragon-justice.

Your eyes.

Those eyes, captivating and raw, rimmed with red, their watery sheen reflecting a tumult of fury and fear. It was a look Aemond rarely witnessed in others, but they were a mirror to the emotions he often grappled with in his daily solitude. Staring into his own reflection, he was accustomed to seeing the same intensity in his sole eye, the other a remnant of his past, a void where fear once dwelled. Now, that fear was often overshadowed by a simmering fury, a relentless fire that had become his constant companion. Yet, in your gaze, he saw the fear and anger, a young bird still scared of an unknown, cruel world – but oh so angry and unwilling to get yourself drag down by its cruelty.

Since coming back to the keep after he had settled the matter at the market, Aemond’s mind was inexorably drawn back to the market, to the moment he first laid eyes on you. He had not needed anyone to point you out; he knew who you were from the second he saw you, holding that little boy who was clinging onto you like the barnacles that littered the rocks in blackwater bay.

Seeing you so small yet standing so tall in the shadow of the guard’s golden cloak, he had only seen the resolve and desire to protect; for Aemond, it was like a visceral pull that transcended mere sight that had drawn him to you, like he was being pulled with a thight string attached to his heart.And in the dirt of Flea Bottom, you had stood cloaked in a gown of gauzy lilac in a style of dress he had never seen at court. The sheerness of the sleeves and the plunge of the loose bodice defied the strict, colorless conventions of the court and in a way that would surely raise his mother's brow in disapproval. But Aemond did not care for what was proper, as when he freed the man’s body from its hand, he only longed to take you in his arms, to press the silky fabric of your gown, under which he knew luscious curves hid, between his fingertips.

Aemond closed his eyes trying to imagine what you would feel like in his arms, he could almost feel it if he concentrated enough - were he a bold man, Aemond would have tugged on the fabric of your dress to bring you closer to him, to hold you tight. Not for unseemly reasons as you were still his betrothed, a lady of noble birth at that, and he was no Aegon. It was hard to admit it to himself, but all he wanted was to inhale the sweet citrusy scent he had caught when you had tied the purple scrap of silk to his bicep.

Aemond unwound the fabric from his arm with a tenderness that echoed the way his mother handled her most precious emerald necklace, an heirloom passed down from his grandmother. She cherished it so deeply that she allowed only herself to touch or clean it, guarding it like a dragon hoarding its treasure. But to Aemond, this simple piece of purple cloth was infinitely more valuable than any gems or riches that lay in the royal vault; it was the only tangible thread linking him to you. Through this favor, you were his and he was yours, bonded through blood and silk. He hoped one day he could shower you in trinkets; ruby-red necklaces, perhaps paired with a green samite gown, or freshwater pearls jewelery ; he had heard that Riverrun made amazing hairnet with them –Aemond could not help but smile at the thought of you outfitted with tokens from him, all would know that you belonged to him.

Aemond let the fabric dance lightly between his fingertips and bringing the scarf closer, he tentatively pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was faint, a hint of your presence as if you had only briefly held the fabric in your grasp. Frustration flickered within him as he sought more of your scent, breathing in with an intensity born of deep longing and desire. Aemond was no stranger to yearning; his life was a testament to insatiable hunger - for recognition, for greatness, for respect, and for the Iron Throne. His brother, with his lecherous appetite and penchant for debauchery, and his older sister who is always entangled in a web of deceit with her brood of Strong bastards, were both underserving of what should have been rightfully Aemond.

Yet, as he held the fabric close to his face, Aemond felt his greed transform from ugly and covetous to an all-encompassing desire to protect and care. He yearned not for accolades or crowns, but for the intimacy of your existence in his arms. Indeed, Aemond was a greedy man, and at that moment, he longed to truly have you, to have your scent permeate his skin. The mere thought of burying his face in your hair, drawing in the essence of your being, became a need that tugged at his very core. He almost scoffed at his thoughts, to think that the dragonrider of Vhagar would be reduced to a puddle of quivering emotions! If, when his mother first informed him of his betrothal, Aegon had told him that in barely a moon's turn he would desire nothing more than the simple pleasure of his betrothed's closeness, to breathe in the sweet aroma, he would have throttled his idiot brother. But you had ensnared him – a simple instant in your presence, a look from your beautiful eyes and he was yours. What a mess he was.

Closing his eyes, Aemond did his best to recall the delicate touch of your hands as they had wrapped the fabric around his arm. The feeling of your delicate fingers resonated deep within him, intimate and gentle, unlike any he had ever experienced. The soft pressure of your fingers against his skin, the careful way you secured the scarf, it all felt like a silent promise, I shall care for you, my lord husbands. Words Aemond yearned to hear falling from your plush lips.

Under the tender scrutiny of your eyes, Aemond felt a man transformed; Gone was the bitter sting of being known as 'Aemond the Dragonless' or 'Aemond-who-sends-the-maids-crying.' Instead, he felt seen as who he should have been, had fate not cruelly snatched away his eye – a true dragon prince, deserving of admiration and respect. Deserving of a crown, even if his weak father refused to admit it.

"Prince Aemond!" The call from Ser Criston echoed forcefully through the door, breaking the stillness of the chamber and brought Aemond from his musings. Huffing, Aemond groaned in displeasure, he could understand now why Aegon stopped his sword training - Ser Criston did have the worst of timing. Maybe if he held his breath, Ser Criston would go away. He waited a minute, but the pounding restarted; Of course, he would not go away, the knight was relentless.

"Just a moment," Aemond replied tersely.

"The Queen requests your presence immediately, my prince. The matter is urgent, so please make haste my prince" came Ser Criston's insistent voice from the other side.

Aemond groaned before swiftly splashing cool water across his face, feeling it's refreshing touch against his skin and hastily pulling a tunic over his head, covering his bare chest. There would be time for a proper bath later in the evening, before dinner and the official presentation of his betrothed to court, he reasoned.

His fingers then reached for the purple silk and carefully he tied it around his wrist, positioning it high enough to remain concealed beneath the folds of his jerkin. Though hidden from view, its presence was a secret comfort, a reminder that he did not dream you – that you existed, in flesh and blood.

Aemond flung the door open, his movements brusque, revealing the stern figure of Ser Criston Cole. The knight looked annoyed; his lips downturned in displeasure. Without exchanging words, Aemond began striding towards his mother’s solar, the path so familiar that he required no guidance, least of all from his mother’s shadow.

"The Queen is quite agitated, my prince," Ser Criston broke the silence, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor. "She has been informed of the incident at the market and is... less than pleased."

Aemond's steps faltered, his fists clenching at his sides, he knew it was coming, he just had not imagined it would happen so soon, although it made sense as Alicent had many eyes and ears all over the city. Aemond looked at Ser Criston before rolling his eye, the knight had no doubt babbled the second he had reached his mother's vicinity. The thought of disappointing his mother tightly squeezed at his heart, with gritted teeth, Aemond let out a noncommittal grunt in a thinly veiled effort to maintain composure. Ser Criston, however, persisted. "In light of the current tensions at court, such a public display of violence was... ill-advised, to say the least. For a prince of the realm to act so rashly..."

Stopping abruptly, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced on the walls, Aemond turned sharply, his eyes a stormy sea of frustration and barely contained rage. "And what would you have had me do, Ser Criston? Stand by while that animal threatened my betrothed with cold steel? Be grateful I let him leave with his life."

Ser Criston's demeanor remained stoic, attempting to soothe the prince's anger. "These are indeed trying times, my prince. But your betrothed should not have found herself in such a predicament. A lady of her station venturing away from her escort raises questions about her discretion. Such behavior could bring unforeseen troubles to our doorstep..."

Aemond's voice cut through the air, sharp as Valyrian steel. "I severed the hand that dared harm her. What do you think I would do to the tongues of those who dare tarnish her name?"

Ser Criston's expression flickered, a brief moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "My prince, I did not mean to imply—"

"I know exactly what you implied," Aemond interjected, his voice laced with a cold venom. He unconsciously reached to his right arm where he knew your favor was hidden, touching it to bring your bravery to his words. "Remember your place, Ser Criston. As much as you are a valued member of this household and as much as I have always considered you to be a great mentor, I will not tolerate any slight against my betrothed. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my prince," Ser Criston conceded, the strain in his voice evident. "I shall be more mindful."

With a curt nod, Aemond turned away and, as he moved through the corridors, passing servants and knights alike, he noticed their efforts to avoid meeting his gaze. It was a dance he had grown accustomed to, yet today, it felt more pronounced as it made the hole beneath the eye-patch throbbed. Trying to keep the pain at bay, he imagined you at his side holding his hand and giving a sweet reassuring smile. It seemed to help somewhat as the pain started subsiding, leaving in its wake only the feeling of emptiness. It would do for now.

Reaching the door to the Queen's solar, Aemond paused, collecting his thoughts. He had hoped that by now, his usual icy composure would have resettled over him like a familiar cloak, that the fiery dragon within would have been tamed and subdued. Yet, beneath his skin, a prickling heat lingered, a reminder of the inferno that had coursed through his veins earlier. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the encounter ahead. The comforting memory of your grateful eyes had to be set aside, replaced with the bracing reality of his mother's scrutiny.

Aemond gently rapped on the door and after a brief pause, one of his mother's handmaidens opened the door, allowing him and Ser Criston to enter the room. Inside, Queen Alicent, adorned in a dress of her usual striking green, paced before a large window. Her anxiety was palpable, evidenced by the way she gnawed at her cuticles, some of which were surrounded by tiny specks of blood where she had bitten too deeply.

Aemond felt a pang of shame tighten in his gut. He was rather unaccustomed to being the source of his mother's disappointment. Throughout his life, she had always shown him a particular kind of attention, especially during his more vulnerable, bullied childhood years when he did not have a dragon to stop people (Aegon) from mocking him. Displeasing Queen Alicent was not something he took lightly. His gaze swept across the room, and Aemond noticed the unusual absence of Otto Hightower, which was odd as the man always had a way to immerse himself in every family discussion.

Aemond's thoughts were shattered by the sharp rebuke of his mother. "Aemond, for the love of the Seven, what possessed you?" Queen Alicent's voice might have sounded stern and strict to the uneased ear, but Aemond could hear a pinch of desperation. "To attack and dismember a gold cloak in full view of the public. Do you realize the talk this will incite!?" Her eyes, usually so full of maternal warmth reserved for him, now bore into him with a sternness that made him inwardly flinch.

The smoldering embers of Aemond's anger flared up once more, and he met his mother's gaze with his own steely look – the one that made grown man shudder. "Mother, that man was a disgrace to his cloak. He was assaulting the woman who is to be my wife, threatening her life. He was a beast, unworthy of his position and of the gold on his back. By intervening, I not only did what was necessary to protect my intended, but I restored the name of the King in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing. I will not apologize for my actions as I was under the impression that Lady Dayne, being betrothed to a prince, would be under the protection of our house. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps I should have allowed her to be stripped naked and beaten for all of Flea bottom to see, would this have been more appropriate?!"

Queen Alicent, her fingers once again finding their way to her mouth, bit her nails nervously. With a weary sigh, she approached Aemond, her hands reaching out to gently grasp his arms. "Aemond, you misunderstand my concern," she began, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Your actions in defending your betrothed were commendable, but the manner in which you executed them... it is the brutality of it that troubles me. Such a display of violence and cruelty, it's not befitting a prince of your stature."

Aemond's response came with a touch of bitterness, "Mother, the people of King’s Landing have always viewed me as a monster. What I did today is likely mild in comparison to what they all believe me capable of. And frankly, the man got off lightly. Had it been solely up to me, I would have fed him to Vhagar without a second thought."

Queen Alicent's sigh was heavy. "Aemond, please," she implored. "I understand your urge to protect your future wife, but you have not even properly met her, your reaction was..."

"You understand nothing," Aemond interjected sharply, his voice rising with indignation. "My name is Aemond Targaryen! NOT Aemond Hightower and I will uphold the words of my house, 'Fire and Blood,' in dealing with any who threaten us. And that includes Lady Dayne, from the moment Ggrandfather arranged for our betrothal. "

Alicent's expression turned grave, her gaze unyielding "Is that truly your desire, Aemond? To be remembered as another Maegor the Cruel? To walk the same dark path as your uncle, the rogue that all the nobility of the realm scorns? What legacy do you wish to leave – Aemond the Monstrous? Aemond the Brutal?"

Aemond winced upon his mother's words – Aemond the monstruous? A bitter retort escaped his lips, "Perhaps I do want that. Perhaps if they called me 'Aemond the Cruel' openly as they all think it, my dear older sister would reconsider herself, parading her bastards as if they were legitimate heirs, worthy of the throne."

Queen Alicent took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing momentarily in a silent plea for patience. She released Aemond's arms, turning away from him, her posture one of weary resignation. "I only wish that you would remember the lessons of mercy taught by the Mother," she said softly. "I understand your anger, Aemond, but you must see that there are alternatives to your actions. Violence, war, death – these are not the sole answers to all our difficulties."

Aemond felt sour upon his mother’s words, had she always been so blind? "And what would be the 'appropriate' answer, mother, when Rhaenyra learns of your plans with Grandfather? When she discovers your intention to crown Aegon over her?"

"Aemond, please," Alicent implored, but he pressed on relentlessly.

"Do you truly believe she will simply just accept it? Do you not see that war and violence are already at our doorstep? Is this not why you arranged my marriage to Lady Dayne – to secure Dorne's support when conflict inevitably breaks out? Consider how our position would weaken if I had allowed the first Dornish lady on our soil since the conquest to be abused on the streets of King's Landing. Prince Quoren might have renounced our alliance entirely. And then what, Mother? Whom would you have me marry? A distant Beesbury cousin? Perhaps some lesser Velaryon to challenge Lord Corlys? What would your grand strategy be, mother?"

Alicent remained silent, her figure still and composed, even as the tension in the room thickened. Aemond felt like a snarling dragon, spewing fire at the calm and poised figure of his mother – but a dragon could burn down a tower if needed. From his vantage point in the corner, Ser Criston, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke up, his voice stern. "Prince or not, you will show the proper respect when addressing the Queen."

Alicent's voice was calm, final. "It is alright, Ser Criston. My son is evidently still distressed from today's events. You may leave us, Aemond." She did not turn back to look at Aemond, her gaze fixed somewhere distant.

"Mother," Aemond uttered, the anger was still there, but a deep feeling of regret was starting to tightnened in his troath – he had never spoken to his mother this. Had always revered her as the woman who had always loved him, would always love and cherish him, eyes or no eyes. The woman who had taken his side on Driftmark, who had been willing to draw blood for him. So why was he so angry? Because you know of another woman who would have taken your side on Driftmark now, a smooth voice whispered in his mind. He could imagine Lady Dayne, except instead of the little street urchin clinging to you, it was him – holding you as you were soothing him and urling insults to the Strong. Nevertheless, although Aemond knew he had won the argument, the victory was hollow and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

As Aemond stormed out of his mother's solar, the door slammed shut with a force that was quite petulant and wholly unbefitting of his princely demeanor. The urge to visit Vhagar tugged at him; her presence, the soothing texture of her scales, and the smoldering depths of her yellow eyes often brought him solace in tumultuous times. Soaring through the skies on her back, he found unparalleled freedom, a sense of true self that grounded him amidst the chaos of court life. But today, his steps wavered, his usual path to where Vhagar rested, momentarily forgotten.

A different impulse guided him instead, steering his course through the corridors of the castle. He caught sight of a maid, her steps quick and purposeful towards the kitchens. In a swift motion, Aemond reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping her arm. His voice, though laced with the lingering storm of his recent encounter, carried a softer edge. "Tell me, where in the castle is the Dayne retinue lodging?"

The maid, attempting to maintain her composure, did everything to avoid the intense gaze of his solitary eye, stuttered her reply. "In... the west wing, my prince," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a nod of acknowledgement, Aemond released her, his mind now set on a new destination.

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors towards the West wing, Prince Aemond was in a whirlwind as each step he took was shadowed by uncertainty - would you be there in your quarters? And if so, would you welcome his presence? He wondered if the radiant spark that had lit your eyes earlier, the one that had captivated him so completely, would still shine when faced with him alone. Doubt nagged at him, whispering questions of whether you might prefer solitude over his company. He shook his head, none of it mattered; the second-guessing, the fear. He needed to see you, to lay eyes on you and ensure your well-being. These thoughts propelled him towards your quarters, and he felt more like a dragon than ever before, like a great beast tracking its prey before feasting – unrelenting, with a singular purpose. You.

As Prince Aemond neared the West wing, he was met with a contingent of guards adorned with the Dayne sigil – a white fallen star against a field of lilac. A frown marred his features. Where had these men been when you needed them most? "I wish to see my betrothed." Aemond’s tone left no place for arguments.

However, one of the guards, an older man with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes, appeared unmoved by Aemond's royal status and instead eyed the prince distrustfully. "The lady is currently resting after a taxing day... My prince" The last part was definitely added as an afterthought.

Bastard, Aemond thought angrily, did he not know he was speaking to a prince? How dare this commoner (who had let harm come to you) come between him and his need to see you! Aemond's sneer was barely concealed. "I'm well aware of her trying day, as I was present," he retorted, trying to quell the anger that pulsed in his veins. "Is it a Dornish custom then, that betrothed couples cannot converse? Especially after one of the party saved the other. Quite a peculiar custom if you ask me."

Another younger guard grumbled “Not as much as fucking your siblings...” If Aemond was not so consumed with thoughts of you, he would have had whipped this guard for the insolence.

The older guard's expression soured further, his eyes narrowing. "Given today’s events, where one of your men assaulted our lady, you'll understand my prince,” definitely a sneer” “Our caution.”

"And the man responsible has been dealt with," Aemond countered firmly, his gaze unwavering.

The standoff continued for a tense moment before the older guard relented under Aemond's intense gaze. For once, Aemond was quite satisfied that his one eye could make even the fiercest of men grow uncomfortable, it helped to get his bidding done. The guard led the prince to a corner door and knocked briskly. "My lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you," he announced.

The response came in the form of your familiar, melodious voice, which had haunted Aemond's thoughts throughout the day. "Come in!" you called out, and Aemond felt a mixture of relief and apprehension as he prepared to enter.

Upon opening the room, Aemond was met with a scene quite unexpected. There you were, center stage in the spacious chamber, having exchanged your earlier attire for a strikingly different ensemble. You were adorned in a long, elegant purple tunic with short sleeves that left your arms gracefully exposed. Underneath, a pair of voluminous white breeches reached down to your calves, leaving the lower parts of your legs exposed. Aemond gulped loudly at the sight of you, he had never seen a young lady dressed in such a manner. Were all Dornish ladies such beautiful women, who scorned proper attire? Were all Dornish ladies so... enticing? No, Aemond thought decidedly, you must be one of a kind, a lone bright star in the otherwise dark skies of his life.

Yet, it was the action before him that truly caught him off guard. You were in the midst of a tussle with the same young boy from earlier - Daven, was it? You were attempting to apply soap to his hair, a task he seemed to be resisting with all the vigor a 5-year-old boy could muster. On the large bed nearby, another boy of a similar age sat, munching on a bright red apple, his eyes wide with fascination as he observed the struggle.

“My Lady... Am I... Bothering you? Aemond muttered, at a lost feeling like he might be intruding on such a strange, yet merry moment.”

Your smile bloomed like a desert rose at dawn, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that one might associate with discovering a long-lost treasure, or seeing a long-lost friend... Or lover. Gently, you shifted the still-pouting boy in your arms to face Aemond, calling to him with a warmth that melted the icy barriers around the prince's heart. "Look, Davos! Our brave prince who saved us earlier has come to see us!" The boy, Davos, offered a shy smile and a timid wave, his earlier resistance forgotten in the presence of his hero.

Aemond felt an unfamiliar flush of warmth spread across his cheeks under your gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that seemed to stir the very core of his being. The usual fire that raged within him, driving his every ambition and desire, seemed to simmer down into a comforting warmth, a feeling he couldn't quite place but didn't wish to escape.

His heart pounding a rapid rhythm, Aemond offered a slight bow. "Might I be of assistance, my Lady?"

Your response came with an infectious beam. "Another pair of hands would be most welcome."

Positioning himself to be of help, Aemond muttered, "Guide me to where I can be most useful, my Lady."

With a soft and tender smile, you replied, "I believe, my prince, that you are perfect just where you are."

Perfect right where he is?

Aemond would never leave your side, nothing would ever tear from you and you from him. The Gods had always scorned him since his childhood, this was payment. His due. You were his and he was yours from this day until the end of his days.

Next chapter

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

Note

I can’t stop thinking about a blurb of JJ working on his bike and reader wants to spend more quality time with him so she joins in and tries to help but she’s not very good? So JJ is very patient and slightly teasing but shows her how he does everything and it’s just cute and fluffy? Love everything you write sooooo much!!!

warnings; fluff

pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader

authors note; now that you’ve sent this i can’t stop thinking about it either. i adore this request, hope u enjoy <3

The hammock is thick, knitted, and not close enough to JJ.

He’d insisted that you sit and look pretty in the shade, like the ‘otherworldly goddess’ you are. You were in his vicinity and that at least will have to suffice for the time being whilst he wrestles with whatever mishap has apprehended his dirt bike now.

Just observing him do so, was a pleasing sight— as he’s shirtless, his tanned skin begging to be touched. Abs adjusting to every bend and pull he makes to acquire the right angle whilst his chest flexes in unison. Shark tooth necklace dangling about in any which way. God. He shined with a gleam of sweat from the rays beaming wistfully on him. With a bandana hanging slack out of the many pockets on his cargo shorts. You really desired to drag you finger across each and every crevice that made up JJ’s built frame in front of you. That’s not even to count the way he chugs a beer down every thirty minutes or so— tilting his head back the slightest, making the locks of his hair follow, his Addams apple bobbed up and down with every gulp. If he missed his mouth you were lucky to see dribbles of it seep from the corners, and he’d just wipe it away with his wrist, like second nature, only to chuck the crushed can somewhere in the patchy yard.

With that being the view, one could merely imagine why you are so helplessly antsy in this damn hammock.

He’s tightening the bolt on his bike stand to readjust as he thought it was loose. Your jaw should’ve been on the floor with the way the veins in his arm bulged with every twist, instead you settled with salivating.

You getting up to muster a helping hand was the farthest thing from JJ’s mind.

But you do.

Because, if not physical interaction there’s quality time— and there’s never too much of that.

“J, do you need any help?”

“Yeah baby, you can go get me another beer out of the cooler-“

“No I mean like help, help.”

JJ thought he was in another dimension, that he was seeing double, or that the earth was about to swallow you whole. Help? His forehead is forming wrinkles at such a foreign gesture leaving your mouth, orbs glaring up at you standing over him in obvious perplexity.

“You wanna help me?”

JJ scoffs almost in disbelief, but there’s a partial laugh stuck in his throat. You offer him a tight lipped grin, as if to say you were being all the way serious. Sat on a flat makeshift old cardboard box so his khaki cargo shorts wouldn’t get covered in dirt and debris than they already were, he pats the open space encouraging for you to sit next to him.

There’s a wrench in his hand, the movements of his elongated fingers to the sliver wrench is writhing around the bolt in an effort to make the bike stand compact. With the bike lying on its side, it was of uncomplicated access for JJ to keep it intact. You lie your head mindlessly on his shoulder, perspiring but nevertheless still encapsulating a form of solace. Your hand gently smoothed over the coating of skin about his spine, persisting to delve into whatever it was JJ was saying.

“See this wrench right here?” He spoke, directing you with such ease, he feels the heat of your cheek rub against his shoulder, nodding your head yes. “Turn it, and then keep turning it until it’s tight enough okay?”

He drops the wrench into your palm, locking his fingers with yours for a split second only to slink an arm lazily around your shoulders. Part of him was elated at your sudden interest in one of his hobbies, the other part of him is wallowing in suspicion but, he won’t complain because it’s a little more time with you.

And he could always use a little more time with you.

Even a night apart is far too much to handle.

The cool metal is surrounded by your calloused digits, and JJ is already interjecting.

“Nah baby, that’s the wrong way, turn it towards me,” He chuckles slightly, mainly due to the fact that he just gave you exact directions not even a moment ago. It’s not frustrating though, no, it’s really amusement— plus, there’s a tiny frown plying to your features which he finds captivating.

Something that was miniscule to JJ, when you can’t even spin the wrench a notch to the left, almost like it was stuck. “Fuck! Why is it so hard to turn?!” You are muffled, gritting through your teeth, with a fully clenched jaw and it won’t budge. Though JJ, glides his finger tips up and down your arms, in reassurance that ‘it’ll happen’, even if it’s tomorrow at this rate.

“You’ll get it … just try again, pretty girl.”

He readjusts your grasp on the wrench, and you swat his hand away, trying to accomplish it on your own in this dire summer atmosphere.

“Don’t think you make a very good helper, baby.”

You shoot him a glare, knowing it’s fully said pit of love. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek, to compensate for his loving insult. It stains your the skin, as it’s sloppy and full of affection. Despite it, you elbow him with a nudge to his stomach and he’s winded, punishing him for pestering sweet nothings in your ear.

It took that last push for it to turn, and JJ is biting back his bottom lip in eagerness— the bolt anticipating it’s release. With a slight grunt, it’s turning, it’s turning, and it’s tight.

“Think I did it, J!”

“Tha’s my girl, did so good!”

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skyfall8600 · 2 years

Text

Body Shaking

Pair: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: smut ❤️, swearing, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving)

My Masterlist

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“Come one, just one more!”

“So fucking good!”

“And… and…. That’s it!”

You collapsed to the floor, your arms and torso going numb. Sweat dripping from your forehead causing for your hair to stick to your face.

“Did I beat his record?” You asked, looking around you. Your breath was shaky as your body started to tremble, your muscles feeling the repercussion.

Gareth nodded, excitingly jumping and looking at the timer of his watch. “3 whole minutes! Fucking pay up Munson!”

Eddie sighed, tossing the younger boy the a $20 bill. “She weighs less, gravity didn’t work as hard on her!”

“Say whatever excuse you want, baby,” you laughed, slowly catching your breath. “I can hold a plank longer than you, therefore making me the superior and stronger one.”

It was unusual how you all got here. After a few hits of weed and some drinks, the boys started to see who could hold their breath the longest, who won at arm wrestle…. It was quiet pathetic but amusing nonetheless. Eddie had won every round, his ego growing rapidly.

………………..

You initially sat there, laughing at them. Encouraging the younger ones must to Eddie’s dismay. It was no secret the two of you liked each other, but you both didn’t want to ruin what you had… so shameless flirting was all you did.

“I’m not even going to attempt challenging you to a plank, hardest fucking thing ever.” Eddie said, laughing and taking a small sip of his beer.

“Bet you can only last a minute!” Gareth said, trying to defend himself.

“I know I can.” Eddie said proudly, taking off his jacket and proceeding to the floor. When he dropped to his knees he gave you a small wink that made your heart flutter.

You watched him, muscles tighten as he held his position. Your body getting warmer as you were unable to move your gaze from him. Burning desire pooled between your legs. You didn’t care if anyone noticed how hot your face became; you wanted to memorised the way his muscles twitched.

He got to the two minute mark and cried out as he collapsed. He looked to Gareth, “2 minutes and 4 seconds.”

“Fuck yeah.” Eddie said, bringing his attention back to you. “Like what you see?”

You wanted to jump him, to ruin everything for a split moment of feeling his body up against yours. But you couldn’t, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You started hanging out with the guys a year ago, once you moved to Hawkins. In that time, you never told them of your rather athletic history. You knew how Eddie felt about the jocks and it wasn’t like you were interested in it anymore, so you didn’t feel a need to disclose this information.

But at this very moment, all those years of gymnastics were gonna pay off. And wipe that smug look off his face.

“Double the bet. You lose if I can last 3 minutes.” You said, everyone going quiet.

“No need to push yourself doll, you already impress us by merely talking to us.” Eddie replied, giving you back your flirtatious behaviour.

“$10. I can do it.”

“Just for you, I’ll make it $20.”

“Deal.”

“Watch and learn boys.”

…………………………..

That’s how Eddie found himself unable to look away from you. How his mind raced with a thousand different ways he wanted to make you break out in a sweat and get you all breathless, just like you were now as you lied on the floor.

“Fuck, only 3 minutes? I used to be able to last 5.” You said, wiping away at your forehead.

“How. The. Hell. Did you do that?” Jeff asked.

You shrugged, “Used to be in competitive gymnastics. Haven’t practiced in over a year, and I’m really fucking feeling it.”

Eddie blushed, picturing you in a leotard leaving little to the imagination.

Everyone returned to normal but the two of you were clearly worked up from the little shows you put on for the other. When they all filed out of his trailer, going home one by one, it left the two of you finally alone.

“You okay there Eddie?” You asked teasingly.

He couldn’t move off the couch, knowing you’d be able to make out his very clear hard on. “Just thinking off all the ways to make fun of your little acrobatic stuff.”

“Gymnastics you mean.”

He nodded, “Mhm, sure. Same thing.”

Something had changed between you, or it was just the alcohol talking. You walked over to him until you occupied the other end on the rather small couch.

“I think,” you whisper against his ear, “you like the idea of me in the little leotards.”

His brown eyes were dark and dilated. He swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth, feeling a chill run down his spin as your breath floated against his ear.

“Or maybe, you’re wondering how flexible I am.”

He lost all control at that comment. He grabbed you by the face, bringing it close to his and he kissed you at full force. Increasing his body pressure against yours, you found yourself lying back against the sofa with him on top of you.

You could feel his erect penis against your thriving heat. It made you moan into his mouth, which suddenly made him realise that he broke the rule between you to never take things further.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-“ he said against your lips, trying to remove himself from your body but your tight grip on his neck didn’t let him get far. “I shouldn’t have- fuck.”

“Eddie, I swear to god if you keep trying to stop kissing me I’ll cut your dick off.” You growled at him, not giving him a chance to reply before smashing your lips with him again.

Somehow what you said was what he needed to hear. He became fully invested in exploring you. Gradually and subconsciously he started to grind against you, his throbbing member adding tension to the seam of your jeans that made the sensations radiate in you.

One of his hands found it’s way under your skirt, cupping your breast. Your hardened nipples poked through the fabric and he felt every bit of it.

“Need this off.” You mumbled, pulling at the bottom of his shirt so it came off him. He smiled and happily obliged, helping you remove the material.

“Only if yours come off too.” He said, repeating the process.

“Yes, Sir.”

He groaned, eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t think I can handle you saying shit like that.”

You giggled, your hands moving across his bare chest. “Oh I’m sorry, do you prefer… Master?”

His kisses suddenly became more aggressive, as did his hands against your breasts. Panting at the feeling, you proceeded to move your hips to rock your core against him.

He became braver. His hand leaving your breast to go lower, he paused for a moment to see if it was too much.

“Please.” The voice left your lips in a whisper.

Undoing the button on your jeans yourself, Eddie was in awe of how desirable you looked. He wasted no time dropping his fingers to graze your most sensitive area as he continued to assault your lips with kisses.

Your were warm and wet, seeping through the thin undergarments easily. He could feel it saturating his fingers with a single swipe.

“Fuck.” He hissed, rubbing his fingers up against you and you moaned into it. “So ready for me.”

“Eddie… please.”

Moving your panties to the side, he felt too restricted by the clothes you were still wearing. You noticed this and let out a frustrated growl. Lifting your hips up, you started to wiggle out the jeans. He laughed to himself and helped you, positioning himself right back on top of you and fingers to your melting core.

One finger guided into you easily, your breath loud against his ear and his lips attacking your neck. “Mmm..”

He added another, moving them a bit more thoroughly. He thought he was in heaven just by hearing the sounds you made, the way your body curved up against him.

After a few minutes, you were close but unable to reach that peak. Tears formed in your eyes from desperation. Eddie noticed and wanted to satisfy you, he removed his fingers to run circles against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

Your moans became higher pitch and all sense of clarity left his mind. He had to make you sound like that again. He needed to hear you.

You were closer, unembarrassed by your pornstar sounds and whimpers. You’d dream of this for so long; late at night you’d imagine what he would feel like, how his fingers felt up inside you. And you are loving every second of it. So naturally, when his hands removed from your body you cried out.

“Sh, I got you.” He said, kissing away a desperate tear from your cheek. “Fucking gorgeous.”

He kissed between your breasts and down your body. Electricity rocking through you. When he reached his desired area, he noticed that the couch wasn’t big enough. He was satisfied with the angle it forced him to be in.

He stood up abruptly and urgently, unable to give your near-climax mind a chance comprehend what was going on before he scooped you up in his arms and paraded to his room, tossing you on the bed.

“Much better.” He said over your giggles.

He used his hands to spread your legs wide open in front of him. Lowering his head, he could smell you and it made his eyes roll back. His lips grazed the skin of your inner thighs, making you twitch.

“Eddie please..” you cried, your fingers tangling in the mess of his curls.

He hooked a finger into your panties and pulled them down, giving him full access to you. Access he abused quickly. Diving in, the tongue and lips went straight to work. You were already so worked up from your session on the couch that you were back to high pictures screams within seconds.

“Fuck..” you cried, moving your body to get as much friction against him as possible.

His nose rubbed your clit and as soon as he heard how you reacted to it, he was determined to make that his main focus. Your legs started to shake when his tongue lapped messy circles on the sensitive bud.

“Ed.. I.. mhmm.”

You were a mess. Both verbally and physically in front of him. He sucked on you clit and your back arched, fingers digging into his skull as you experienced the most intense orgasm of your life.

He didn’t stop. He wanted to feel you inside as your walls pulsated through your climax. His finger curved up inside you, your scream beyond louder as you cried out the lord’s name in vein.

One orgasm rolled seamlessly into another, your whole body spasming and you finally had enough. You pulled him up from you by his hair. The sight of him with his desire drunk eyes and mouth glistening with your release was enough to make you go mad.

Without wiping it away, you pulled him to you and kissed him like your life depended on it. He made is way back up your body. Every inch of you covered with his. You needed him.

You went to palm his erection but you met his semi-hard wet member.

“I-I enjoyed going down on you too much.” He admitted embarrassingly, scared to see your reaction.

You smiled, “that’s okay, we’ll start with you next time.”

“Next time?” He replied with his signature smirk. “What happened to staying as just friends?”

“I want to fuck you too much for that. Besides, I think we passed that stage already.”

He kissed you gently this time, so different to the hunger you both felt before.

“I’m never letting you go now. You know that right?”

You nodded, “I know… Master.”

His eyes grew dark and he wrapped his arms around you, causing you to scream as he flipped you over.

The two of you proceeded to spend the night showing each other all the fantasies and desires that had corrupted your friendship into something much better.

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Eddie Munson Taglist :

@fentyreligion @littlelunarfox @coconutchumby @eempxth @superflannel @fluffycookies22 @yearwalker96 @grungegrrrl l @m1rkw00dpr1ncess

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader fluff #joseph quinn #stranger things smut

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

Text

Dragon Pt.1

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: assassin related stuff

Words: 3066

Summary: She had trusted her Unsullied with her life. That was why when one attacked her with a knife she doesn't have him killed. Instead Daenerys wants to get down to the problem. Only when she removes the Unsullied's helmet she is met with the face of a young girl.

Part 2

The tip of the dagger was mere inches from her chest. Had Daario and Jorah been a second slower in stopping it, Dany was positive she’d be dead. By the hands of one of her own Unsullied. The two men who vied for her attention wrestled the soldier down in an attempt to restrain him. For the odds being two-to-one, the single Unsullied assailant proved to be difficult to hold down. Grey Worm and the others assisted Jorah and Daario in bringing his own man down onto his knees.

“What shall you have me do to him?” Grey Worm turns to his queen. He was surprised that one of his own men would dare to lay a violent hand upon their silver haired queen. From the moment Daenerys had got them out of bondage the Unsullied had been completely devoted to her and would gladly die for her.

Dany was aware of this as well and wanted to know why he had attacked her. These were her sworn men, the only others besides Jorah that she would trust with her life.

Despite them urging her to stay back, Daenerys slowly walked up to the detained Unsullied who had his head held up high. Up close she noticed how small he was compared to the other men in his company. He must’ve been one of the young unblooded ones that she had taken from under the Master’s grasp. She places each of her hands on either side of the metal helmet that all the Unsullied wore and gently slid it up to remove it. She was met with a soft feminine face that held harsh (e/c) eyes. Her would be assassin was a girl. They stared at each other for some time, Dany for some odd reason held captive by those glowering eyes while the other girl keeps her facial features completely void except for the fire in her eyes.

“Your Grace? What should we do? She’s obviously an assassin. Although I must applaud her for easily passing off as an Unsullied.” Hums Daario with slight approval.

Jorah wasn’t as light hearted as Daario as he grabs the young girl’s slender throat. She doesn’t even flinch but her lips curl in a snarl. “Who sent you?”

“Unhand her Jorah.” Daenerys immediately instructs earning a confused look from her bear lord.

His lips part. “But Khaleesi, she nearly killed you.”

“I’m aware of what she almost did. I don’t want to repeat myself.”

Reluctantly he unwraps his meaty hand from her throat and backs away. Still Jorah makes sure to keep his glare trained on the little assassin.

Regarding her for a moment, Dany instructs her men to confine the girl in a cell and have a close eye on her; seeing as she had slipped from their detection to begin with. She made no struggle as they led her away.

Curious, Daario crosses his arms. “And what exactly do you have planned for her?”

“It’s not safe to keep her here.” Jorah insists.

“I’m going to persuade her to join our side. If it’s money she wants we can out pay whoever hired her in the first place. She’s obviously talented. Gave you two quite the fight.”

Chuckling while his counterpart flushes with embarrassment, Daario saunters closer to Daenerys with his usual playful, toothy, grin. “You can’t trust people like her. Of course I’m in the same job field, but I’m different.”

That made her quirk an eyebrow up. “Are you now?”

“Your love is the only payment I require.”

“You’re getting off track!” Snaps Jorah haughtily. “She can’t stay here. Khaleesi, with your kind heart you have won man over. But that won’t always work. Did you see her eyes? Eyes like those belong to someone who has no morals, who can’t be swayed.”

No. Dany had seen something else in those eyes. Something that pulled her in. A sense of familiarity.

Jorah always did have the tendency to see the worst in people. Daenerys wanted to believe that what she saw was something good.

You had been in worst situations. At least there were no rats in your cell. Small blessings you supposed. You groan at the thought of your lost payment. When you escaped you would definitely not get paid. Your benefactor would probably send others to get rid of you so that you wouldn’t utter a word that it was him. Not that you would. . . Unless the price was right.

You would worry about that when you got out of your cell.

No chains or locks could restrain you for long. This was nothing compared to some of the tight binds you found yourself in in Braavos. Even in Volantis where you had dealt in some risky business you were quick and smart enough to escape with all your limbs and your pride. When you caught a glimpse of prostitutes selling themselves in the dirt and grime, dread always made your stomach churn. That could’ve easily had been your fate. There had been numerous times when you were young that had nearly resulted in rape. You had kept your wits though and easily brought your assailant’s life to an end.

Flexing your feet and wrists you examine your surroundings and think of a plan. You refused to be dragon fodder.

You’d wait until a guard opened your cell and grabbed you. They hadn’t thought to check your boots for weapons. In each was a dagger strapped snuggly to the inside. There were pre-made sheaths in the insides of your boots that protected you from the sharp blades. You also had a small pack of needles laced with a fast acting poison hidden away as well.

You were prepared for the Unsullied guards to come back. It couldn’t have taken too long for the Mother of Dragons to decide your fate. If someone had tried to kill you you would want them dead. In fact anyone who had tried to kill you was indeed gone from the living plane. You had seen to that.

Instead it was the queen herself that was illuminated by torchlight. And she was alone.

You could still finish your job. Coax her to open the door and just as you walk out, feign tying your boots when you’re really reaching for your daggers. You would cut off her white hair as proof that you had indeed succeeded in your task.

Breathing slowly to calm your heart rate, you train your eyes on her as she continues to draw closer.

She was astonishingly beautiful, you would give her that. Daenerys Targaryen. With her flawless complexion and stunning lavender eyes you were sure she could easily have any man bend the knee to her regardless of her dragons.

What could she possibly have to say to you? Maybe spit in your face or curse you. You had experienced it all.

Except for. . . “Are you hungry?”

Questioningly you stare at her. You weren’t accustomed to being surprised. To be honest you hardly held any emotion except for anger and you used that when you fought. All emotion had been trained out of you much like the Unsullied. No female castration was performed on you though. Your lady bits didn’t stop you from killing without remorse.

Yet there you were. Surprised and confused.

Daenerys folds her hands in front of you. She had previously spoken in Valyrian as many in Essos spoke a a form of it. When you continued to look at her with unblinking eyes she tried using the Common Tongue of Westeros. Perhaps she thought you hadn’t understood her. “Whoever employed you. . . I can assure you that I have more to offer you than they can. We can discuss it over a meal. . .”

That was the oldest trick in the book. Did she really think you would fall for that? You had invited many to meals that had wound up being poisoned.

Yet if she opened the cell door you’d be able to get to her. You’d finally be able to leave the sweltering deserts that surrounded Meereen and all the other god awful enslaved cities.

“And what can you offer me?” You reply in Valyrian, trying to add interest in your voice. Make her believe that you were playing into her game. She seemed like the trusting type. After all she did stop one of her guards from possibly strangling you. Already you knew she had a kind heart. People with kind hearts didn’t last too long.

One step closer and she put her hand on the wrought iron bars. Daenerys gazed intently at you, trying to read something that you were unsure of. “A place in my guard. A chance to gain glory in Westeros.”

“I care not for glory or a position in your guard.” Folding your arms in front of your chest you go on. “What I care about are riches. Have you any of that, Mother of Dragons?”

“Once I take the Iron Throne you can have as much as your heart desires.”

You doubted that would ever happen. Stories told in taverns you had heard the history of Westeros and how the Valyrians had fled from their crumbled home; claiming and conquering Westeros as their own. Even though she had conquered Slaver’s Bay and Meereen there was so much more that went into being a queen. She was young and thought she could play at being ruler just because she had three dragons and a useless claim.

You hardly cared about her ambitions that were as doomed as Valyria.

Still you would get her to believe anything, as long as she opened the door.

“A castle. With a room filled with gold.”

She moves closer to the lock, her fingers revealing a brass key. You keep your eyes trained on her sparkling eyes though, not willing to let up what your intentions were. “If that is what you desire. It shall be your’s. I only request one thing of you.”

Of course you would have to prove your loyalty. You force an eyebrow up in mock question.

Daenerys takes this as an invitation to go on. “Go back and kill the person who hired you.”

The key was getting closer and closer to the lock.

You try not to hold your breath and force yourself to breathe steadily. “Then it will be done.”

For half a heart beat you feared that she wouldn’t open it, that she didn’t quite believe you. Something in her posture seemed testing. Yet you heard a click as Daenerys inserted the key and turned it.

Standing up you casually stalk toward the now open door. Indeed she was alone. This seemed all too easy for you. You tested the waters by taking one step out, then two until you were in front of her. You realized the two of you were initially the same height. Even in the dull light of the dungeons Daenerys’s hair was incredibly bright, giving her an almost white aura around her face. You were sure she was the most beautiful girl in the entire world. Not that beauty mattered much to you. Once, maybe when you were innocent ( you can’t remember a time when you were though), you had hoped to grow up into a beautiful lady. Fall in love with someone who would take you away and make you happy.

No one could make you happy though. Not even yourself.

Happiness didn’t exist for you.

You had been raised and trained to kill. You were a monstrous being.

That was why you kneeled down to supposedly tie your boots and once your fingers found the concealed daggers you lunged at the beautiful girl.

Her back crashed into the ground and knocked all the air right out of her. She shouldn’t have been so surprised. She should’ve known better. This girl was unpredictable. She should’ve at least brought Jorah with her and have him stand further down in the hall. But she so wanted to prove him wrong. Daenerys had thought she saw something different in the female assassin’s face. Something that told her that what Daario and Jorah had said was wrong. Yet there she was, having stopped the tip of the blade with her palm and feeling the sharp sting radiate throughout her hand. The warm trickle of blood kissed her pale palm as it rolled down to her arm. After all Daenerys had been through she should’ve known better. Not everyone could be converted.

She winces as she tries to wrap her fingers around the blade only further pressing it into her hand. She wanted to cry, to scream out in pain, but she had to try to get the knife out of the skilled hand.

As she turned her watering gaze to the unnamed girl she saw it. The fire. Flames that burned in (e/c) eyes. Fury and the strong drive to kill.

They looked exactly like Drogon’s eyes when he had snapped at her. It had been weeks since she last saw the biggest of her children, but she would never mistake his eyes. Daenerys may have been the blood of the dragon but this girl. . . she was the dragon. She was wasting her life with being a petty assassin.

“You could be so much more. . .” Dany finally found the strength to whisper catching the girl off guard. She clearly saw it as something twitched in her otherwise stoic face. She still pressed her dagger further into Daenery’s already blood drenched hand. “Why. . . Why are you wasting your time living like this? You could be something great.”

Something great.

Like what? A soldier in her crusade? There was nothing greater than being a well known assassin. They whispered your name all throughout Essos and those who knew of you in Westeros dare not even utter your name.

This girl insulted you.

Your nose scrunches in a snarl as you wind your arm back, watching her bleeding hand fall aside.

Her wide eyes stare at you without falter as you notice her chest tremble with evident fear. Full lips part and quiver as she lets out a shaky breath. “You could be more than assassin, taking orders from others. . . You could be a dragon.”

If you had the ability to laugh you would’ve. Westerosi lords and their mascots. They took it too seriously to where they thought they were that specific animal.

“As long as you live like this, no matter how many people you kill or how much you are paid it will never be enough. Just one meaningless task after another. Aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to good use and actually do something of merit? Fill your life with something that isn’t pointless. If you allowed yourself to grow you could be a dragon.”

You reel back as she spits out the truth you had feared for quite some time. Every word she said was true. Your life had become a repetitive cycle that you were growing bored of. It was never enough.

Nothing ever filled you.

You doubted even killing the Mother of Dragons wouldn’t satisfy you. You would probably just start another day and look for another kill. You weren’t a dragon but a jackal with a bottomless pit, always roaming the streets and devouring everything in sight.

Uncharacteristically your hands shook as they dropped your daggers. Everything crashed into you. All those years of your father beating all emotion out of you. Of your brothers poisoning you to make you stronger. You would die unhappy and starving just like your father had.

In this time Daenerys sits up and slowly backs away from you yet she doesn’t leave. “Join me and I promise you I can truly give your life meaning. I can help you live to your full potential.”

She offered you her red stained hand.

You slapped it away and ran.

*A FEW WEEKS LATER*

Daenerys hadn’t heard the end of it from Jorah. He fumed when he learned that the prisoner had escaped. Even more so when he saw her wounded hand. Melancholy, Daenerys had ignored Jorah’s worried and sulked quietly. Things had not been going well for her. The Sons of the Harpy had started attacking everyone that supported her. She had also been forced to lock up Viserion and Rhaegal underneath one of Meereen’s great pyramids.

Heart broken and weary, Daenerys had finally decided to choose a Meereenese husband in hopes that it would placate the Sons of the Harpy. She was not looking forward to what had to be done. She was queen though and would have to do things she didn’t want to in order to keep the peace of her people.

Her attention was brought back to the audience chamber where she had been sitting, hearing the complaints of the people. Loud yells pierced through the room before numerous Unsullied came flooding in with a familiar face.

The female assassin.

Daenerys notices Jorah prickle at the sight of her as his hand goes on top of the pommel of his sword. She didn’t think she would ever see her face again.

“Release her.”

“Your Grace. . .”

“I said release her.” She makes sure there’s a bite of authority in her tone. They do so and that’s when she notices a bag hanging off of her hip. She looked even more tiny without parading around in the bulky Unsullied uniform. Her (h/c) hair was pulled out of her face and Dany saw the dark circles that plagued her eyes. This girl had indeed lived a hard life.

Her guards flinch when she reaches into her bag and the ones closest to her turn their spears towards her. She arches her brows, slightly amused as she slowly retrieves a head out and throws it toward Daenerys’ throne. Jorah recoils but Daenerys keeps still.

“The head of the man who wanted you dead.” She says. “You say I can be more than an assassin. Prove it to me.”

The first time in quite a while, Dany smiles. “What is your name?”

“(y/n) (l/n).”

Getting up despite Jorah trying to get her to stay put, Daenerys travels down the steps of her platform, walks around the severed head and to (y/n). She takes off her necklace which had the Targaryen crest of the three headed dragon and pressed it into her hands.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen fanfiction #daenerys targaryen fanfic #daenerys targaryen x reader #got #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf reader insert #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 2 months

Text

Juvenile

The two of you are fighting again. Typical. For the record, it's all Opera's fault. If they weren't going about and starting fights with other students, you wouldn't need to deal with them.

You narrowly avoided a swift kick. Glaring at the feline, you lunge for their tail. Opera leaps back. The two of you have been going at each other for hours.

Opera's two little subordinates watching. One worried and the other seeming to cheer every time you land a hit against your opponent.

You hiss as you jerked your body away from the demons claws at the last second. Grabbing their legs, you swung them into the nearest tree.

Of course, it doesn't phase a stubborn brute like them. They merely brush it off and pounce at you. Both of you blurs as you wrestle for dominance.

The stubborn cat manages to scratch you. It makes you so angry that you bite them. Your jaw locked into their shoulder.

You're both rolling back and forth across the mud at this point. Opera managed to dislodge you from their shoulder and shove your face in the mud.

You growl and headbutt them in the jaw. You're both covered in mud, bruises, and blood at this point. Neither of you wants to give up, though.

This was a matter of pride, after all. To stop was to submit. Submitting to each other was not an option for either of you.

You tackle Opera down. Once more, the two of you are grappling with each other. The mud makes it harder to get a good grip.

"What in Devi's name are you two doing?" You both freeze. Slowly turning to see Sullivan staring at you with his hands on his hips.

Opera shoves you off. Both of you point at each other and say. "It's their fault!" The two of you glare ready to start round two.

"Now, now, you two mustn't fight." The older demon strokes the tops of your heads. You both look up at his warm gaze.

"After all, you are both so precious to me." Opera's ears twitch, and you blush. "Stupid Geezer." "So embarrassing."

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #lord sullivan #opera #balam shichirou #naberius kalego

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echo-goes-mmm · 3 months

Text

Old Friends Finale

Masterpost

Note: Charlie, the doctor, uses they/them pronouns.

Warnings: death

They tumbled into the Dark, wrestling with each other in the black.

Laith could see Nightclaw, grayscale against the infinite expanse of pure void, but it was clear after a moment that Master was completely blind.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled. Laith dodged a wild swing of his blade; it came down a scant inch from where his head was a mere second before.

He struggled against Master’s weight pinning him down. With Nightclaw unable to see, he finally had an advantage.

Laith wiggled out of Nightclaw’s grip, his pure rage and frustration making him sloppy.

He scrambled out of reach, and Nightclaw stumbled to his feet.

“Where are you?!” Master shrieked, swinging his blade into the empty.

Nightclaw suddenly stood up straight, eyes still searching uselessly into the black. He dropped his blade arm to rest at his side.

“Darling…” he cooed, voice soft and sing-song, “I know you’re still there.”

Laith didn’t dare draw a breath as Nightclaw’s eyes passed over him.

“I’m not mad,” lied Master. “Take us back, sweetheart. I promise I won’t punish you.”

Laith said nothing.

Nightclaw suddenly cried out, not in anger, but in pain. He dropped the dagger entirely, and fell to his knees.

Laith didn’t know what happened to people when they were left in the Dark. Some sick part of him wanted to find out.

Nightclaw’s hands pressed against his head, as if some great migraine was pulsing in his brain. He gasped, eyes wide open, and against the grayscale, Laith saw black void stream from his eyes.

It flowed off his jaw and into the Dark.

Master kept screaming, even as his eyes completely turned to pitch and his mouth began to drip.

“Laith! Help me!” he called out, desperate. “Please!”

He still said nothing, frozen in horror. Dark spilled over Master's lips.

“LAITH!”

___________________

“LAITH!” Theo screamed, but he was too late. Laith and Nightclaw were gone.

He frantically turned in circles, searching for any sign of them. They couldn’t have gone far, not with Laith’s condition.

“LAITH!”

Mateo and Beatrice finally caught up with him.

“What happened?” Mateo demanded.

“Look for them,” he ordered, “hurry!”

They flew up into the sky, scanning the city.

“There!” Beatrice called, pointing in the distance. She dived down, scooped Theo up under the arms, and they moved in a blur.

Laith sat on the concrete, hands over his mouth. He was rocking back and forth, eyes wild. There was blood spatter on his clothes, too much to only be his.

Beatrice put him on the ground and Theo raced towards Laith. She hung back, and Mateo hovered above her.

Theo put his hands on Laith’s shoulders.

“Laith, where’s Nightclaw?”

Laith didn’t seem to hear him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His pupils swallowed up most of the vibrant purple of his eyes, pure horror and panic in his face.

“Laith!” Theo shook him by the shoulders. Laith’s eyes snapped to Theo, as if just now realizing he was there.

“Where’s Nightclaw, Laith?”

“He’s- he’s gone,” whispered Laith, trembling. “I killed him.”

Theo inhaled sharply.

“Oh god,” moaned Laith, “I killed him!”

Laith turned away, vomiting onto the street. Theo rubbed his back as he retched.

Beatrice approached, and Theo shot her a pleading look. She held up her hands, and Theo knew she understood.

“Where’s the body?” she asked, quiet.

Laith shuddered. “I left him behind. In the Dark.”

“The Dark?” she gently prodded.

“It’s… it’s where I go. When I use my powers.”

Theo remembered the dark cold Laith brought them through when they escaped Nightclaw. He wasn’t aware it was a place, but then again, he never thought about it.

He filed away a note to ask Laith exactly how his powers worked.

“You killed Nightclaw and left him in the Dark?”

“N-no, I-” Laith scrubbed a hand over his face. “I- I took him there- and- and I got him off of me and… the Dark did the rest.”

“Go on,” Theo encouraged.

Laith shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, clearly unwilling to say more.

Theo was suddenly very grateful that Laith was the type to value human life. He’d make the perfect assassin if he wanted to.

Theo, Beatrice, and Mateo exchanged looks. “Am I under arrest?” Laith asked wearily.

“No,” said Mateo, his voice firm.

“It was self defense,” agreed Beatrice. “And I don't think any jury would convict you anyway.”

“Okay.”

Laith sounded so tired, and his frame was so small. Theo put a gentle hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, quiet.

Laith leaned into his leg, something Theo was sure he’d never do a mere few hours ago.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “He’s really just… gone.”

Theo empathized. Laith hadn’t said how long he was under Nightclaw’s boot, but it was long enough that he must feel directionless without him.

“You could come back with us,” suggested Mateo. “We have room.”

Laith turned to look at him, blinking slowly. “I’m not a hero,” he said slowly, as if he thought Mateo was an idiot. “ And I’m not exactly useful.”

“You don’t have to be,” assured Theo.

Laith stood up, legs shaky. “That’s not how the world works,” he protested weakly.

Beatrice and Mateo gave each other a look.

“Who cares?” she shrugged.

“I care!” Laith’s leg went out from under him, and Theo caught him under the arms.

“Do you think I can just-” he waved a hand around, wincing, “-stick around and, what, hope you don’t do something to me? That’s not how any of this works! Not out there, not in prison, not anywhere!”

Theo slung Laith’s arm around his shoulders, and he didn’t struggle despite his outburst.

Laith panted, tears dripping off his bruised jaw.

“Fine then. I guess you’ll just be our prisoner,” said Mateo, strangely nonchalant. Beatrice stepped away from him, shock on her face. Theo gaped at him, and Laith nodded as if his point was proven.

“You’ll have to get used to regular meals and healthcare, though. It’s policy for such horrible criminals like you,” continued Mateo, and Theo caught on.

Beatrice smacked Mateo on the shoulder. Mateo winced. “Ow!” He rubbed at the spot.

Laith tilted his head back to look at the sky. “Fuck you guys,” he said, without any bite.

Theo took that as a yes.

___________________

Charlie was thrilled to finally have a permanent roommate in the complex, but it was months before Laith fully ventured out of his corner of the base for more than a quick shower.

Theo wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, resentment, or both.

But now, he often tinkered in Theo’s shop. Sometimes he even offered to assist if he was in a good mood.

Theo occasionally caught him reading in a corner, or cooking in the kitchen. Laith made a mean lasagna and worked wonders with just beans and rice. Things that Theo wouldn’t have guessed he cared to do.

On the other hand, he still flinched at most touches and unexpected company, and small static shocks could send him spiraling into panic.

Theo installed a humidifier and removed the carpets to minimize the zaps, and everyone made sure not to accidentally sneak up on each other. Honestly, they should have taken care of that earlier anyway.

Laith also hated surprises, preferred quiet, and was always there to help Charlie patch the team up.

It worked for them. Laith wasn’t in the field, but no one would argue he wasn’t part of the team.

___________________

“Hey,” greeted Theo, grabbing a mug from the cabinets. Laith was making some pasta. Pesto, from the looks of the sauce gently bubbling on the stove.

“Nope,” Laith shook his head, “not sharing.”

“Do I look like Charlie?”

Laith snorted.

Theo filled the mug with water and put it in the microwave. Mateo got onto him about making tea in the microwave, but honestly Theo couldn’t taste the difference that he insisted was there.

The microwave dinged, and Theo plopped in the teabag.

“I’m setting a timer for three minutes,” he warned Laith.

“Thanks.”

Laith drained the pasta, and poured the noodles into the pan of sauce. He folded the pasta into the sauce, sprinkling it with the good parm.

The timer went off.

Theo took out the teabag and dumped in two heaping teaspoons of sugar. He stirred it and took a sip. Laith grabbed a fork and started eating right out of the pan. A habit of his; to avoid cleaning more dishes. Something about wasting water, even though Theo had made a very efficient dishwasher for the kitchen.

“Hey,” said Theo, putting his mug down on the counter. “Are we friends?”

Laith stabbed some more pasta with his fork.

“What are you talking about?”

Theo shrugged. “I was just wondering.” He picked up his tea again. He tried not to be disappointed as he sipped at it.

Laith rolled his eyes. “Yeah we’re friends. You think I just stick around for the free room and board?”

Theo smiled at him.

“Sap,” scoffed Laith.

Theo took another sip of his sugary tea, as Laith shoveled more pasta into his mouth like a starving man.

Laith had called him sentimental, naive, soft-hearted, and a sap, more times than he could count.

It was Laith-speak for love, a substitute for the ‘I-care-about-yous’. Just like how ‘don’t die’ really meant ‘please be careful’.

Laith rinsed out the pan before putting it in the dishwasher and leaving.

Theo watched him go. He finished his tea, closing his eyes.

He replayed it in his mind. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

Theo smiled to himself.

He’d always been a sucker for happy endings.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @ohwrite

#i also am a sucker for happy endings #snarky lil Laith i love him #two chapters in one day! Woo!#I did cheat a bit bc the finale was already half written so #but! i did have to rework most of it so its only a lil cheating #my writing #whump #hero whump #villain whumpee #supervillain whumper #hero whumpee

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captainpulisic · 1 year

Text

when you splashed your wine into me - c. pulisic

authors note: first fic :) hope you guys enjoy! word count : 1.8k gif credits to owner

it is a well known fact that after winning a game, there must be a party to celebrate the victory. these parties always ended up with mason getting a little too drunk and making a fool of himself. currently, he was barely balancing himself on an unsteady chair and singing along to the catchy pop song playing on the speakers.

you couldn’t help but laugh when he clung to an unamused conor and insisted he joined him in the duet. you laughed even harder when conor gave in and the pair started giving a real performance. slightly turning your head and locking eyes with christian sitting next to you, you felt a wave of content as he gently kicked your foot. you stayed like that for a second, basking in the moment, before it all became too much for you. looking away, you survey the rest of the partygoers, as if there was anyone more interesting than the boy next to you.

raising the cup to your mouth, you felt your face grimace from the cheap tasting wine. these boys being who they were, you’d think they could afford something a little better.

does christian know the effect he has when he's mere inches away? that your cheeks were reaching an alarmingly red shade because his shoulder was brushing yours? you suddenly felt grateful for the two cups of wine you had already drunk. sober you wouldn’t have been able to cope in this situation. then again, sober you might have been keen enough to notice how christians eyes couldn’t stop staring at the lipstick mark you’d left on the rim of your glass.

christian couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he observed you clearly enjoying yourself. to his luck, you kept stealing glances at him but he was sure it was due to the crimson shade of his cheeks. they were a dead giveaway to his stupid feelings, he thought. trying to distract himself, he glanced to the other side of the room where ben was now trying to wrestle mason into drinking some water. catching masons eye, he knew it was mistake the moment he saw the drunken boys mischievous grin. mason couldn’t stop looking between the two of you sitting so close. mason knew all too well how he really felt about you and always encouraged him to speak his feelings. occasionally, mason would say he'd help him if needed. christian felt his stomach drop when he saw mason stand a little straighter.

“i just want to say a few words about my handsome teammates,” mason yelled, grabbing everyone's attention. the music was lowered and eyes were intent on the wasted boy. “first off, let's make some noise for kai and his game winning goal.”

there were some scattered whoops and cheers, claps all around the room. this continued while mason toasted each individual player. and how much he loved every single one of them. soon enough, he got to his last honorable mention, christian.

“look at him, being modest and hiding behind such a pretty girl. after your smashing performance, I think we all feel you deserve some sort of prize. but what sort of prize should you get hm?”

christian felt his face get even redder, this time for a whole different reason. he felt it in his bones, something very bad was about to happen. the way mason kept glancing between the two of you, panic was setting in.

for a dramatic flare, mason tapped his chin while confused looks were shared all around. "oi, i’ve got it! why don't you make your dreams come true and celebrate with a kiss from y/n. you’ll finally be giving her what she's been wanting for months, too. or am i wrong?"

if you thought you had been blushing before, you're sure your face was on fire now. you didn’t know if you were going to burst into tears or stay frozen from the shock of it all. you had once confided in mason about your crush but you thought you two were close enough that he wouldn’t use it as ammunition to embarrass you or to poke fun at christian. even in his inebriated state, he should know your unreciprocated crush shouldn’t be a punchline. you couldn’t help but look over at christian, at his furrowed brows and lost look. this can’t get any worse, you thought.

you barely hear mason being shushed by ben and a “you’ve done it now, idiot”. you barely hear the few unsure laughs and questioning glances being thrown at the two of you on the couch. all you can focus on is how still christian has gotten, not daring to look at you in the eyes.

quickly, you get up, not wanting to suffer this humiliation any longer. christian reacts to this, reaching for your hand and starting to stammer out a jumble of words. this is the worst thing he could have done, not accounting for the half full glass of wine you were still clutching. both of you looked down, just as the remnants of wine splashed onto his white shirt and your dress, staining them red.

through tear filled eyes, you shove the glass into christians hands and run upstairs to hide in shame. you don’t dare to look anyone in the eyes as you feel the tears break loose. how could mason do that to you, you thought. we’re friends and he used my crush to get laughs out of people.

“y/n, stop,” your pace didn’t slow down as you heard christians steps behind you. “y/n, listen to me-”

you weren’t quick enough to retreat into a room, christian grasping your arm again. turning to face him, “what the fuck do you want? to laugh some more like the rest of them?”

christian shook his head in disbelief, he couldn't believe you thought he’d ever laugh at you. he was still trying to wrap his head around how you had reacted when mason suggested a kiss between the two of you. did you really not feel the same way he did about you? his soft tone didn’t waver. “y/n, hear me out-”

“when i told him how i felt, he promised he’d never tell you. i know you two are close and shit but he said it’d stay between us. did you two plan this- are my feelings just some stupid joke you two laugh at?”

instead of embarrassed, you were starting to feel angry. you were angry at yourself for being so emotional, angry at christian for following you up here and angry at mason for being a drunk idiot.

“y/n, just fucking listen. please.” christian pleaded, growing more confused with the situation. mason had put on that little show to embarrass him, not you. he was trying to make sure you weren’t weirded out by mason telling everyone how his dreams were to kiss you.

“i had no idea mason was going to say that, i promise you it wasn’t some joke we planned. i wouldn’t- i would never do that.”

you scoffed. you knew there had to be some truth to his words. you'd only known christian a couple months but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to toy with your emotions for fun.

“but can I be honest with you?” he added with a small grin. you felt his hand brushing yours, feather light. without noticing, he had stepped impossibly close to you. your faces mere specs from each other. “i’m grateful he was a drunk mess tonight and said what he did.”

you felt your walls come up again, not liking the direction he was going in. “christian, i swear to god-”

“hey, what i meant was that i’m grateful cause it’s given me the push i’ve needed for some time now. it wasn’t some dickhead joke between us or mase trying to hurt you. he knows how i feel about you and i think he’s sick of me talking about how much I want you.”

before your brain had time to process anything he said, you felt christian cupping your cheek and his lips on yours. it was rushed and messy but you couldn’t expect anything else from two people who had spent months longing for this moment.

“now do you believe me?” his lips still hovered over yours, foreheads resting on each other.

instead of answering him, you bring him in for another kiss. this time, it’s slower and sweeter. next thing you know, he has pressed up against the wall and your hands running through his hair. breaking the kiss to go lower, he begins to leave soft kisses down your jaw and stopping at your neck. oh finally, you think.

you can’t help the small laugh you let out, finding the situation so bizarre. minutes ago you were swearing at him and now you were tugging at his shirt, wanting it off. if anyone walked up the stairs, they’d be greeted at the sight of you two devouring each other in the dimly lit hallway.

looking down at you, he couldn’t help the smile playing on his lips. after so many months of yearning, he can finally show you how much he wants you. he bumps his nose against yours, both of you in a lovesick bliss. you feel his hands leave your waist and rise up to brush your cheekbones.

both of your hands were desperately roaming each others bodies. it was a mixture of grabbing and squeezing and breathless moans from both of you. before either of your hands could go any lower than they already were, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

both of you cursed as you saw ben and a somewhat more sober mason get up the last step. you all froze as the two processed the scene they had walked into. there was christian, pressing you up against the wall, both of you with messy hair and lovesick grins.

ben broke the silence “we uhm- came to make sure everything was alright. and mason wanted to apologize for being an absolute arse… but we’ll let you get back to whatever you two were doing.”

you hid your face in christians chest as you giggled, embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time. you peeked over his shoulder to see the two boys trudge down the stairs again but not without missing the thumbs up and wink mason gave christian.

eventually you two also descended the stairs and were met with a smug mason, taking credit for playing cupid tonight. embarrassingly enough, he also took credit for the marks you and christian both adorned on your collarbones.

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic x you #mason being kinda mean but with good intentions

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itzsana-kiddingmenow · 8 months

Text

Pillow Fight:

sure!!! the post reached 20 so of course!

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3racha has a special place with me istg 😭✨

𝒍𝒆𝒆: 3RACHA

𝒍𝒆𝒓: 3RACHA

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢 𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭i𝘯𝘨! 💗

𝕥𝕨: pillow violence lol

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: @dandyboyseungmo @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae

if you wanna be in the taglist, pls reply!

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The scene was almost comical. Chan was heavily immersed in his work, drowning out the background noise as the rest of 3RACHA, Changbin and Jisung, were throwing pillows at each other while giggling loudly.

Chris groaned loudly. "You do know you're supposed to be working, right?" He commented, swinging his head around dramatically as the other two boys mocked him, giggling in between.

"C'mon hyung, loosen up a bit! "Jisung yelled, bouncing up and down on the bed.

“Yeah, we've been working so much recently. You could use a break too!" Changbin giggled, hugging the grumpy kangaroo from behind.

Chris cursed himself for allowing the younger boys 6 cupcakes earlier. It was almost impossible to focus on anything when they were practically bouncing off the walls in a sugar rush.

‘Maybe I do need a break. It’s been a while since I had fun with-’

"Ah!" Chan shrieked as a pillow hit him hard in the back of his head. He spun around and glared at a very guilty Han, who was trying to act innocent.

Chris slammed his laptop shut. Oh it was SO on.

Jisung was tackled by a very giggly kangaroo seconds later. He could hear Changbin’s happy cheering in the background as he wrestled playfully with Chan, adrenaline rushing through his body as the two boys fought for the upper hand.

Finally, Chris managed to straddle Han’s waist, cackling evilly as he raised a pillow over his head, seconds away from bringing it down on the defenseless quokka.

Jisung could hear Changbin’s dramatic gasp and commentary in the background. So Han did the only thing he could. His hands shot down and massaged into the sensitive hips of the older, smiling as the boy promptly cackled and collapsed next to Jisung, dropping the pillow as his arms desperately shot down to protect his poor torso.

Jisung knew he had made a mistake. It wouldn't take much for the kangaroo to tickle him to tears while defenseless. He needed to make the first move.

Han motioned to Changbin to help him while he struggled to pin Chan down.

“Hmmm…why should I help you?" Changbin reasoned. Jisung became frantic. Just the mere thought of the boys overpowering him made him shiver.

“Uh- Remember when Chan hyung held your arms down when Minho hyung got revenge on you for tickling him yesterday? Don't you want revenge?" Han questioned as the bunny flushed bright red at the mention of him getting wrecked.

“Ugh. Fine." Bin gave in, flashing Chan a bright smile when the older squealed in fear.

Changbin was easily able to push Chris down, rip his arms away from his sides and hold them high above his head.

"No! No, this isn't fahahair! STAHAHAP YOUHU MEHEHEANIES!" Chan screeched loudly as Jisung dug his fingers into the older's hypersensitive sides. The poor boy bucked up and down as he laughed, face tinted red.

After a while, Changbin felt a little sorry for the eldest.He decided to grant him a little freedom, letting go of his arms and scrambling a few feet away.

Han looked at the bunny in complete betrayal. “You little-hahahah!" Jisung yelled as Chan

scribbled his fingers wherever he could reach. Changbin approached slowly, before suddenly digging into Han’s back ribs from behind.

Jisung twisted side to side, hysterically laughing as he crumbled under the two pairs of hands tickling him.

"PLEASE GUHUHUYS IM SAHAHARRY AHAHA NAHAT THERE!" Jisung screeched as Chan's fingers found their way to the ace's belly button.

Soon enough, Chan let up, followed by Bin as Jisung panted for air.

"Hey Jisung!" Chan called cheerfully. "What is it?" Jisung responded.

“Don't you think it's a little unfair that our dear dwaekki was involved in this fight but hasn't been tickled yet?” Chan questioned, glancing at the younger while speaking.

"You're right." Jisung flashed a very nervous Changbin a very evil smile.

"Wait wait. We can talk this out. There's no need to- AHHHH!" Changbin screamed as Chan very suddenly bolted at the younger, Han following close behind.

The three boys ran through the dorm, starting a very dramatic chase as a very frantic Changbin was pursued by two vengeful men.

However, it was all over when suddenly Minho casually appears around the corner and catches hold of Changbin’s wrists.

“Wha-HEY! Let me go!” Bin yelled. "No can do. This is what you get for tickling me earlier." Minho responded as he handed the boy's wrists to a very satisfied Chris.

"He's all yours now! See ya!" Minho walked back to his room.

Chan threw the shorter over his shoulder, not even fazed when the rapper pounded on his back, pleading for mercy.

"Oh! You caught him!" Han exclaimed, delighted. "Yup. And now we're gonna wreck him. Right Binnie?"

"NOOO!" Changbin screeched as Chan pinned him down with his arms stretched high above his head.

"Wait! You don't have to do this!" Bin yelled, squeezing his eyes shut when Chan wiggled his fingers at him from above his head.

"Too late!" Jisung responded, digging his fingers into the rapper's tummy, immediately lifting his shirt and blowing a long raspberry right on his belly button.

“YAHAHAHA!" Bin choked on another peal of laughter forcing its way out his throat.

Chan joined in, blowing air in Changbin’s ears as his fingers wiggled deep in the crevices of the boy’s bare ribs, as Bin’s shirt had ridden up earlier.

Changbin was thrown into hysterics almost immediately, the two pairs of hands roaming his body reducing him into an incoherent mess.

“PLEHEHEASE IHIHIM SAHAHAHARRY! STAHAP STAHAHAHAP YOUHU BUHULLIHIES!” Changbin let out one last burst of cute cackles before his laughter went silent, and Chan let go of his arms out of pure pity for the boy.

Changbin promptly shot his arms down as he pushed at Jisung's wrists desperately.

When Jisung didn't let up, the bunny knew he had to stop the younger himself. He pushed his fingers and vibrated hard into what he assumed was the younger's v-line.

Han let out a loud shriek. "OKAHAHAY IM DOHOHONE! Don't tickle me!" He finally let up.

The three boys lay exhausted on the bed. Chan lastly traced the hangul of his name on Jisung's stomach and Changbin’s ribs, loving the cute giggles the two breathed out.

It had been a long day. So the boys took a well deserved nap.

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i hope you enjoyed! please check my intro post before interacting! love ya! 💕💗💖

#kpop tickle #sana's rants #midzywannabeitzy #skz tickle #skz #stray kids

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yourneighborhoodporg · 5 months

Text

The Guardian

Chapter 7: Master

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of pain, banter, humor, fluff, the appearance of a sneaky b (see gif), some developing thoughts about obi 👀

Summary: With your short spar with Anakin nearing completion, the moment is suddenly interrupted by a passing caucus of politicians, one of whom you'd been long hoping to meet. Just as quickly, however, you're dragged away, instead needed at a long-awaited appointment that may reveal new aspects of your being and the immediate path ahead.

Song Inspo: Little Willow — Paul McCartney

Words: 7.5k (just put me in jail)

A/n: He has finally arrived. The one we all hate 😂😭 Let me know what y'all think about his character in this :)

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Series Masterlist

For now we see through a glass, darkly — 1 Corinthians 13:12

“Well done.”

You glanced over at the affected voice with radiant auburn hair, still cognizant enough of your lower back’s recent meeting with the dojo’s pearl-tinted floor to gently press two knuckles against it, hoping to alleviate a sliver of its steadying ache. At the far end of that same three-rowed, dark wood viewing bench, Obi-Wan rose meaningfully, soon strolling toward you both. The Master Jedi leisurely folded each arm while making a point to center his gaze with yours as expressive words fell from his mouth.

“To the both of you.”

Smiling appreciatively at the bearded Jedi, you relaxed your senses, encouraging them to cool like a morning stretch while your stare shifted toward Anakin’s focused gaze and knowing grin. Evidently, he took this shift in your posture as a cue to officially end the duel, directing his saber away from your neck and flicking off its blue, incandescent heat before clipping the weapon to his belt with a clink. You welcomed the invitation to purloin this new space, crunching upwards and gently fluffing your robe of the ground’s remnants. It didn’t take long to recover from the unexpected fall enough to rise to your feet, reattaching your own saber as Obi-Wan continued his approach out of your peripheral.

You faced Anakin with an impassive stance. Tightening your spine, you encouraged the young Jedi to emulate a parallel bearing, prompting his eyes to relax in recognition as both rather slacked expressions linked, signaling each other to dip into a hand-clasped bow in respect of the spar’s end.

“Eh, I think I did most of the work,” Anakin shrugged nonchalantly mid-bob, a poking grin wrestling at ungiving lips as he raised from his inclination.

Your eyes rolled while similarly straightening, an amused smile fighting to the surface. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Either way,” Obi-Wan spoke up, motioning toward you with an earnest stare as he drew into a restive stance beside the younger Jedi. “You really should rest now.”

You raised your hands in surrender in your stroll up toward the duo. “Okay, okay,” you theatricalized, tickled expression never faltering. “I yield to the Master.”

Obi-Wan’s features lifted warmly at your words. It only lasted mere seconds, however, before the wiser Jedi angled toward his left, gesticulating toward the outwardly gratified companion beside him while speaking ironically.

“At least someone has a respect for rank.”

Anakin scoffed, crossing his arms as he addressed the elder Jedi who’d long ago mastered the art of concealed entertainment. “I respect rank!”

It was clear from his expression alone that Obi-Wan had his most sensible retort fueled and aimed, akin to an incredibly quick-witted pirate with a blaster. His mouth opened to speak while raising a finger in dissent. But before any vocalizations could escape his parted lips, a sudden commotion in the form of resonant, overlapping conversationalists and a clamor of heavy, discordant footsteps rippled through the Force, cutting the brief cessation between the three of you like Bantha butter as you all honed into the interference to the Force’s eternal flow.

Despite the muffled nature of the disturbance, dampened by the training room’s separation from the outer walkway, the atmosphere’s sudden uptick in unregulated activity certainly gave you, Obi-Wan, and Anakin brief pause. For you especially, the unexpected shift from the pacified movements you were becoming accustomed to at the Temple to a progressively incongruous bustle beyond the dojo’s walls drenched you in wonderment.

Who could be walking down that hall? No Jedi, you were certain of that. Yet to the best of your knowledge, only Jedi were welcome within the Temple’s walls.

But before you could consider these sensations further, your inner reflection was cut short, namely by the distraction of a pivoting Anakin as he speedily traipsed toward the training room’s gray double doors. You nearly giggled when taking in his movements as you couldn’t help but notice how they resembled the unassertive dash of a youngling having already been told by an exasperated Master to slow down.

“Where are you going?” You asked as Obi-Wan too, followed the retreating Jedi’s movements with discerning eyes.

You spied his head tilt back, that steady, transitional pace never relenting as the young Jedi spoke pointedly at you.

“You can’t say you’re not just as curious as me.”

Inwardly, you sighed.

He certainly wasn’t wrong.

Maybe that’s why without giving it a second thought, you quickly jogged after him in your own indefinite skip.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to be excited about,” Obi-Wan remarked from behind as he started to amble after you both.

But even Master Kenobi’s uniform words did nothing to assuage your interest. There was something new and exciting beyond those walls, and you were intending to discover it.

You continued behind the young Jedi as he attempted to temper his outward eagerness as well, enough to hear a quiet admittance escape from under his breath.

“At this point, anything will be exciting.”

You caught up to Anakin once he reached for the entryway's left control panel, tapping it in stimulated quick succession before the double doors’ thin seam whooshed into an aperture, pulling you both by the power of inquisitiveness alone into the lofty hall’s cooler chill.

Tracing the vibrant, overlay of several life forces’ buzzing ambulation like latent breadcrumbs, your head swiveled to the left. You caught sight of the clatter’s spirited source before swiftly moving with Anakin toward the walkway’s immediate inner wall, hoping to make room for the approaching turbulence just fifteen meters ahead. It was a rather large entourage, composed of eight individuals engaged in a stifled tread down the lilac path toward you.

You analyzed the diverse group, noting that of the beings you could place, two were definitely human. One was a middle-aged gentleman with dark features and olive-shaped eyes, his expression emulating stoic patience and preoccupation. The other, a senior, pale-haired man with sunken eyes and aged creases radiating from the bridge of his nose as he spoke faintly to the olive-orbed fellow beside him. Another was a Rodian, with his attentive eyes, green-tinted form, and impatient expression. And behind him, a being with a tanned eye-stalk trio, protruding snout, and relaxed antennas— a Gran, and a peaceful one at that. To their rear strolled a reserved Ishi Tib, whose x-shaped, emerald countenance, and rounded beak gazed around in awe at the Temple’s steep architecture. The most notable, however, was the towering four-horned Chagrian whose framed sky-blue face stared on with barely restrained severity on the opposite flank of the elderly human. In hand, a long bronzed staff with a sculpted hooded figure as its head.

Soon, you sensed Obi-Wan slow to join you and Anakin from behind, enabling you all to uniformly observe the scene before you.

As the three of you stood in silent regard, you happened to realize that these strangers moved with greater elegance than the masses you’d encountered in the Uscru and Entertainment Districts, remembering how their lumbered gates and sudden skitters added to the atmosphere’s dynamic yet whimsical glow. But despite their upraised grace, each footfall still landed like desensitized raps while their darkened robes of velvety black and currant whipped about legs now leniently treading eight meters away.

Their modulated sophistication and elaborate attire seemed to contribute to that overall air of importance, you considered. These qualities could potentially explain their presence, and suggest their current permissions to be on Temple grounds, you mused. Though it was soon clear that your companions had the answers you were eagerly searching for.

“That, is the Senate Security Council,” Obi-Wan divulged lowly from just above your shoulder, feeling the subtle fluctuation of temperature as his warmed breath passed by your neck.

“And that,” you glanced at Anakin as he continued for him, nodding at the leader of the pack. “Is Chancellor Palpatine.”

You turned back toward the promptly approaching political leader and his cortège, surveying him with resolute focus. If your studies on Hoth and short time in the Jedi Archives revealed anything, it was that the Chancellor was essential to the Republic’s hope of enduring peace. In fact, it was one of the first things you realized in your preparatory studies for the Guardian role— that it would be important to understand this vital figure, appreciating it as another task that aligned with your duty.

But almost immediately, you concluded that he wasn’t exactly what you thought the grand political leader of a Galactic Republic would look like. Now that you were focusing on his comparably slower pace, it seemed that the Chancellor was directing the constant pull and push of their pacified yet hurried tread that would stagger as often as their footsteps echoed against the expansive hall’s soaring ceilings. He was weakened, his climbing age apparent with each labored breath and strained glance at the next political aid. This wasn’t the leader that your imagination conjured during those many daydreaming years on Hoth.

But then again, you were sure the stresses of advising an inter-world union through a war threatening the very harmony of the galaxy would be as exhausting and fermenting as he seemed to be. It was quite possible, that this recent conflict had merely quickened time’s aging disease.

Nevertheless, despite these reasonable explanations, there was still some discrepancy with his title and appearance that you were trying to place. Yes, you had a certain biased image of political leaders from your exposure to Republic lore. Powerful, commanding, unrelenting, which this matured individual could very well be. Yet, still, some incongruity invaded your senses as a modest helping of puzzlement etched its way across the forefront of your mind.

And apparently, across your brows, as Obi-Wan seemed to notice your confusion in his effort to skirt around the two bodies in front of him to stand securely by your vacant side.

“What it is?” He asked, sending you a subtle but curious glance as he continued to maintain a formal pose for the approaching posse’s field of vision.

This comment seemed to garner Anakin’s attention as well as, he too, peeked at your searching expression out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s just…” you paused, trying to find the words.

You dissected the Chancellor once more for a few seconds longer, taking in his entire figure as a tenuous realization washed over your thoughts before retreating back into the depths of your mind.

“He’s shorter than I expected.”

You caught Obi-Wan raising an amused brow as he glanced across you. Following his line of sight, you were met with Anakin’s pursed lips and cheeks that had reddened ever so slightly. The waver was brief as he swiftly hushed you with great enthusiasm, adding a moderate, yet covert, elbow to the arm

“He’s going to hear you,” the Chosen One whispered through gritted teeth while leaning behind your ear.

You lightly swatted away his protruding arm, but it was virtually redundant. Instead, by his own volition, Anakin quickly adopted an almost ritualistic posture for the Council’s slowing stride when he noticed the Chancellor’s features lift in recognition, a gentle smile creasing the older gentleman’s dried lips as he gazed at the young Jedi.

“Master Skywalker!” He exclaimed happily with a weary voice as he halted, stalling the pace of each being who loyally heeded his movements.

The three of you stepped forward toward the welcoming politician.

“It’s good to see you, Your Excellency,” Anakin announced in ceremonious continuity as he bowed respectfully toward the fatigued Chancellor.

“And you as well,” he spoke warmly, cheeks crinkled.

“Chancellor,” Obi-Wan politely nodded toward him. “I trust your trip to the Temple was as fruitful as you hoped?”

Palpatine breathily chuckled. “Yes, Master Kenobi. Thank you for your diligence in asking.”

The other human, with jet black, combed-over hair, striking brows, and a goatee, humbly stepped in, seemingly hoping to save the Chancellor’s energy as he spoke on his behalf.

“Master Yoda and Master Windu have informed us about the temporary communications blackout.”

“Yes,” Palpatine agreed, nodding toward the man stood beside him. “Senator Organa, the rest of the Security Council, and I are all very comforted to know that the system wasn’t damaged in some way. I was concerned when my colleagues and I were not able to get through to The Council using our holocomms. Thankfully, the Jedi have been as proactive as always in addressing these kinds of threats.”

Just as he finished, you noticed an air of curiosity lining the Chancellor’s faded brows once his peripheral caught your figure between the two Jedi. His tender expression turned toward you as he offered a kind greeting. Only in that second, had you noticed that his good-natured countenance began to loosen spinal muscles you didn’t realize were tense.

Politics, and all those who commanded that world, were foreign to you. Having lived on an ungoverned, albeit forsaken, planet, it was not something you came in much contact with. Well, besides your holobooks. So it wasn’t surprising that your senses were confused by their presence, you excused inwardly. You were always trained to be cautious in the face of the unknown, and that included the complicated world of diplomacy. You had known a Jedi all your life, but never a politician.

Yet Palpatine didn’t seem much like a politician to you. He was more akin to a kind old man. And that presence was probably what finally eased worries you didn’t even recognize you had.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he acknowledged.

Your cheeks brightened. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Chancellor,” you affably offered, presenting him with a bow gradual enough to quench any pockets of arid formalities. “My name is Silvey.”

“It is a joy to meet you, Silvey,” he exclaimed gently as you rose. “Are you a Jedi? Forgive me, but I’m not sure if I’ve seen your face before.”

Your smile remained genial, having become more comfortable with your assigned name and story in the face of questioning.

“I am, Chancellor. I have been on a years-long mission away from the Temple until recently.”

“Ah,” he vocalized. “Well, it’s marvelous to know that we have another Jedi here to support our Great Republic through this tragic conflict,” he sighed wearily, allowing his eyes to linger in melancholy.

You sympathized with the tender-hearted politician, offering him a sympathetic expression as his dutiful eyes raised to meet yours suddenly.

“Well,” he began with a greater punch. “I’m glad you’re using this time to socialize with Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi. Two of the best the Galaxy has to offer. Did you know each other before your mission?”

“In passing,” Obi-Wan piped up. “Though I’m sure we will all have the opportunity to learn more of each other as the war continues. Efforts to support the Republic often overlap.”

The Chancellor hummed sensibly. “Right as always, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine nodded toward him just before taking a brief yet lingering instant to rake his charming eyes over your complexion.

But soon, his gaze opened back up to the three of you.

“Well, I always wish to talk more with our galaxy’s greatest peacekeepers, but I must be going now. The Senate must be told to refrain from using the Temple’s communications system as soon as possible.”

The Chancellor angled back toward you more fully this time.

“I hope we will be able to speak more sometime soon. Any friend of Master Skywalker’s is a friend of mine, and I would enjoy hearing more about that mission of yours.”

You lightened further at his thoughtful words. “I would be honored, Chancellor.”

The elder gentlemen blinked at you kindly.

“And that goes for you too,” he extended toward the young Jedi beside you. “I’m looking forward to hearing about your adventures these past few months. Please, come by my office, anytime.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Anakin stated in a reverent monotone. “I will be sure to visit soon.”

“Good, good,” he proclaimed. “I will see you then.”

As he released those final mutterings, the Chancellor carefully began his shuffle forward, encouraging the three of you to step aside so that his band of politicians could once again reinstate their gradual progression back down the walkway. You watched them for a moment, their darkened robes catching the wind of each mercurial movement in a fashion similar to earlier as overlapping conversations and knocking footsteps prodded the hall’s previously calmed atmosphere.

“Silvey?” Obi-Wan prodded from behind.

You tilted toward the bearded Jedi, noticing his stitched brows aimed at the Council’s ancient wrist comm while you gazed at him expectantly.

“What time were you supposed to meet with Master Yoda?”

Your nose scrunched in thought as he rolled his arm toward you, revealing the barely perceptible, flickering green glow of the chronometer installed on the device. And as soon as you registered the numbers before you, your face dropped in realization.

“Oh, kriff,” you mumbled.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened incredulously. “Where did you learn that language?” He questioned, disbelief raining from his voice.

The gears turned behind his stare for only a moment before his expression dropped into a sharp gape toward his former Padawan.

“It wasn’t me!” Anakin whined, waiving his hand in rebuttal.

“We had the same Master, Obi-Wan,” you reminded as your focus shifted to the task at hand. Quickly, you began your short expedition away from the duo, down the same path from which Palpatine emerged, before deliberately pivoting on your heel and continuing your trek backward so to address the flummoxed Jedi.

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth lay agape as Anakin barely hid a chuckle from your sight.

Barely.

“And you’re not off the hook, Smarty,” you called back at him while picking up the pace of your inverse jog. “Being the reason I’m late and all.” A smirk scurried across your mouth. “Better train hard to prepare for the consequences.”

You narrowly caught the giddy lilt sparkling behind his eyes before spinning on your heel to now hasten into a run, assuaged and nimble enough to be accepted within your tranquil surroundings.

That was, until Anakin yelled his response toward your departing figure with a levity so tangible, that you could feel it through his voice nearly twenty meters away.

“I’ll be waiting, patiently!”

You grinned.

—

Your dimmed umber cloak thrashed like a land-fairing scalefish as you swiveled down another one of The Temple’s many outstretched and interconnected walkways. Only after a few more seconds and additional turns on that emerald green mezzanine did you finally allow your long-hurried pace to stifle when you discerned a memorable sight.

Just a dozen meters away, at the end of the hall’s extensively columned aerial vaults, reigned a gap in the upper back wall through which the afternoon’s blazing sun of Coruscant Prime flared with greeting. The sparkling golden light encircled two large gray pillars that supported the downward ceiling’s pitch, weaved past the hanging sage-tinted signs strung from gutters to announce your location, and poured over the gray stone edging fence that guided travelers toward the bifurcated staircase entryways leading to the training ground’s lower level.

You had learned quickly from your first mistake, when in search of the Sparring Arena to meet with Master Windu, you became quite immediately, and hopelessly, lost. Plunged into the labyrinth that was the Temple among a sea of occupied Jedi who further muddled the path.

But this time, you didn’t need Obi-Wan’s help. You appreciated his assistance, but knew that if you had any hope of being the best Guardian you could be, you needed to become self-sufficient. So this time, you chose to use the Jedi Archive’s resources and your own free time to search out the training grounds as soon as you learned of your impending appointment with the Grand Master on this very acreage.

Luckily, your short detour from the day before wasn’t in vain, having shaved off a few extra minutes from your reliably inflating tardiness.

Once the end of the outstretched walkway was reached, you were free to follow the creational illumination’s natural path, swiftly swerving about the garden wall and jogging down the L-shaped stairway to the foundation’s vast cream surface in hopes of making this important meeting somewhat on time.

Instantly, were plunged into Coruscant’s afternoon heat the moment your nimble toes met the smooth masonry, temporarily overcharging your senses as you acclimated to the strange sensation that penetrated each burnished boot. With eyes squinted and cheeks burning, you gazed up at the Coruscant sky, a cupped hand elevated for shade as you took in the baby blue and blanketed snow-like clouds that did little to shelter you from the giant star’s omnipresent intensity.

Having spent most of your life on a desolate, ice planet, you hadn’t had the opportunity to feel the blazing passion of such a powerfully dense sun directly on your prickling skin. It was a rather refreshing surprise, but still something that was quite foreign to you. You were sure that prolonged exposure would drain your physical energy far more fervently than your former asylum, yet you found the sight to be particularly bewitching, and undeniably beautiful.

Dragging your captivated eyes from the fresh encounter, you strolled toward the training ground’s center, observing the outdoor setting as you simultaneously searched for Master Yoda somewhere on the grounds.

Having not seen the nine hundred-year-old Jedi in your immediate scan of the alabaster-tinted array, you instead chose to use this brief opportunity to absorb your surroundings with greater care. Praying that you had not missed the gathering entirely as you did so.

Sauntering forward, you noticed that the arena was rather spacious, split into three graphed sectors with either end acting as a reflection to the other. Glancing to your left, you noticed a segmented instructional zone of sorts, comprised of three rectangular cedar murals of varying size. One was in use by a small batch of Initiates, engaged in a synchronized drill of dexterity. An assemblage of blue and green training sabers pigmented each of their whirling hands as they moved seamlessly before their instructor— an older Cosian, if you had to guess, recognizable by his tufted tail and leafy protruding beak. Beneath them, each depiction was etched with smearings of white powdered chalk, delineating circular footing guides, you assumed, as the younglings followed each curve with precise gradation.

You glimpsed ahead, wandering further as you perceived two protrusions on either side of the training ground’s back wall. They were elevated by at least four meters and adorned with switchback staircases, enabling the structures to prevail as alternative methods for exiting the faded grounds. You imagined they led to additional gated walkways that snaked into the Temple’s belly.

Altogether, the expanse’s high-walled design manufactured a basin of sorts, accented by the flushed blocky jade lamps that dotted every hallow crevice and drew attention to the surrounding orotund panels.

As you tugged your line of sight away from the surrounding architecture to the patch before you, you couldn’t help but become enthralled by the figure ahead. At the arena's nucleus stood a markedly enchanting presence. One which pulled at the very core of your inner current.

A twisting tree, its thick trunk dancing into each curved branch, loomed expansively from a patio that unfurled below. It stretched outwards, each branch seizing the sun’s parting energies far beyond your reach. Gold veins with ringed motifs winded up its quiet body, seemingly powering the amber, oblong leaves that adorned each ligneous finger in calm bundles.

Nearly instantaneously, it felt as if the rooted being was beckoning you forward from its home just beyond the set paltry stairs beneath you. Even the steps themselves appeared designed to usher in all who desired to know its secrets, with the apical sill acting as a lure mere inches from your feet. Soon, the faint aroma of Cardamom swirled past your nostrils from his intoxicating figure, further drawing your attention.

In those brief instances you took to descry the blossomed flora, you couldn’t help but feel the need to approach the botanical feat, feeling a strange yet embracing wrest toward its sparkling striped markings in particular. It was before your mind could fully register the action, when a sudden yet gradually vitalizing string, tied from your collarbone to the trunk's base, finally commanded your legs to assuredly promenade forward.

As you neared the colossal energy, treading beyond the staircase’s final step, your tie to each neighboring aura swelled exponentially. You could feel the fluxing vivacity of the younglings far behind you, and the compelling yet subdued strength of their instructor. Another step nourished the stream, empowering you to pinpoint wandering bodies in the nearest Temple halls, including the assembly of politicians still making their way through its winding pathways.

Promptly, your ceaseless strides brought your face within inches of the powerful beacon, its surging vigor drawing your eyelids to flutter closed while you extended a gentle hand to rest on its glossy bark. As your fingertips met its silky texture, you sensed an instant surge of breath in the form of thousands of tiny little life forms, binding into the nexus. Even ones as small as the avian creatures resting on distant rooftops, or the fleck-sized insects that trotted along a portion of the far wall in perfect harmony.

You delved deeper, exploring these fervently fluid impressions with greater absorption when a new, striking and formidable spirit gradually entered the fold, their pace sedated though consequential as they approached from behind. But despite sensing this new presence, you encountered pronounced difficulty in separating from the strength before you.

That was, until you heard their familiar voice. One that you had not heard since the Temple-wide meeting yesterday morning.

“Discovered The Great Tree, you have.”

Opening your eyes abruptly, you severed your interlaced connection with the tree’s amplifying flow before spinning toward the raspy voice. Your eyes instantly met the shorter, long-eared Jedi, elevated by his relaxed stance against a curved cane on the ground’s main platform above. The moment you steadied, you were quick to offer him a reflexive bow while inwardly chiding yourself for delaying him further.

“Yes,” you rapidly acknowledged before just as soon faltering, like a misstep in your footing.

You internally cycled through how to respond to the 900-year-old being for a moment too long as you fought the steadily rising panic. This was not the first impression you wanted to make. But you still needed to say something.

Relenting, you finally settled on a phrase you used way too often with Qui-Gon in your younger years. And something you had not planned to say ever again once your journey began.

“I apologize for my belatedness, Master Yoda,” you offered evenly. “I assure you, it will not happen again.”

The pepper-green Jedi hummed in thought, offering the environment a brief silence before leisurely idling down the stairway toward your figure. “Believe you, I do. Works in mysterious ways, the Force does. Led you to this tree, it has.”

Master Yoda ambled to a slow halt beside you, giving himself scope to gaze up at the natural wonder. He must have relished in the presence of the Great Tree many thousands of times in his long years at the Temple. Yet his reverent appearance gleamed with the radiance of discovering its pure artistry for the very first time. You admired that insight, so, hoping to see what his sagacious eyes discerned, you reproduced his venture into the tree’s depths.

“I feel a strong link to the Force when I’m near it,” you acknowledged aloud.

“An Uneti tree, you see before you. Imbued with the living Force, it is.”

Yes, of course. How could you have forgotten? Qui-Gon had told you that story many times. Of how all his life, he had never seen a real tree before, having spent his entire existence in the industrial world of Coruscant up to that point. That was, until his Master Dooku brought him to see one right here on these training grounds for the very first time. The famed golden tree that shone from the sheer will of the Force alone.

That was this Great Tree. The Uneti tree.

And much like Qui-Gon, this was your very first time seeing one too.

“Yet your connection feel, scarcely I did.”

A nervous pang brushed against your ribs as you absorbed his meaning. You continued to trace the monument’s golden veins with a penetrating stare, hoping to hide the resurgence of this particular doubt that had been clouding your mind since your session with Master Windu.

Why could no one truly sense your mental grapplings of the Force? It was possible that the Grand Master had answers to this persistent query.

“I don’t understand,” you stated earnestly.

The Master acknowledged your confession with an esophageal grunt. “Powerful, your mind is. Protected, it is, against searching powers. Taught you well, Qui-Gon has.”

Though, despite Master Yoda’s gentle praise, you couldn’t help the new flurry of numerous questions that knocked at the back of your mind like nosy neighbors.

This marked the second time a Master could only limitedly sense your signature, even when you weren’t attempting to bury your presence. In fact, after many years engaging in Force Stealth in an abundance of caution, you had finally taken a moment, an opportunity, to reach deeply into the Force when you felt its swirling openness around this tree. It was just as you did a few days prior, when you attempted to open your mind to the stern Master Windu. Yet again, despite the Force’s overwhelming circulation throughout these grounds, a Grand Master only a few meters away could barely sense your interaction with its rushing stream?

It didn’t make sense.

What stowed further disquiet, was his phrasing. Did he sense only the minimum zeal that all beings had within them? Would he not have believed you a Jedi without already knowing your mission?

What you did know, was that whichever readings were emanating off your life force, they were completely unintentional. How such a muted perception could be possible without purpose, you didn’t understand. But you were sure that, like always, you could rely on your meditation at a point later on to guide you through this mystery.

“Thank you, Master.”

Too entrenched in his own viewing of the Great Tree to respond, the wise Jedi steered purposefully toward its unwavering trunk, cane pecking a few times at the stone below as he maneuvered to flatten his palm and brawny three fingers against its satiny skin. His eyes drifted shut, brows creasing while he connected to the flow around him as you had just done moments ago.

As seconds elapsed, a slight breeze wheezed past the region, exciting the Great Tree’s leaves and tickling its twigs as a few golden flakes loosened and snapped from the cooling gust, sending them vacillating down to the feet of each idler.

“Powerful, as well, your sensitivity is,” he continued while his bridge with the atmosphere persisted. “22,300 Midichlorians, you have.”

You spun toward the Master, jaw slackened. Somewhat attempting to temper your stupefaction, you spoke quickly to the powerful Jedi entranced with the golden tree before you.

“Are you sure, Master? That seems way too high. From what I’ve read, most Jedi have around 10,000. That would be just over double the average.”

The senior Jedi gradually nurtured a thin smile, choosing this moment to disengage with the powerful being as he retracted his arm and feebly circled around, extending his now-opened eyes toward you.

“Checked three times, we did. Positive that you’re The Guardian, we are.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, not just due to the skewed essence of your skills and your sensitivity, but by his locution.

“Is my role as The Guardian tied to my Midichlorian count?”

The Master vocalized his consideration through a guttural sigh as he shook his head at his own being.

“Measured your connection, I did, many years ago. The same it is now, as it was then.”

You nodded, remembering Obi-Wan mentioning the Master’s awareness of your existence prior to your parents’ deaths. Counting your Midichlorian count would certainly explain how you were discovered by both Yoda and your former Master, however separate their independent discoveries may have been.

But even after decades, after hearing again of his encounter with you as a very small youngling and when your parents were still alive, you couldn’t help the long-suppressed questions that still lingered infinitely. They were starting to bubble to the surface.

Who were your parents? What were they like? Did they look like you?

And what really happened to them? Were they from your native planet? And where was that? Was it nearby?

But deep down, you knew that these were questions ill-suited for a Grand Master who held non-attachment in such high esteem. Qui-Gon had warned you of that.

Though despite being devoid of the occasion for which to ask these questions, there was still one, relevant and nagging inquiry that ached behind your eyes.

“I hope to inquire, Master, but how did you know? That I was The Guardian and not The Chosen One, I mean.”

The Grand Master rested both hands atop his cane as he addressed you. “First the Defender and then the Chosen, the hidden prophecy says. Found you first, I had. As had Qui-Gon, we must assume. And born of a father, you were. Has not one, Anakin and The Chosen One.”

You tracked as the slope-eared Jedi angled to his left while finishing the last sentence, determinedly deciding to saunter back up the cursory steps behind you both. Interpreting this as an invitation to follow, you briskly moved, veering to stroll beside him and the hallow pricks of his intervallically pattering cane.

“I understand,” you confirmed while maintaining a measured gate. “I want to assure you, Master, that I will do my best to fulfill the needs of that role.”

An approving murmur escaped his gruff throat. “And as a member of The Order, you will.”

You casually glanced down at the Master, hope tingling at the tips of your fingers as you tried to maintain an impartial complexion.

“Gone through your Trials, you have already,” he recognized while his ambling progressed. “The nine steps, you have faced in those ten years on Hoth. Well-versed in control and sense, Master Windu says you are.”

Master Yoda nodded deliberately, a whirl of justifications seemed to flutter behind his rational eyes as he appraised some grand notion internally. It must have been something he was already considering, you decided, as those thoughts rapidly settled across his countenance, soon converging into one, adamant verdict,

“Grant you the rank of Knight, I will. Though no ceremony, may you have. Secret, your past must remain.”

You nodded, allowing that shred of disappointment to whither back into the trail of Force shimmering behind your walking figure. In turn, you endeavored to focus on the honor of your new title.

Sacrificing was part of the job description. You knew that. But it didn’t mean that missing out on the same milestones that every other Jedi experienced couldn’t still affect you.

But, as always, you projected objectivity.

“I understand, Master. Thank you.”

His head bobbed faintly. “A Master, you must still have. Extended his services, Master Windu has.”

You chewed over his words in the pregnant lull that followed, filled only with the light taps of his cane, your gentle footfalls, and the distant, echoing maneuvers of the younglings following their muttering instructor’s guidance.

It was impossible to ignore the surprise that bounced around your skull. From what you recalled of your short time together, Master Windu didn’t seem to be that fond of your presence. Sure, it was clear that he appreciated your professionalism and attentiveness, and you likewise admired his dedication. But you believed from his austerity and Obi-Wan’s warnings, that you weren’t exactly the one person he wanted to spend more time with.

This was, of course, in addition to the downright fact that no one, not even a Jedi as powerful as Mace Windu, could replace your late Master. He would always be your guide. Your own protector. And you were certainly not ready to give away that title.

Not yet.

Especially when you were no longer the Padawan that needed to be assigned a Master.

Especially, when his death still felt so fresh.

“I’m honored by the offer,” you began. “But I am already a Knight, and Qui-Gon was already my Master. I’m not certain if it would be…”

You gave your next uttering careful thought.

“Appropriate.”

An appreciative, gravelly hum escaped the wise man’s throat. “Understand this, I do. Loyal to your past Master, you are,” he remarked thoughtfully. “But maintain appearances, we must.”

The wise Jedi peered at you, injecting a sense of submerged understanding into the drifting Force that encircled you both.

“Always your Master, Qui-Gon will be. Act only as an advisor, Master Windu will, while you adapt to The Order and the war. But be your Master to others, he shall be. Your connection to Qui-Gon a secret, it must remain. Tied to The Chosen One in death, he was.”

Again, the Grand Master repeated that private affirmation of his head to his innermost musings.

“And distance from Anakin, you should temporarily keep.”

Your brows furrowed marginally as you inquisitively studied the peppered green Jedi.

“Master?”

How were you supposed to protect The Chosen One if you weren’t allowed to be near him?

“Interact in the Temple, you may. But important, a short separation on the battlefield, is.”

The Jedi faltered mid-step, prompting you to halt as he tottered to face your taller form with a pensive dip in the brows.

“Hidden, your true nature, must remain, from Separatist and darker forces alike. A weakness in war, the Republic cannot have.”

“But they must know of Anakin’s identity,” You pointed out.

The elder Jedi ostensibly agreed. “Right, you are. But clear to both sides, The Chosen One prophecy is. Dark the looking glass, The Guardian’s role makes.”

You observed Master Yoda’s eyes gently wander beyond your figure as he sketched some ambiance of lively motion to your rear. Tracing his line of sight, you rotated toward the youngling drill that had continued through your conversation.

A moment of calm entered the space, briefly interrupted by another crisp puff of breeze against your tingling arms as the two of you looked on. A distant bird of some delineation poured out an eddy of melodies, painting the heavens with peppy pleadings known only to its innermost heart.

As minutes slipped by, and the two of you stood in subsisted temporary reticence, Master Yoda’s trained vision endured on the premeditative, processional aerobatics before him. However, no matter his concentration, one fleeting glance to your lower right was quick to reveal that the Grand Master was still transfixed by his innermost ruminations, ingrained deep within his ceaseless exploration of the Force.

“Still, learn about Anakin you must,” he breathed heavily while both of you monitored the younglings lunge through an underhand swipe, followed by a summersault parry as they twirled around invisible, sprightly opponents.

“Assign you to Master Kenobi’s missions once the Jedi are deployed again, we will. Learn about The Chosen One through his former Master’s teachings, you may. Understand his past, you must. Know him well, he does.”

Your longstanding grasp of The Guardian’s journey was dictated by the obligation to always be by his side. To always be there to protect him from the dark forces he is meant to destroy. It was something you felt cavernously in each one of your bones.

But in this moment, you were beginning to agree with the Master; finding it just as necessary to dedicate yourself to comprehending his history. The past that molded him into the Jedi he is today.

It was quite possible, that you would have failed to reach this conclusion had it not been for this morning’s experience in conjunction with the past few days’ interactions. Compared to all the other Jedi you’d read about, Anakin would certainly be classified as an enigma. His past was far more sullied than the greats of recent history. And while you were beginning to understand him more than you originally expected, you knew that there was still much to learn of that realm.

Hopefully, Obi-Wan would have the insight you lacked. You could already think of a few questions that you wanted to ask him, namely why occurrences like this morning’s were not quite properly addressed by his former Master.

But with all that aside, you couldn’t deny the more personal reason for finding hope in this arrangement. A few weeks or months working side-by-side with one of Qui-Gon’s past Padawans was sure to aid you in your own loitering convalescence from his death.

Besides, you were beginning to enjoy Master Kenobi’s company.

You recalled the past week. How you felt heartened by the gentleness of his guidance in the club the night before. And how you were beginning to value that again and again, Obi-Wan never failed to lend you a helping hand when you needed it most.

You wanted to explore these sensibilities further, first noting how open you’d become to appreciating his humor, and how he maintained it in even the most dire or upbeat of circumstances together. Despite the frequency with which it was at Anakin’s expense. But you could easily tell, in those snapshot moments, that it was all the more evidence of Obi-Wan’s fondness for his former Padawan. And you were certainly amused, at times, by how he showed it.

Most importantly, you were utterly convinced that you could count on him in a pinch. He’d saved your life once, and you knew you could trust him to be by your side again. Enough to put his own life on the line to defend yours.

Just as he did on Hoth, when Obi-Wan precariously dangled from the shuttle’s jagged doorway to grab your desperate, nearly lost hand.

And that warmed you.

“I appreciate the opportunity, Master Yoda. I will learn as much as I can.”

The two of you swayed tranquilly as another gust of cooling wind tickled a loose hair strand against your ear. You embraced this moment to study the younglings who maintained a neutral stance, training sabers in various arrays of readiness while they listened carefully to the Cosian Master as he explained their next activity in a faint voice. He was quick in finishing his elucidation, however, as the younglings readied to lean into their dominant foot, setting up for the impending motion.

Suddenly, a moderately sharp throb cautiously nudged at your forehead, mildly tapping like a pesky, repetitive din.

You brushed it off, deciding to instead anchor yourself on the drill ahead. It fascinated you, the absolute coexistence of their movements, which flowered between them through their complete connectivity to the environment. The troop rolled into their dominant side, following through as the back of their shoulder blade met the floor and propelled them once again into a standing, lunged position, all while maneuvering their sabers around each wheeling youngling. It was quite impressive, for Initiates so young. It was a move whose complication…

Another piercing spear at your forehead’s center, this time radiated out toward your sinuses like lightning desperately squeezed to ground itself. Your skull brimmed with pressure at each subsequent twinge. Somehow, the once insignificant throbs were quite rapidly transforming into an unpleasant nuisance. So much so, that you couldn’t help but massage your temples in stiff circles as you strived to lessen the distinct sting in your observance of the drill.

“Well, are you not?” Master Yoda inquired as he seemed to sense your discomfort.

You lowered your hands. “I’m alright, Master. I think I overexerted myself earlier, and I’m probably not yet quite used to this heat,” you gesticulated toward the beaming sun that still, surprisingly, felt like a comforting brush to your exposed skin.

“Rest, young Silvey,” he advised while pivoting toward your figure, motivating you to turn on your heel and face his center-held staff. “Strong in the coming weeks, you must be. Sense a shift in the Force, I do.”

You acknowledged the Jedi’s wise words before tilting into a gentle bow, permitting your body to salvage any extra energy in its small battle against your pervasive migraine.

“Thank you, Master,” you rose evenly. “Your guidance is much appreciated.”

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