#perhaps the two of them can walk the knife's edge between them

[bookwyrminspiration]

Keefe definitely sees the Elven world differently now that he has lived in the human world. The Elven world always irritated me in a way because the adults seem so young. Most elves have hardly dealt with anything complicated or difficult, so they seem to be very young emotionally. They are always happy or excited, which is particularly irritating to see. The human world is a lot more complex than the Elven world, as humans have to deal with disease, assault, and death a lot more often than elves do. Their feelings are also a lot more complex, as the elves only seem to feel happy, sad and jealousy. I think Keefe will go back to the Lost Cities, then realize that he has outgrown the Lost Cities. He wants to go back to the complexity of human emotions, and their complex societal systems. I think he should talk to Sophie about this, as she would most certainly understand where he is coming from. Perhaps she could bond with him over this.

I agree, I doubt everything that happened in that period of his life can be passed off, the matter is just what changed about him and to what extent. We don't know what he experienced, so knowing what he's learned and how it impacted him is difficult.

One question I have is whether Keefe could be said to ever belong to the Lost Cities, and if he can truly outgrow them if they were never his. The Lost Cities, while his only home, aren't a place he fits. It hasn't been kind to him, nor him to it (although in different ways than other characters, like Dex and the twins). He has no particular attachment to it that I can see (he's not close with many people) and little problem leaving it behind.

Another is whether Keefe would prefer complexity or ease in emotion. While human emotions may be more complex, they're sensed through the air. Is that, even if he wants it, a sustainable option to pick? He's already gone partially numb, and Sophie spent seven years of her life in misery from the constant barrage of thoughts; emotions can't be much better. Even if elves can be said to be inferior emotionally, is the peace of mind more valuable than risking himself?

I do think it's a valuable bonding opportunity with plenty of potential. Even the few weeks he had is more than all her other friends (Fitz just visited from the sidelines), and it's a common ground she only shared with Forkle, who never says anything on it. Some of the things he now knows may give him insight on what it's like to be Sophie, who has a completely different set of knowledge and background than everyone around her. She may also be able to further explain some of his experiences and provide context/guidance for them.

I hope we get to learn more about his experiences in the Lost Cities, because while I understand that he needed to leave to process and separate himself from everyone, at the same time everything happening with him was made very important to the plot, so having this huge gap is a tad annoying. I mean, he left afraid to speak a word and comes back numb with full sentences. I'd like to see the bridge between those two.

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell, on the Death of Happiness:

- Perhaps it was the world’s press taking them too seriously and asking silly questions about the deeper meaning of their songs and about where the words came from that changed them from being simple songwriters. Songwriting became a “creative art” and was reinvented as being difficult.

- For John and Paul, songs were suddenly something that were “crafted” and then taken off to Abbey Road like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle for George Martin to work his alchemy on. It all became serious and expensive.

- Things changed. The passion went. […] I came to see on a regular basis how the four of them would be slumped in a corner at Abbey Road, with cups of coffee and bits of paper and cigarettes and joints, not doing a thing. George Martin and the new engineer, Geoff Emerick (who had replaced Norman Smith), would be sitting in the control room, or the canteen, bored out of their minds.

- I will always remember the twelve empty boxes [Magic Alex] made for George. They contained nothing and didn’t actually do anything, but George told John that they contained some kind of light ray that could recognize bad vibes. “Really? I’ll have some of those,” said John. “Yeah, me too. In fact, I’ll have two dozen. Put ’em on my bill,” said Ringo who was the most cynical of all the Beatles. Alex produced dozens and in all seriousness, they were lined up in key points around the Beatles’ homes, where, as far as I could tell, they continued to do nothing at all.

- The Beatles were under a lot of pressure at that time to prove themselves in the aftermath of Brian’s death. Consequently, the people who worked for them, or for Apple, were under a lot of pressure not to take the piss out of even the smallest of the Beatles’ bright ideas, including their involvement with the Maharishi, Alexis Mardas, or the Fool. They’re looking at you saying: “Go on. Say it. Say what you’re thinking! I can take it.” And you’re going, “No fucking way. One: you can’t take it. Secondly: I like it here!” To disagree would prove you were not tuned in and turned on.

- Denis left for the ashram, where he discovered that the Beatles were too high up in the clouds, literally, to care about films. George so desperately wanted to believe in this new religion that he called Denis into his hut and made him watch while he sat down cross-legged and levitated. When I asked Denis if he actually saw any space between George’s bottom and the concrete floor, he said evasively, “I’m not sure. George was wearing a robe, and it was very dark in his hut.” Denis was always very diplomatic.

- It seemed to me—and from what they said—that they were very earnest about meditation and Indian music, but found the Maharishi a faintly repulsive figure. They argued about it, but in the end they decided to give him the benefit of the doubt just in case he was some kind of magician

- [on hearing Jumping Jack Flash for the first time on the radio, Paul sends Tony to immediately request the station play it again.] There was a very funny look on Paul’s face as I went off to find the phone. As if, not only was the whole world on his shoulders, but now the Stones were about to hit their stride.

- As the sixties gave way to the seventies, the fun left. It was like a carousel on a merry-go-round slowly grinding to a halt, with the music dying and the lights going dim.

- Klein couldn’t have known that John was sensitive about being slightly dyslexic, but he had guessed correctly that John resented being seen as the junior partner.

- Not only was it hard work drumming up sufficient Krishnas to placate George when he wanted them around, but we were all bored to death at having to go along with the bunch of dropouts who marched up and down, chanting, clanging bells and begging for money.

- Previously, the Beatles had tried to get along; now there were factions. It was like walking on a knife-edge of conspiracies and backbiting. I watched the madness and the slow disintegration of Apple as barriers went up and years of lawsuits and wrangling began. […] People who worked for the Beatles and Apple were supposed to be totally faithful, but it was impossible to be loyal to everybody.

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 3 (aka Beron is a bastard)

The cream stone house was nestled near the edge of a forest. The grounds were encompassed by tall hedges with great trees of the forest bowing over it as if they were peering in. There was only one set of gates at the far end of the property near the paddock for the horses. Orla had two of them that were used to carting patients who were unable to walk.

It was a decent enough size, certainly only a wealthy family could afford such a place if it were in the mortal lands though it was not as vast as the manor Tamlin’s coin had purchased for the Archerons. Nesta liked this home better already. Past the orchard of apple trees, there was a well-tended to garden with beds that were filled with flowers like flames. Yellows and oranges flanked the winding stone path amongst the tall grasses.

Eris led on, his pace gentle. Occasionally, he let out a sharp whistle, pressing his teeth into lip, if one of the smokehounds strayed from the path over Orla’s flowerbeds.

At the end of the path was an arch of twisting vines and honeysuckle flowers. Faintly, Nesta could hear the buzz of a bumblebee as it sought pollen. She heard Eris tut and shake his head.

‘Step back a moment, please.’

The male withdrew a long knife from the sheath on his hip and cut away the overgrown vines that had snaked over the benches, claiming them for their own.

‘Orla doesn’t like to come here anymore, but it’s too pretty to fall to ruin.’

Instead of her arm, Eris took Nesta by the hand this time stepping carefully over the discarded plants and burning them to ashes in his wake.

She thought that he might take the bench next to her to put some distance between them, but the male sat beside her. Despite the warm day, his flames curled in a spiral formation in the brick firepit in front of the two benches. His face was unreadable mostly, but in those amber eyes, Eris sifted through years of memories.

Nesta imagined Orla here with her husband, in this quiet corner of the garden. A place Eris could come to as an escape from life as Beron’s son. How many hours had the three spent here? 

Nesta raised her chin to peer over the rose bushes. She could still make out the roof of the house, but this secret garden had been invisible from the opposite perspective. It was peaceful. A sanctuary from prying eyes.

‘It’s beautiful here.’

Eris gave a slow bob of his head, inhaling the rich scents of the garden. ‘Autumn can feel tedious when it’s all you have, yet the moment I’m out of its grasp, I yearn for home. Do you ever have the same feeling?’

No. Nesta didn’t know how it felt to miss a place. Nowhere had ever felt like a home. Not a place she could belong or a place she wanted to stay. And how badly she did want to set down roots somewhere.

‘I cannot say I do.’

‘Perhaps the Autumn Court will sway you. Spring is a time for re-birth and new beginnings but I’m sure the poets have written something sophisticated about Autumn. Everything has a time to die, all things must end.’ Eris frowned. ‘I’m a terrible poet.’

‘Autumn is my favourite season.’

At her voluntary information, Eris perked up. ‘Why?’

‘Blackberries.’

It felt silly to say it. Winter was dreadful. It came with a bitter cold that no amount of firewood could chase away. She always longed for spring because it brought hope and blue skies. The summer was fine, she supposed, though her allergies had her hiding indoors for most of it. Autumn had always been special. Nesta hoped those long evenings would never end, that winter would never come. She loved the beauty as trees scattered their leaves like unwanted gold. She loved to crunch through piles of them or to collect acorns and conkers. More than anything, Nesta loved the early days of autumn where fat, ripe blackberries hung off brambles so they could stuff their bellies with them without having to spend their last coins on something delicious.

‘Apple and blackberry crumble. With a dollop of clotted cream. I would give my first-born child away for it.’  

‘I’ve never had it.’

Eris gasped dramatically, a hand clutched over his chest. ‘We’ll have it for pudding.’

‘You can cook?’ That was a surprise. Nesta thought the gender roles of the Autumn Court would be rigid, especially for a high lord’s son.

He shook his head hurriedly then said, ‘We’ll ask Orla to make it for pudding – but we can collect the fruit. I’m certain we can manage that.’

The pockets of silence threatened to envelop Nesta again. The bad feelings were returning, that awful grey place where she’d existed before being dragged to the House of Wind where her feelings battled against the roar of emptiness. In the lulls of their conversation, Nesta felt like she was waking from a strange dream. It was as if Illyria never happened, the pregnancy never happened, Hybern had never ruined her.

‘Nesta,’ Eris said gently. ‘I do not expect you to like me and I will not justify my actions because they are done with my court’s interest in mind. That said, it is rare that I ever act without considering every option – then second guessing each one. I suppose what I am trying to say is that when I brought you here, for once in my life, I didn’t think of the consequences. And that’s rare for me.’

One ankle was crossed over his knee. The male was handsome in a way that fitted him. On others, the features might not have meshed well. The milk white skin, amber eyes that reminded Nesta of a hawk, a long, straight nose, and hard angles as if carved from stone. There was no softness to him – yet Nesta had seen smiles from him since she was brought here, the clinical tone banished. He hadn’t sneered or delighted in her misery as she might have expected.

‘We find ourselves now facing a – for lack of a better word – shit storm.’ He tipped his head back, letting the sun wash over his pale face. ‘It’s entirely your choice what we do next. I am meeting with them in a handful of days in the Hewn City. Either we can inform them that you’re safe and well here or we can keep silent.’

Would they even be worried about her? Was it a burden that they no longer had to worry about? Or would they be incensed that she was living beneath Beron’s imposing shadow? Nesta thought of the blades she had Made – their decision to vote on that knowledge had been the flame that helped her descend all ten thousand stairs. They would be sore that they had lost their creature from the Cauldron who did their bidding.

‘I’m not ready to go back.’

Not ready to face Cassian or Rhysand. Even thinking of the former was akin to tearing out her own heart. Nesta took a moment to lament the progress the priestesses had been making. If she didn’t return then likely many of them would recede back to the library. She had been that bridge connecting them from the library to the training ring. Gwyn’s bright, happy face pushed to the forefront of her mind then Emerie’s. Her friends who she’d left behind.

‘You have already done so much for me, but I need to ask for more.’

Anger rippled across Eris’ face. ‘Do not say that. You were forced to traipse after that brute like a dog. He had you sleeping on the hard ground worse than animal. That bastard, Rhysand, threatened to kill his own sister. I didn’t do enough Nesta. When the rivers of Illyria run red then I’ll have done enough.’

There were the glimpses of the male she expected to meet, sharp and cutting, full of hatred. But she could give no defence to Cassian or Rhysand. Couldn’t find it in herself to muster any reasoning why Eris shouldn’t hurt them.

‘Apologies,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘That was crude. Please, whatever you need, it shall be done.’

‘Can a letter be taken to Illyria?’

Through fumbling through Orla’s study, Eris found a pen and paper for Nesta to write to Emerie. It was the safest option, and somehow her friend would get the message to Gwyn. Hastily, she wrote that she was safe and well, not to worry about her, but to continue their training.

Eris asked if he could read it. His brow bunched with distaste. ‘Why aren’t you telling her the truth?’

‘I don’t want to bring trouble to Autumn.’

‘Not that. Why haven’t you told her why you’ve had to leave? What they did to you. You don’t need to protect these people, Nesta. They do not deserve your kindness. Your friends love you. They deserve to know what monsters they live alongside.’

There should have been guilt over her betrayal, but Nesta found that once her hand began to spill the secrets of her heart, she could not stop it. Her hand flew over the paper, covering side after side, right from the beginning of why she was taken to the House of Wind. Not a single stone was left unturned. Nesta could acknowledge that she had done things that were not acceptable, crossed lines, pushed too far. But the others were not innocent. The only secret she kept was her whereabouts – and the unlikely male who had come to rescue.

Eris remained at the table with a dog between his legs, fussing his ears throughout. When Nesta had finished, for a reason she could not name, she offered it for him to read. It was a test of sorts. Nesta had written everything. She measured her breathing as Eris skimmed the loping lines of her letter. He paused near the end, where Nesta had explained how the inner circle had voted on her Made weapons. This was the moment where Nesta expected a cavalry charge to drag her to the Forest House where she’d be at the mercy of Beron Vanserra. Her power could create unstoppable weapons – and that was only a drop of it. But then Eris raised his brow and continued reading until the end.

‘I’ll have to wait until its dark, but I should be able to manage it.’

‘If it’s too dangerous, please don’t. You’ve already risked a lot for me, but I do not want you hurt on my behalf.’

Eris’ stare went through Nesta. It was an unflinching thing that bore down on her, demanding to see all of her.

‘It will be done, Nesta.’ Eris stood, the dog following him as he moved across the red tiled floor of the kitchen. ‘Now, we need to feed you – and I think a cup of tea would be delicious.’

She thought at first he had been talking to the dog until tea was mentioned. Eris would not let her skip a meal. Nesta was beginning to feel unsettled too without the rigor of training then the library. The lack of routine was causing a panic that nibbled at her edges. She had grown too comfortable with the life laid out for her by the inner circle.

Orla had left a little basket of cheese scones covered over by the window with directions to various jars of chutneys if they wished. Neither of them could figure out how to light the stove in Orla’s kitchen for tea.

‘Don’t look at me. I’m a pampered heir. This is my first time in a kitchen,’ Eris said, screwing his eyes into slits as he examined the stove once more as if it might yield its secret now.

‘There’s no guarantee the magic will make you the high lord though. I thought it could choose differently.’

Eris nodded in agreement. ‘That is true. Generally, it does pass to the eldest who will have spent their entire life preparing for it. Maybe the magic knows that I’d be best equipped to inherit it.’

‘But it could be Lucien,’ Nesta hedged, wondering if she’d see the infamous cruel streak of Eris Vanserra at the mention of his exiled brother. She almost wanted to glimpse his temper, to see whether the rumours were true.

Something odd passed over Eris’ face. She couldn’t name the emotion. Not anger. Not irritation. His face faltered, the easy smile flashing like a grimace for a moment, then he said, ‘No. It will not be Lucien.’

Eris shook away whatever cobwebs had clung to him at the talk of Lucien and pressed a palm to his forehead. ‘The trouble with such a vast education is that sometimes common sense can be in short supply. They’re unable to teach such a skill.’

A bead of red flame grew in his palm like a moss until the whole thing was engulfed. Flames trickled over his hand, not burning the skin. With his spare hand, he held the copper kettle above it, boiling the water that way.

‘A very clever trick.’

Eris bowed his head. ‘I have my uses. They are few and far between, but they do exist.’

The self-deprecating humour made Nesta’s lips press into a smile. Eris gasped.

‘That was a smile. It does happen.’

‘It was more of a grimace than anything.’

Eris scoffed at her measly attempt at denial. ‘Babies look as if they’re smiling when really it’s trapped wind. Twenty-four to the fae is practically a baby still. Do you need me to burp you or can you manage?’

Nesta was at a loss for words. Here was the vindictive son of Beron Vanserra who Mor trembled at the mention of. He had cultivated a reputation of violence and cold, cut-throat savagery. But Nesta couldn’t help herself smiling again as he stood teasing her, his amber eyes bright with amusement. The kettle was still held aloft, flames encircling it from below.  

‘You are very…’ Nesta wasn’t sure what word to select.

‘Handsome? Charming?’

‘Strange,’ she settled on.

Eris’ laughter was loud, but genuine. Nesta doubted that anybody had called him that in his long life – and whether she’d find her neck on a chopping block before the day was out. In spite of herself, his laughter made her smile for the first time in days, a true smile.

***

Bit by bit, hour by hour, Eris coaxed life back into Nesta. He had to be soft and gentle – behaviours that were rare enough for him to display – to manage the despicable treatment she’d endured in the Night Court. In the moments where his guard slipped and glimpses of the male he could be with such a select number came out, Nesta seemed to shine. Earning her smiles became a competition for Eris. He wanted to see them all. The shy ones that she hid quickly, the ones that started slow but spread across her face – and the rarest of all, the ones where she laughed and scrunched up her nose.

Once Orla returned home after a day spent seeing to families riddled with fever and sickness, Nesta volunteered to help her cook. Dutifully, she listened and followed instructions. In the moments where a stillness passed over them, Nesta would become forlorn, her lips parting and eyes filling with emptiness. So Eris threw everything he had at her, every terrible play on words to make her scoff, every embarrassing anecdote about him and Orla to make her lips twist into a smile, every trick he’d managed to teach Artyom that served no purpose except to show off.

With the fruit they had picked earlier, Orla obliged them and made a crumble. Once it was finished, Eris found that he didn’t want to leave. Nesta was quiet, offering little to the conversation once Orla had returned, but she listened in with interest. He knew that the female wasn’t even an acquaintance, that he could not compare her character to the glimpses of the past, but Eris knew somehow that Nesta was not right. She was not well. She was not… not happy. And he found it difficult to leave her overnight without probing into her upset and trying to fix it all. Worse still was the fact that he did not know why he felt the desire to bring her happiness. He didn’t know the female. Didn’t need her company or owe her anything. But she had carved herself into his memories the day she stood in front of Prythian’s high lords and made Beron Vanserra still. She had made him listen.

The letter Nesta had written for her Illyrian friend had been an eye opener. It had taken all of his control not to burn the Hewn City to ash the moment he’d finished it. Eris didn’t care about her powers in that moment or what might happen to the court’s exulted high lady. He cared only that Nesta was safe now. She was away from those people and he’d ensure she was taken care of. Well, him and Orla.

For now, Nesta was caught in a limbo where she missed the place but did not want to be part of it. Nesta was wasted in the Night Court. There was more she could do, more she could be, than the same snarling warrior they churned out year after year. When she was ready for the truth, Eris would tell her. The brute did not deserve her. He would always be Rhysand’s dog, his loyal companion. Her sisters did not deserve her. The Night Court did not deserve her. If that was how they treated the sister of the high lady then Eris dreaded to think what life was like for the other females. Nesta would have her safety first then she would grow.

Even if he did not want to, Eris had to say goodbye. He’d neglected a day of paperwork for the first time in his adult life. It was the only time he could remember not picking up a pen or barking an instruction at someone. The webs he weaved required constant observation lest they gather dust or be torn down. Nesta had captured his attention like an unsolvable puzzle. And so Eris said goodbye with the promise that the tutor would arrive in the morning. Nesta had to have that hope of a future to keep her pushing through each sunset. She needed to want to see the dawn.

Under the cover of darkness, Eris fell into the same regime with Ashur, switching positions within the forest before he winnowed to Illyria to deliver the letter.

Windhaven was quiet which was a mercy. Nesta had done her best to describe the location of the shop within the camp, but anybody without wings was noticeable. Eris kept his hood up, head pointed down as he crossed the sloppy mud roads towards the western portion of the camp. Red hair was an Autumn Court trait. He did not need anybody to catch sight of him and whispers to reach the ears of the ruling council.

The shop was dark, expected at the late hour, so Eris didn’t linger. Merely pushed the envelope through the letterbox and slipped back into darkness. He had fulfilled Nesta’s wish – the only thing she could name as a want. It still twisted Eris’ gut. They had eroded her into nothing.

At the return to his rooms at the Forest House, he halted. The guards on duty were not his favoured ones, though of course he was subtle in his favour, but these were his father’s loyal dogs. The door was ajar which meant he had a visitor.

Eris showed no outward signs that this displeased him; he’d learned long ago never to let a single crack show in his armour. His father’s sentries were his birds and spiders, carrying songs and weaving webs on his behalf.

As bold as brass, Beron Vanserra rifled through the paperwork on Eris’ desk. Some might leaf through carefully to leave no traces that they had been there. Not Beron, he ensured his presence was felt. He had to remind all of his court that he had the utmost right to do whatever he pleased whenever he wished.

‘You rearranged a meeting with Wode.’

His father did not turn from the desk that he continued nosing through, no acknowledgement that he cared. The sentries wouldn’t have allowed anybody else to enter save for Eris.

‘The bridge in Altor Hay is undergoing reconstruction. Progress is slow, my lord.’

Beron turned to him then, brown eyes lacking any warmth. ‘It required your eye? I had not known you to be a labourer.’

Eris smiled tightly. ‘It required my encouragement, my lord. The bridge will be in use by the morning.’

It was an easy lie. Altor Hay was a village too far for Beron to care about but it connected two farming towns. As long as their taxes came in on time and in full, he would leave the village alone. Eris had many of his own males there with their families. They were his loyalists; a stronghold in the West close to the border to the Summer Court. Eris helped the rumours that the lesser fae were simple savages to keep his father content, but females that he and Orla assisted could reside there safely or continue onto Summer. If any of his father’s males were sent, the villagers would back up any lie, claiming Eris had been there throughout the day commanding them.

‘Come.’

Beron departed, the sentries flanking him down the corridor with Eris leaving a good distance behind them. They diverted course down a thin corridor that never seemed to warm, the stone always felt damp. Eris’ stomach gave its involuntary lurch once he realised where they were headed.

Down, down, down they went into the cellars running beneath the Forest House. He’d had his first drink here, sneaking down with friends to sip his father’s wine from the vast barrels. First kiss with a timid servant who’d blushed as much as he had when their lips had fumbled together. All of them were dead. Slain on Beron’s orders for minor indiscretions. It was a way to isolate Eris as much as any.

Manacles hung from the ceiling. They were taut under the weight of the male hanging from them. Phelan, the fourth born child of Beron Vanserra, knew better than to react at the sight of his high lord entering. Sentries cut his shirt away, leaving him bare chested for the interrogation.

Beron was sadistic and cruel, but he was efficient too. Eris needed no instruction to retrieve the bullwhip while his father began the interrogation. It was a well-practised dance. Each brother had hurt the others on their father’s orders in a sick determination to prove their obedience to him rather than solidarity with each other. Eris could refuse but Uther would be fetched instead and Eris would find himself hanging beside Phelan for the same treatment.

Each crack of the whip echoed in the underground chamber. Beron only ever spoke during these moments to ask quiet questions – and they were more unnerving that way. It was rare he ever raised his voice. He had no need to.

He questioned his son on the rumours of him cavorting with a lesser fae female. Eris had spread the lie for two reasons; he knew the scandal of Lucien choosing a lesser fae still incensed Beron – and Uther was too over friendly with females. It had been easy to believe. Guilt no longer plagued Eris. Beron had turned them all into villains. Uther likely had slept with lesser fae, likely had hurt them more than pleasured them. None of the Vanserra males were good. Their father had ensured they couldn’t be.

Uther denied it all, no matter how bloody his back was. He could barely speak, barely breathe through the pain, but he still managed to deny Beron’s words. Even Eris’ arm ached from raising the whip above his head and lashing it down upon Uther’s back.

At the signal, the sentries released Uther onto the stone floor. He managed to crawl to his knees and dip his head in submission. The angry lashes bleeding ruby ribbons down his torso.

‘You did well, Phelan. You may go.’

The breaths he took were ragged, but he managed to say, ‘Thank you, my lord.’

The title of high lord was revered by Beron whereas father was reviled. All of his sons knew better than to refer to him as their father lest they wanted to invoke his ire. He was their high lord. The fact that he had sired them was inconsequential.

Servants were called for to scrub the floor clean of the blood despite the late hour. Eris kept his face blank, unfeeling, as they worked. He knew his own investigation was still ongoing; Beron’s eyes flitting to him often. It was his lie that had his brother bleeding and in chains, but Eris didn't like his brother enough to care.

‘Was there proof, my lord?’

Beron shook his head. ‘I wanted to see if he was weak enough to confess simply to end his punishment. For once, my son has proved me wrong.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes

[muertarte]

PARTIES: @muertarte @amonstrousdream

SUMMARY: Metzli and Leila go on a walk. In the middle of their Moment™ a spawn vampire shows up and ruins it.

TIMING: A few nights ago

WARNINGS: Gore/Violence

When the moon gave chase to the sun, fading its soft glow on the edges of the curtains, Metzli remained still and silent. Leila rested her head quietly on their shoulder as they stared at the television with a blank expression. What was happening beneath the surface though, was far from calm. It was a simple movie, but Metzli’s mind was filled with a mountain of questions and no answers to quell the anxiety that accompanied them. It was clear Leila enjoyed their presence, enough to share her time with them, but what did that truly mean? Maybe Siobhan was right. Getting away had paved a path, one that could potentially unlock whatever Eloy locked away. 

“I apologize. I need a break.” Slipping themself away from Leila, Metzli sat at the edge of the couch, contemplating what they could do next. The whole movie was spent connecting in one way or another. Leila leaning onto them and their hands intertwining here and there. Metzli didn’t mind. The movie chosen, Spirited Away, was actually quite good, but they didn’t think they could handle another movie. Looking to the window again, their mind began to wander, landing on a particularly nice idea. “Maybe we go on walk? I like it last time.”

The screen had faded to black, back to Metzli’s favorite state, and Leila was fairly certain she had never known peace like this in her entire lifetime. If sleep was a thing she still needed, then she would have been more than content to slip away into sweet unconsciousness, sitting there with her head on their shoulder. Her head on their shoulder- when had she done that? More importantly, had Metzli minded? Leila’s mind had become a restless sea of worries. What if Metzli wanted her to move, what if she was too cold, what if they didn’t like the perfume she wore and that was annoying them, what if- 

They moved away carefully, an apology placed in the space between them. “No need to apologize… I’m- I’m sorry, I should have asked if I could lean on your shoulder.” 200 years worth of solitude had not improved her people skills. Leila still felt utterly hapless and hopeless when it came to being around other people. There had been nights spent staring at the moon wondering if perhaps it was just her lot to be alone. If it was better off that way. But when Metzli spoke, Leila wanted nothing more than for that thought to be proven wrong. And she didn’t know why. “A walk sounds lovely…”

“Would have told you no if I mind.” It was odd to be okay with it, touch that was not announced. Anita still had to notify before she made an attempt, and Metzli had known her far longer than Leila. “You apologize too much.” No one ever really gave them as many apologies as she had. In fact, others believed Metzli was the one who owed them. They were always too blunt, too sensitive, or too robotic. None of which warranted an apology in their eyes. It was nice to be around someone who believed the same, and never commented on their peculiarities. 

“Let us go. We can leave through side door. Leads to trail that I like.” And avoids the chance of running into Anita if she was home. The last thing Metzli wanted was to be prodded with questions, and they were sure Leila would want to avoid the same. “Can show you place I like to draw too. There is much life in woods.” They looked around the room and grabbed their knife, holstering it to their pants before turning to Leila to ask, “Do you have yours?” They pointed to their own knife, tilting their head as they waited for Leila’s answer. 

They were right. Leila did apologize a lot. The words I’m sorry rolled off her tongue more than any other two in the English language. When she was young and alive, it had been for her overly spirited nature or for clumsy carelessness that usually resulted in something being ripped or dirtied or broken. But since her change, I’m sorry tasted more like guilt of existence than it did of mistakes. She hadn’t meant for the words to change so much. They simply had. Leila opened her mouth to speak but the same two words were caught in her throat. The fact of the matter, the fact she was still trying to grapple with, was that Metzli did not seem to mind her. They called you a dream rather than a nightmare… she reminded herself. Though maybe they were being nice…

Nature had always been a refuge for her. The trees in the orchard had provided shelter when there was no other place to hide. The woods, after her change, housed howling wolves and beasts that no normal person would seek out. Leila was safe amidst their boughs. “You have a trail by your house?” Her voice perked up, eyes already sparkling like midnight skies. “You’re lucky. To have nature so close to your home, I mean.” They grabbed their knife- a reminder of actual danger for them in the evening hours. Hunters, slayers, whatever you wanted to call them, prowled and waited for people like them to emerge in the moonlit hours. It wasn’t fair. It never had been… Leila dug into her bag and fished out the knife and holster (curling up on a couch with a knife holster digging into her hadn’t sounded very pleasant) and clipped it to her belt loop. “Yup. See?”  

“Anita enjoys nature for bugs. Has greenhouse even.” Metzli’s eyes lingered over Leila as she clipped the holster. It was wrong, and they needed to fix it. “I help.” They said, striding over to Leila and kneeling. Carefully, they removed the holster from the belt loop, and secured it to the waist of her pants. It took some finagling, but they managed to mimic the placement they’d done for themself. 

“There. Better. Will not bounce. Secure.” Metzli guided Leila’s hand to her knife and placed it on the handle and ensured her fingers were on the clip. “Slip under hoop to release knife—” Again, they guided Leila’s hand, helping her remove the knife as if she were preparing for a fight. “Just like that.” Finally, Metzli helped her place the knife back in its home and stood up to walk to their bedroom door, and head to the exit to the house. 

“Hmm…” Metzli hummed to themself, reaching the side door and opening it for Leila to walk through. The night was cool and quiet, almost inviting for creatures of the night like the two of them. “Is good night. Hold hand again?” Metzli raised their hand toward Leila as an offering, nearly hoping she’d take it. 

Anita… that was the roommate, right? Or, housemate, she supposed. Considering the size of Metzli’s home, Leila felt a little silly calling the stranger a roommate. She was fairly certain she could fit at least three of her old home inside the mansion. And even then, she was probably underestimating. “Some bugs are nice… I like fireflies. They look like little stars in bug form.” 

What felt like two seconds later, Metzli was kneeling in front of her, deftly adjusting the holster from where Leila had thought it belonged to where it’s actual home should be. Her mind had just made sense of the fact that they were, in fact, kneeling in front of her and carefully fussing with the holster when they took her hand in theirs. It was a swift movement- under the hoop, knife in hand. The correct way. Leila had spent entirely too long trying to remember how Metzli had stuck the knife in her hand the night at the gallery. It wasn’t something she usually would have done, but some piece of her wanted to get it right. Some part of Leila wanted them to be happy with what she’d done- happy she’d learned something. She wasn’t sure why. The unknown why gnawed at her no matter what she did to try and ignore it. And just like that, they were up, walking away

For a split second, she found herself wishing they had stayed. Leila pushed the thought as far out of her mind as she could as she followed Metzli out of the house and into the fresh evening air. It kissed her skin, cool and sweet as the moon glowed gently on the horizon. She’d seen what felt like a million evenings, and somehow in all of that time, she never got tired of them. Just as she was settling into the evening, there they were again. Hand outstretched. A smile slowly blossomed on her face. Two creatures of the night, hand in hand. She slipped her hand into theirs, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Where to?”

It was moments like those that Metzli truly felt free, the furthest away they could be from what Eloy had created.  Leila squeezed their hand, and they squeezed hers back, taking in the way the gentle glow of the moon painted her face. The blue hues complemented her tone so eloquently, and Metzli smiled softly as they tugged her along behind them, kicking the door closed. “Just follow me. Past green house, there is trail. Maybe we see fireflies. Is season for them.” With both of their night vision, they thought it would be easy to find a bundle of them, and if not, Metzli thought of the river nearby that made the perfect trickling sounds. The kind that made one’s brain hum pleasantly.

In a matter of minutes, the two were led down a dirt path, years of both people and animals following it to every kind of destination. Food, water, leisure; the path had many purposes. For that night though, Metzli didn’t have any particular destination in mind. They just wanted to be, to exist simply, no matter how long they had. A little was better than nothing. “Are you enjoying the w—” The wind blew nature and clouded the area, flinging it into Metzli’s vision and irritating it. “Hm…” They grumbled, rubbing at their eyes. “Something in, I think.”

When Leila had been very young, and the world still felt new, she swore that nature was a kingdom she was meant to live in. Over a century after her birth, an author would write about an orphaned girl living on the same peninsula she had lived on so eloquently it was as if she had pickede images out of Leila’s mind. Nature had been a refuge to her when kindness could not be found amongst her peers. Children her own age had been cruel, but the birds in the trees had only ever sang her sweet melodies. Now, however, they would only shriek and fly away. All the same, the soft ground underfoot and the smell of early spring gave her peace she hadn’t known in some time. What made it better was the cool of another hand, just like hers, intertwined with her own. She let Metzli lead them where they would. Leila had decided that she didn’t care what the destination was: if Metzli was there, then it would be good. 

She hadn’t done much exploring since her move to Wicked’s Rest- she hadn’t had the time, if she was being honest with herself. Leila had busied herself with the shop, her best front for humanity, and most evenings were spent in the dreams of a stranger. And then, she met Metzli. Strangely fascinating, quiet, complicated Metzli. Time had lost most meaning after the first century had died away. But time with Metzli felt like, it sounded stupid in her mind, it felt like time again. Metzli’s voice began to punctuate the silence when a gust of wind tossed dust and debris up from the dirt path in front of them. They halted, hand slipping out of hers to rub at their eyes in irritation. 

Instinct replaced reason as she looked around for something to stand on. “Come here- let me see.” She clambered on top of a rock- Dear God, they were so tall- and gently pulled Metzli closer to her, one hand on their cheek as she tried to find whatever had flown into their eye. “Look up…?” The words were less of an order and more of a murmur thrown in the direction of the vampire as Leila focused on the task at hand.

Oh. Leila was close. 

Metzli had obeyed easily, only reacting subtly when hands met their face. Normally, such a gesture would provoke retaliation. A snap of their teeth, a firm hand around a wrist, or worse, an honest attack. Metzli was surprised to find that none of those happened. In fact, they leaned into the touch slightly, looking up until the obstruction was gone. 

Honey had placed her hands the same way as Leila had before. Right before she kissed Metzli for the first time. That moment was different, though. Wasn’t it? It made no sense that they’d be similar. So why, Metzli wondered, did it feel the same in some way? They weren’t sure, but they were moving before they could think. Gently, they placed their hand over Leila’s and inched closer, allowing the moment to guide them, in a way.

Leila hadn’t realized how close she was. In her want to help, she’d found herself a breath or two away from Metzli. She carefully brushed the dirt out of their eye, quiet apologies made with every little move. “Almost there… annnd… done.” It was then she realized that they were leaning their cheek into the palm of her hand. And their eyes… She could make out every little detail, every little shade of brown they held like little galaxies. She smiled. A foolish, uncontrollable little thing that snuck up on her before she could shoo it away. 

She hadn’t been kissed in an age- hadn’t wanted to be kissed in an age. Leila had tasted so many kisses in stolen dreams, had felt ghosts of someone else’s memories brush against her senses, but they had always been soured by the terrors she left in their wake. Her mind felt fuzzy in the best way possible. Like mouthfuls of champagne on New Years Eve, like leaf-filtered sunlight against her skin. They were close enough to kiss her. And Leila was surprised that for once- 

A twig cracked. The noise was like a lightning bolt through her whole body, glowing red eyes flicking away from Metzli’s and into the growing darkness. Some stupid instinct, the instinct she had grown in this unlife with, gently tugged at Metzli’s hand, pulling them away, away from the sound- free hand fumbling for the knife they had given her to protect herself. She prayed it was a squirrel- a squirrel, a deer, something that had yet to reveal itself and was harmless. Something that would take one look at her and run for it’s life. But if it was already so close, she doubted it was anything so harmless. 

The twig wasn’t the first thing to be noticed. Leila was startled backwards, and Metzli felt themself do the same. They went too far. Of course she wouldn’t want to kiss them, didn’t feel the same pull. Everything meant nothing. They meant nothing. And why did that hurt? Why did a sudden burst of pain fill their nerves more than when Eloy tore their arm away? Metzli wanted nothing more than to put space between themself and Leila, to protect her from whatever they were about to do. Their opposing forces kept them in place, and it wasn’t until another snap, followed by a growl, that Metzli understood why Leila was so urgently pulling them toward her. 

In a flash, a beast with alabaster skin roared, leaping toward the pair with a ferocity that was intent to kill. Even worse, Metzli understood that it was set on consuming them both, not quite realizing neither had any blood to spare. Spawn never were smart. All they knew was bite, eat, kill. As if a record played in their mind over and over again, the needle placed down by hunger.

“Move!” Metzli pushed Leila away, taking the brunt of the tackle and rolling several times until the two bloodsuckers hit a tree. The spawn clawed at Metzli, trying to find purchase in their skin, but finding none. For the time being. If they couldn’t find a moment to grab their knife, the spawn would get a mouthful of dark, chalky blood and Metzli would be left wounded. Leila wouldn’t like that. Quickly, they hooked the spawn’s arm with their leg, granting them the leverage to push it over and away from both of them. Metzli rushed to their feet, retrieving their knife and commanding Leila. “Run!”

Leila had been on the opposite side of nightmares for so long that she often forgot what it felt like to be so utterly terrified that it felt like something was tearing you apart from within. Whatever short-lived joy and peace she had burned up like paper in a fire, until it was nothing but smoke and memory. The creature- all teeth and claws- burst through the undergrowth before Metzli could move, before they could run. And for the first time in hundreds of years, Leila knew real fear. 

The fear wasn’t for her. It wasn’t fear of her own death. She knew what lay on the other side of death. If it ever came for her again, if one day her luck ran out, she knew what dark awaited her. No, fear did not taste or look like that. Fear was something happening to Metzli. Fear was seeing this creature lunge at them and being forced out of harms path before she could but herself in between to shield them in some darkness. Fear felt like dirt and stone scraping against her skin and ice grip at her dead heart as she watched the two tumble into the tree. For a moment, Leila wondered if she had ever known fear at all before that moment. 

Run. It was a powerful command. One that her mind so often insisted upon in some desperate plea for survival. Run. Leila had survived 195 years of un-life with one simple word, a word that Metzli was now barking at them just like she had so many times before. Run. The knife’s handle pressed against her hand, and for the first time, a different voice whispered in her mind, louder than Metzli’s insistence that she flee was. Fight. Reason yeilded to instinct. Leila let herself become a thing of midnight, a vast and terrifying dark that filled corners and forests on moonless nights. Red eyes like embers and knife in hand, she lunged for the spawn.

For so long, all battles were fought alone, for a cause that didn’t always make a lot of sense. Vampires fighting over money, and for what? All that immortality, and it was being wasted on something so human and juvenile as currency. Honey had joined Metzli, bore her hands for them and painted the ground with their enemy’s blood. She was the first to ever fight a battle for them and then ultimately join them in the never-ending fight to win their life back. Whether physical or emotional, it didn’t matter. She was there. But now? Now Metzli had Leila too. A woman who had no idea how to fight. Who ran when she was in danger. And instead of curling into a fist on the ground protesting death, she stood her ground. 

The weight of the gesture was not lost on Metzli. They couldn’t stop thinking about it. They couldn’t stop feeling something for it. All numbness subsided and they felt true fear for the first time since they finished their training over a century ago. Fear that Leila would get hurt, or worse, killed. For something as meaningless as them. Using that thought as fuel, Metzli forced their legs to move just as the spawn lunged toward Leila. Its sharp claws and razor maw torpedoed at her, kissing her skin too quickly for Metzli to stop. 

The thought that perhaps, just perhaps, this was a terrible idea had flickered in Leila’s mind like a call from across a great distance. Logic, it seemed, had disappeared for a little while. The only thought she had was to distract the thing long enough to let Metzli get up, get away, be okay. God, that was something to be afraid of. That Metzli, someone she had hardly known a couple weeks before but now called a friend, might not be okay. That she might fail. She pushed fear aside long enough to force herself to become something more corporeal and drive the blade forward towards the hulking figure of the spawn vampire. 

The stars were rather pretty that night. She hadn’t remembered seeing them before, but suddenly pain blossomed in her side and sent her hurdling back to the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs. Leila saw the stars, watched them whirl around like a handful of glitter tossed into the… Reality came crashing back down with a bitterness she had yet to taste. Back to shadow, back to nothing, find the knife, try again…

Fuck. ¡Mierda! They were too late. She was hurt. It was their fault. The guilt bit at them, harder than anything the spawn could give them, and something snapped. Metzli practically saw red, grabbing purchase of the spawn’s membranous wing, and pulling hard enough to slam it on the ground. It thrashed and screeched, ripping its claws into Metzli’s chest, but they didn’t care. It was going to die. It was going to die. The words all but became a chant in their head and they plunged their knife into the spawn’s throat, pulling to the side. It began to heal before Metzli finished dragging the blade, but they didn’t stop. 

They wrestled the thing onto the ground, ignoring the claws ripping their skin, and wrapped their arm around its neck to give a different pull. Muscle, tendon, and sinew fought against the pressure, begging to remain together, but Metzli didn’t wane. They pulled, and pulled, and pulled, until the head ripped away from its host. The body thrashed for a few more seconds, as if it could tell it wasn’t dead yet. Metzli watched with widened, ferocious eyes, holding the head in a death-grip for mere seconds before they began to slam the head against the ground repeatedly. They didn’t want to stop. Their mind screamed that danger was still there, as if the spawn could reanimate and hurt Leila again.

She had hardly gotten back to her feet by the time Metzli had flung themself at the spawn, the two of them a tangle of limbs and fangs and claws and- the blood… Leila felt something lurch in her chest when she saw it. Black as ink, and on their shirt. On their hands. All over. She didn’t know if it was theirs… the claws were digging at their skin, it had to be theirs. No no no no…. Be shadow, be night, scare it away, confuse-

The sound of muscle and bone ripping apart echoed through the woods. It was the loudest thing she’s ever heard in her life. A scream was in her throat, frozen in place as she prayed (a monster who prayed. In another time, the irony would not have been lost on Leila) that whatever it was, that it had not been Metzli. The spawn slumped forward, but it’s head did not. Instead, it stayed in Metzli’s hand, and then… slam… slam… 

“Metzli…” her voice was nothing but a whisper. “Metzli, it’s done…” Leila took a few steps towards them… slam, slam… “Metzli-“

The head was nothing but a heap of bloody meat  and shards of skull by the time Leila’s voice managed to break through. The bone splintered, embedding itself into Metzli’s palm, and though they didn’t need to breathe, they were gasping desperately for air. Sheer panic coursed through them for what felt like the first time in their life. Well, that life. The undead life. All because of a woman they’d only recently met. 

But, much like Honey, Leila’s past echoed down to the depths of Metzli’s unmoving heart, and they were nothing if not loyal. Maybe even to a fault at times. Though, in regards to the people they’d found, Metzli knew it was different. They were loyal to the right people now, and no matter what it took, they’d use their body as a shield against whatever came. And wasn’t that funny? The belief that nothing and no one mattered was truly being tested because Metzli’s people had meaning. If they could never find it for themself, it was an honor to be in the presence of those who completed their own search, found the x. 

The thought of that made the death-grip around the tattered flesh and bone loosen, and eventually, Metzli managed to let go and look up. Glowing, red eyes greeted them, and their body settled, relaxed enough for the numbness to creep back in. Black blood coated their skin, obscuring their face. It was a mixture of the spawn’s and theirs, but that didn’t matter, not to them. “Are…you okay?” 

A pins-and-needles numbness had crept over her as she took in the image of a blood-soaked Metzli, something that was once a spawn vampire limp and broken laying in the space between them. How much of that was theirs? How much of the blood that stained their face, their arms, their hands, how much was Metzli’s? Leila felt it again, those icy phantom claws digging deeper into her chest. She wanted to pull them away from the grizzly scene that sprawled out before them like some macabre painting. Red and black against evening blue, pocked with glitter. 

She pressed her arm firmly to her side, trying to keep the wound as hidden as possible. Leila didn’t need to be fussed over. No, she didn’t want to be fussed over. She had been alone for long enough and still, somehow, survived. She could bandage herself up- stitch it closed after a very stiff drink much later, and muster the energy to find some simple dream to feed on after a bit of a rest. But Metzli… whether or not they would let her, they needed care. The shirt was all but shredded, and Leila did not want to imagine what the wounds would look like once all the blood was washed away. 

Leila crouched down slowly, reaching out and offering a hand. She hoped they’d take it, covered in black blood as it was. “I’m okay.” Sort of the truth. The fine, glittery blood kept falling to the ground if she shifted wrong- Leila held her arm tighter to her side and forced herself to stay calm. She was certainly not dying. Though she could not be certain about them. “I’ll be okay… but we need to get you home, okay?”

Metzli’s brows furrowed together, their neck bristling at the sight of something glistening in the moonlight. No, it was sparkling. Which only meant one thing. “Hurt.” Metzli said, blinking a bit bewildered. Forget them, Leila was bleeding, and that took precedence. “Hurt.” They repeated robotically, rising to their feet to step toward Leila. Before she could object, Metzli scooped her onto their shoulder and began the most careful speed-walk they could manage. 

Whatever fight Leila had wouldn’t win, not when Metzli’s mind was fogged with the intention to take care of her. It was practically a desperate effort. Save what matters. Protect what matters. It replayed over and over again like a damaged record on an even more damaged player, all the way back to the house. Metzli didn’t dare put Leila down until they crossed the threshold of the entrance. “Show me wound. Now.” It was the most animated their voice had gotten around her. Worry laced in every chord as they knelt and hovered their bloody, trembling hand over her side. 

Hurt. It wasn’t the word she had been hoping for. “Yes, you’re hurt-” She had assumed that’s what they meant. They were hurt, they needed to go- Hurt. They echoed the word again, and suddenly the world went sideways and upside down. She opened her mouth to object, but a quiet hiss of pain was the only thing that escaped her lips as her side shifted against their shoulder. They were walking as if they hadn’t just been practically mauled by a spawn vampire. After the shock of her new situation wore away, Leila tried to turn and look over at them. “Metzli- I’m fine, it’s not that bad…” 

When she’d been ten, she fell out of a tree and had scraped up her knees and hands to all hell. She’d limped home with a forced smile, and had only cried over the pain when she was finally alone. In the quiet of her little bedroom, where no one could have seen her, she had let herself be hurt. Hundreds of years later, and she was still trying to convince the world she was fine. Before she knew it, they were back at the house. No amount of her insisting that she could walk on her own had broken through to them. When Leila was finally set down, she tried to adjust herself, covering up the glitter that was clinging to her own shirt- their shoulder was sparkly now… In any other situation, had she been anything other than what she was, she might have laughed. Glitter everywhere. Funny. 

When they spoke again, however, the glitter was forgotten. There was worry there. She knew the sound of it anywhere. Worry was the sibling of fear. Their hand was hovering just over her side, where blood like stardust had settled despite her attempts at hiding it. She pulled up the corner of her shirt a bit so that the spawn’s scratch was glinting against the light. “It’s just a scratch…see? I’ll be fine, but please… please can we worry about you for a moment?”

Why was Leila so adamant? Why did she keep pushing her worry? Metzli shook their head vehemently, slowly losing sight of the room. The edges of their vision darkened and Leila’s voice muffled until all they could hear was a ringing. Their limbs wouldn’t respond at that point, the pressure crescendoing from hill to mountain in an instant. A weight so great that Metzli froze, no longer fighting against Leila. No words of combat or objecting moves. They were stagnant, overcome with…with something Leila ignited.

Nothing compared to the horrifying beauty of what was happening. No broken bone or torn skin could negate the fact that Leila was giving Metzli something they’d only ever gotten from Honey. There were two people now. Two people that practically made it seem like they built the sun for them in a tool shed. Something difficult and all around remarkable, so that when the time came to fix something truly broken, they’d each be ready. Maybe Metzli’d forget it all the next day, or fall prey to their own mind, but that moment was theirs for the time being. They believed, for a split second, that they had meaning to be seen. A second was fine. A second was enough. “Okay.” They muttered, relinquishing themself to Leila. “Okay.” 

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave. She could worry about herself in a little bit, but Metzli needed far more care than they were either letting on or realized. Leila wasn’t entirely sure which. The icy claws that had been digging further and further into her chest, weaving fear into long-dead veins, finally released their hold on her. “Okay… good…” She gently tugged on their arm, trying to get them to move to sit down and rest before she rushed off to rummage for the surplus of bandages she had bought the other day. 

When Metzli was out of sight, it came for her. The tears and panic she had refused to let show. The bathroom proved an excellent hiding spot for a moment or two as she desperately tried to scrub black blood and glitter down the drain. Alive, they were alive, Metzli was okay. Leila hadn’t realized how scared she was until they had been carrying her back, until she had realized that (as much as she wanted them to rest, to put her down), she didn’t want to let them go. That thought was terrifying enough. She splashed some water on her face and sucked in a deep breath. She was fine, she was always fine. She had to be. She scooped up the first aid kit and went back out to Metzli, taking their hand in hers without a word and setting to work. 

[blackjackkent]

Because nothing in this group can remain normal for two seconds, Lae'zel and Shadowheart are fighting the next time we go back to camp.

(This was all playing out during the multiple long rests I had to take to secure the owlbear cub but I had other things on my mind then. :P )

"You carry a githyanki relic. I will have an explanation - or your head."

"Walk away. Now. I won't warn you again."

Obviously, this is about Shadowheart's artefact, which is apparently a githyanki heirloom of some sort. Lae'zel is not happy about the fact that it is not in her possession.

Hector tried to channel the calming wisdom and authority of the abbot at the monastery and suggested everyone chill the hell out and that maybe sniping at each other wasn't the best use of their abilities. This seems like the base facts of the situation to him - they're in this together, for better or worse.

But, because everyone here is a paragon of restraint and common sense, Lae'zel's solution was that they should have pistols at dawn, and Shadowheart responded by putting a knife to her throat in the middle of the night.

I'm no conflict resolution expert but this feels unproductive.

This is a bit disheartening for Hector to see. He was starting to believe that perhaps he could learn to trust all these people, that they could learn to trust each other. Especially with the addition of Karlach, who has already started to act as a binding agent between the various disparate elements of their little band, all depending uneasily on each other.

This...is a backslide, to say the least.

Shadowheart claims they don't need Lae'zel, only the artefact - and Lae'zel says the same thing about her. Hector, for his part, sees only that he needs both of them, that if one of them turns on another, this whole house of cards will collapse.

[PERSUASION] "Shadowheart - stop. You don't have to do this."

For a moment, he doesn't think she's going to listen to him. She was willing to confide in him - but does she trust his judgment?

And then she shifts, pulls the blade back a little.

"Can I do that, Lae'zel? Can I turn my back on you?"

Lae'zel squirms, snarls up at her, struggling against her grip. "Never. Thieves aren't afforded such luxury."

Shadowheart scowls, and the knife presses into Lae'zel's jaw again. "Loosen the grip on your pride for one blasted moment, won't you? We needn't be enemies - there's plenty of those to go around already!"

This is, Hector reflects privately, an argument that loses a little weight when you are the one who took the initiative to put a blade against someone's jugular. But he keeps silent, watches, knowing that any sudden move might tip the delicate situation over its edge.

Lae'zel's lip curls disdainfully. "Tsk. What would you have - that we be *friends*?"

Shadowheart grins faintly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

There's another long, pregnant pause - and then she leans back, pulls away the knife, and stands.

"But imagine what we might achieve if we channeled some of that hostility back at our real foes instead of each other. They wouldn't stand a chance!"

Again, Hector thinks, you were the one that drew the knife first. He waits, half-expecting Lae'zel to lunge at her with her resumed freedom of movement - but the githyanki remains very still, seated on her bedroll.

Her eyes are hard, angry still - but she does not attack. She does not even respond. She just waits until Shadowheart turns away, and then lies back down and stares into the fire.

[distortedclouds]

First of the Left Behind /filler BW chapter Set: between the end of ch 13 and beginning of ch 15 Rating: T Word count: 2k PoV: Armin Tags: Fluff

Technically, it hasn’t been long since the two of them happened to have the same full day off, though it ends up feeling like it. It could be because they got to stay in bed a bit longer, not having to count the minutes between ‘barely on time’ and ‘run or be late’.

Maybe it’s the brightness that pours in through the windows. It’s rare for the sun to shine this brightly at this time of year on Paradis. It has been like that for a couple of days now, effectively drying up most of the moisture in the soil and developing little cracks in dirt roads.

Of course, this is a sign they’re in for a snowstorm that’ll make it hard to open doors. Armin used to love being the one tasked with jumping out the window and shoveling away snow to make room for the main door to open when he was a kid. Though that only happened two—perhaps three—times before things changed.

But he can’t complain with what he has now. Armin can’t remember the last time he didn’t have to constantly check the clock or dig through his pocket for a watch. Even Annie seems lighter on her feet, especially compared to the past couple of days, when he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was up with her and her lips were as good as sealed even if he were to ask.

Today, the sun had been a good way up the sky when they finally got out of bed and had breakfast. Noon, by the time they finally got off the couch and changed into warmer clothes that didn't require them to stretch a throw blanket over their laps to stay warm.

Still, no matter how much of a good day it is, Armin starts feeling the usual drowsiness that usually washes over him around noon. Onyankopon sure wasn’t exaggerating when he said coffee to be a double-edged sword that’s more likely to cut than a poorly-handled butcher's knife.

“Do you want something to drink,” Armin calls from the kitchen, holding up the kettle for Annie to see where she’s lacing up her shoes by the backdoor.

“Yeah, sure,” Annie says, and her voice hasn’t been this unrestrained and airy as of recently, he wishes for it to last.

Armin fills up the kettle to a scratch on the inside he’s come to find is an excellent estimation for filling two cups. He then closes the lid and places it on the stovetop before reaching for the matches in one of the many drawers.

The door reopens and Annie peeks in, less than ten seconds after she’d exited. “The weather’s nice out, come join?”

It doesn’t take much persuasion. In fact, no afterthought is needed before Armin joins her, finding that he doesn’t need more than the jacket he grabs on his way out.

Outside, it’s almost too bright that he has to squint his eyes all the way shut. If it weren’t for the warmth, he’d think a thick snow cover was responsible for this amount of light reflecting straight into his eyes.

The ground is mostly dry, even the tiniest bit of breeze could pick up dust for it to settle elsewhere. At least he can walk without being stuck in the mud or sinking to his knee into the snow. Wild birds, too, seem to appreciate this short break from freezing winds and neverending downpours.

He watches as Annie takes a couple of steps away and into the sun, stretching her arms up and to one side. While he doesn’t hear it, per se, he can see the moment something cracks uncomfortably in her back. She then lets her arms drop with a low sigh.

“I’m blaming you, you know,” Annie says, turning to face him. She continues stretching her arms and upper back, taking one arm over the opposite elbow before reversing direction. “I shouldn't've let you convince me to stay in all morning.”

“Hey, you were enjoying it, too.” He joins in her cracking the bones in his back, neck, and shoulders, though months of office work has stiffened everything up beyond comfort. He never thought he’d miss the days of the military, but damn did they keep him nimble.

“Wanna spar?”

“Me?”

“Mikasa hasn’t been around for a couple of days now and I’m feeling a little stiff. Besides, you could use some resharpening.”

“I’m not sure I can live up to the level you’re used to,” he says as Annie moves to stand opposite him, Armin widening his stance in response.

“It’ll be fun, nonetheless.” Her feet drift further apart and she raises her forearms to shield the view of her face, waiting for him to do the same—or the version he was taught during training.

It doesn’t surprise him that Annie’s too fast to see; one moment she’s standing a few feet from him, and the next, she’s landing a softened blow to his shoulder with the back of her hand. It’s enough to destabilize him, but he’s not gonna fall just yet. Not from something like that.

Twisting at his ankle, the ball of one foot digs into the ground and steadies him, providing him enough momentum to shield for her next blow. That works, this time he barely feels it when her fist slams into his forearm instead of his chest or collarbone.

The exchange of blows continues for a while longer. Logically, Armin knows if this had been a real fight he would’ve been flat on his back seconds into the first contact, but with Annie pulling back her kicks and punches, and moving at a speed she could muster half-asleep, he can keep up. Somewhat.

Hand-to-hand combat has never been his favorite subject, neither as a trainee nor before that when Hannes took to the side and tried to teach him some self-defense for his own sake. It’s hard to deny the exhilaration of a duel, especially when there’s very little at stake.

Armin could swear even his eyes have gotten bad from staring at nothing but handwritten—or printed if he’s lucky—reports all day. Switching to tracking fast movements that his body has to follow along is energizing.

Even Annie, though she’s far from her limit, she’s still moving; her breathing has picked up, hair tousled, and some redness has started to creep up under the skin of her face. Feeling like he’d gotten well into the rhythm of it, Armin decides to take her up on one of the windows she’s deliberately been leaving open for him, and he strikes a blow. The first half of it, at least.

It’s one Mikasa had taught him long ago for if he’s ever grabbed: threading his arm under Annie's, right behind her elbow and he twists, dropping as much of his body weight as possible back to dislodge her grip on his shoulder in preparation for the actual maneuver. He seems to have taken Annie off guard, for her eyes widen a bit, eyebrows shooting up as she hums to herself, “not bad.”

Armin doesn’t get to bask in the compliment nor pride that would’ve come with completing just one countermove against Annie’s frighteningly calculated attacks. Before he could make the switch, she takes full advantage of his off-kilter center of mass; kicking his feet from under him and straining his arm in the process.

How the fall straight on his back ends up only knocking the breath out of him without being accompanied by pain in his spine is beyond him. Thankfully, Annie doesn’t bother with restraining him or twisting a shoulder to drive the point that he lost. Instead, she settles for sitting with her weight fully on his hips and slightly hunched forward, a good enough sign that it’s over.

Armin’s glad he’s not the only one having to catch his breath, lungs struggling to pull in enough air, and throat burning with overexposure to cool ambiance. Annie, too, is breathing from her mouth, even if her inhales and exhales are noticeably more composed. Only the bottom half of her face is visible where her hair is tossed all over her features.

Just above her smile, the redness of her cheeks is apparent, and down her jaw and neck; clothes considerably heavier than what she’d normally wear for an exercise of this type.

When Annie straightens her back and pushes her hair up and out of her face, she relaxes her whole body with a long and loud sigh. The slight tension between her brows that was present throughout their exchange no longer in sight, leaving behind a lightness to her face that further accentuates the blue of her eyes with them softly opened.

What he wouldn’t give to see any be like this more often. Completely present with and in her whole self. Where she lacks hesitation, sure of her every move simply because it feels right.

“You can’t tell me this wasn’t energizing?” Annie says, amused, her voice airy and carried on the tail of a small laugh that he feels when it puffs out of her chest.

“Yea…” he breathes out, giving up and letting his back relax fully against the dirt. His eyes follow suit, falling to where he’s now aware she’s not wearing her usual binding, which somewhat flattens her chest for, what he assumes is, ease of movement. Though this time her clothes stick to her figure and it’s almost sudden how the heat overtakes him. It shouldn't. It makes sense. It’s a warmer day, the sun is out, they’re being active, and Annie’s unbelievably warm where she-

“Aaah!” With core strength he didn’t know he still had in him, Armin pushes himself up and off the ground. Hands gripping Annie at the ribs, he takes her along until she’s leaning back against his legs, where they’re bent at the knees.

It’s all in an attempt to just barely enough get her off his hips, and when her surprise is exclusive to his sudden movement he knows he’d succeeded, because if Armin managed to never be caught dead with humiliatingly tight pants at fourteen in the middle of training, he sure as hell wasn't gonna be caught as an adult.

Annie doesn’t say anything, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself in this awkward position as her eyes shift between his, waiting for him to sound an explanation.

It’s a long moment afterward with Armin’s mouth open but no words coming out and a face so red he’s surprised she still thinks it’s from the direct sun exposure and physical activity. “The- the hot water’s probably ready! It's not safe to let it boil unattended on the stove!”

“I don’t hear the whistle,” Annie says, glancing over his shoulder and towards the backdoor they’d left ajar.

“I… um, might’ve broken it last time I cleaned it.” He feels sweat at the back of his neck more now than before, even swallowing his hard.

“... okay.” Annie swings one leg over and between them to get off his lap. Armin’s quick to get on his haunches and up behind her as they head back inside, keeping both hands on her shoulders in a last effort to make sure she doesn’t turn around.

“Something hot to drink and unwind after this sounds nice, doesn't it?” Armin suggests in an almost singsong voice and he might’ve been overdoing it from the way she glances over her shoulder at him.

Inside with the door closed behind them, Annie heads into the kitchen while Armin takes cover behind the dining table, looking around the house like he’s seeing it for the very first time and impressed with the smallest of the most mundane detail.

“It's not even on.”

“Huh?”

“The flame,” she says, picking up the kettle and holding it up to show him with her bare hands. “It wasn’t burning.”

“Funny, I would’ve sworn I lit it before following you out,” Armin laughs awkwardly. Though, he's pretty sure he did light the fire.

“That’s unlike you,” she says. Thankfully, not caring to look any further into it as she grabs the box of fetches and starts a small flame under the kettle.

[shaelashaela]

Before You Were Born, ch. 16

[cw] physical violence [reading time] 8 mins.

My alchemical rite worked all too well, and it felt like hours passed as we slowly picked our way from one patch of grass to another in the marsh. Above us, I could see the faint glow of the sun through the fog sinking ever lower in the sky. I really didn’t want night to fall before we could get to our destination.

“Sylvie, could you loosen your grip a bit?”

I looked back at Rayna, confused. Then I looked down at our clasped hands. I was holding on a smidge too tight. I released her and felt my cheeks warm a little.

“Sorry. I just didn’t want to lose track of you in all this fog.”

She rubbed her hand and gave me a skeptical stare. “Are you okay? You’re pretty tense.”

I turned my back on her. “Of course I’m not okay. What kind of question is that?”

I closed my eyes and immediately regretted that I snapped at her. I knew she was concerned, but I was on a knife’s edge and didn’t know how to move forward. I heard her let out a long sigh.

She walked up to stand beside me, and she put a hand on my shoulder. “I know. That was a stupid thing to say. But I’m still here with you, and we can do this together. Or not. There’s no shame in turning back if you’re not prepared for this.”

For a brief moment, I considered it. She gave me the perfect excuse to chicken out and run back home. I could hide forever in the safety of my father’s wards. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I could study alchemy for the rest of my days and just forget about Ixion.

I shook my head violently. I had to banish those thoughts. “No, no, no… there’s no turning back. If I let him go now, I might not get another chance.”

She smirked. “Then lead the way, Shaela-Shaela!”

A tear formed in the corner of my eye. Hearing my childhood nickname from Rayna felt different. For years I associated it with my mother talking down to me, only seeing me as her child rather than a grown and capable adult. But when Rayna said it, her voice felt like warmth and coziness. Perhaps that was the little bit of assurance I needed.

I picked up my foot and almost stepped forward again, but my ears perked at a distant sound, and I froze. It was faint, but the sounds of Elvish words drifted towards me. After a moment, there was the distinct slam of a door, and then silence.

I let out the breath I was holding. “Did you hear that?”

Rayna shook her head. “Nope.”

“Two of them. I could hear them talking. Not sure if either of them was Ixion.”

“What were they saying?”

“I don’t know, it was too far off to hear clearly. Come on, this way.”

We oriented ourselves in the direction of the sound and pressed forward through the fog. My worst fear was confirmed: the dark elf was not alone. I pushed the rampant gloomy thoughts from my mind as best I could, but my heart continued to pound. My breath came in erratic gasps.

We soon reached the small patch of dry land where the old house stood. I could just barely make out the decayed, grey wooden boards that formed the outside wall. I waved Rayna forward, and quickly we crossed the distance and put our backs up against the wall.

I leaned over and peered through the space between a couple of boards that covered a downstairs window. Inside, I saw an elf with his back to me. He had long black hair like Ixion, and he wore a tattered robe that was dull with age. Was it him? He worked at something on an old broken table, but I couldn’t tell exactly what. No one else was in the room with him, which was a relief.

Rayna leaned in close to me. “See anything?”

“Mmhmm. I think it might be him.”

“Good evening, ladies.”

We were so wound up, we both squealed in surprise and whirled to face the source of the new voice. There, mere feet from us, was Ixion. His already tattered robes bore scorch marks from the balefire I’d tossed at him a few days prior. There in the Wylde, he was wreathed in a coiling black nimbus, a bonfire of dark magic far stronger than I anticipated.

We’d been outmaneuvered yet again, and he gloated, his smile widening into a sharpened, wicked grin. Behind us, I heard the door of the house creak open, and two more people strode out to corner us, their gait full of malicious swagger. One of them looked almost Ixion’s twin, no doubt the one I saw from behind a moment ago. The other was a woman, old enough that her hair had turned a salt and pepper shade. There was no kindness in either of their faces, and darkness shrouded them as well, though not anywhere near as intense as Ixion.

This was it. I completely screwed up.

Ixion took a step closer. I felt a fleeting bit of triumph that Rayna’s claws had left a nasty scab on his forehead.

“I just knew you would come to see me, Sylvie. Welcome home! It is a great day that you have joined us here in the Wintervale."

Wintervale? Shit. We were deep in dark elf territory if that was the case. In spite of my trembling knees, I found my voice and my courage. “How did you know I was even here?”

He smirked. “Really? Like your so-called father, Sylvie, I’m an accomplished alchemist. I knew the moment this fog appeared that you were to blame. It was no matter, though, as it meant you were walking right into my open arms.”

Open arms, indeed. “I came here for justice, Ixion! You murdered my father—”

He cut me off. “Justice? Justice? Don’t you mean revenge, sweeting?”

A raucous laugh erupted from his throat, one of the most wicked sounds I’d ever heard, completely devoid of warmth or joy. A second later, his two cronies joined in. I almost made a retort, but then I checked my tongue. I knew what he was trying to do. He wanted me to believe that I came to take blood for blood. He wanted me to attack him out of hate. But that would be the first step on a long, dark road that only ended in misery.

I straightened my back and pushed away from the wall to face him. I pointed one finger at him. “I said what I meant. I came here to capture you and turn you over to the royal knights. Justice will be served.”

Rayna watched me intensely, and I could tell she was uncertain about what I was going to do next. Ixion’s mood soured instantly, and his laughter gave way to a deep scowl. He took another step toward me, but I didn’t back away.

“You don’t have the strength,” he spat. “You will be the one coming with me, and you will have the pleasure of watching while my companions eviscerate your little friend.”

I blinked, but it was a slow motion, as time felt like it elongated. The gaps widened between my heartbeats as adrenaline and cortisol flooded my body. A tense breath escaped my lips.

“Rayna, I know you’ve got my back.”

Ixion was only afforded a brief moment of surprise as I outstretched my left hand, and with my right I struck a piece of flint across the gem set in the ring on my thumb. A single spark flew forth towards him, but he was more prepared than I thought and dodged to the side. Still, the explosion a moment later pushed him off balance, and I felt the heat on my face.

There was no turning back, I reminded myself.

Behind me, Rayna shouted out a quick defensive incantation, and two daggers clattered against the bright blue barrier and fell to the ground. I knew I could depend on her.

After the initial barrage, Ixion regained his footing and all of us locked in a stand off. Rayna’s back touched mine, and the three dark elves paced around us, sizing us up. I kept my left hand extended, daring Ixion to find out what the other four rings were capable of. Despite my pretense at bravery, my heart felt like it was ready to climb out of my throat. I’d never done anything like this, and I was sorely worried that we were both about to die.

He moved first, uttering a low growl. I almost fell backwards into Rayna, surprised by his sudden leap into the air towards me. I acted only out of reflex; with a swift utterance of my own spell, I formed a barrier on my left arm made of blue light, not unlike the one my friend had just conjured. Ixion fell upon me, and in the same motion, he gathered the shadows around him, coalescing a long blade of concentrated darkness in his hands.

Our magic clashed and showered my face with sparks. I was actually grateful he’d chosen to attack me with his own spell rather than pulling a blade, as my shield was far more effective against it. He was strong physically, though, and his face drew dangerously close to me, so close that I could feel his foul breath on my cheeks. He clenched his sharpened teeth as he bore down upon me and forced me to one knee. It took all my might just to hold my ground.

He spoke through his teeth, his voice straining with effort. “Do you really think my brother’s playthings will save you? I studied the dark arts long before you were born, dear daughter!”

I grunted, and my arm tired. I couldn’t do this for long. Hearing him call me his daughter left a sour tang in my ears, but I wouldn’t let him bait me into doing something foolish. Nay, quite the opposite. He admitted that he had already set himself on the dark path even before he first saw me. There was some small part of me that originally held some sympathy for him, for the confusion and pain of being my biological father but watching me raised by his brother. All that was gone now. He chose this path, and I had nought to do with it.

Rayna cried out from behind me and fell. One of the other dark elves landed a blow, and I prayed it wasn’t fatal. Now that she was on the ground, though, it afforded me an opportunity. I surprised Ixion by dropping out from under him completely, and he stumbled forward, his shadow blade swinging just a hair’s breadth past my head as I hit the ground.

I lifted my left hand high and struck the middle ring with my flint. A great, thundering clang like a church bell rang out from it, focused in a wave that spread outward like ripples in a pond. The rings of sound slammed into all three of my adversaries, knocking them away and onto their backs.

While the dark elves were disoriented, I flipped over on my belly to check on my friend. “Rayna! Are you okay?”

She struggled for breath. “Asshole… kicked me… in the ribs…”

Thank the gods, I thought. “Come on, we need to get up.”

She got to her feet, but I never got the chance. Ixion pounced on my back like a wild animal, this time armed with an actual knife. He slammed the point down into the ground, straight through my left hand.

I screamed. The pain was blinding, like nothing I’d ever felt before in my life. Hot tears ran down my face and tinged my mouth with salt. He wasn’t done, though; he grabbed me by my hair and jerked my head back so that I was facing Rayna.

“I’m through with games!”—I felt spittle hit the back of my head—“Hold fast, or I’ll snap her neck.”

My vision was blurred with tears, but I saw Rayna freeze. The other two dark elves picked themselves up and grabbed her by the arms. “Wait,” I gasped. “Wait.”

I could hear the curiosity in Ixion’s voice. “What is it?”

“I’ll stay with you,” I conceded. “Let her go. If you let her go free, I won’t put up a fight. I promise.”

Rayna’s eyes turned into saucers. “Sylvie, no!”

Ixion scoffed. “How noble… and utterly pointless. You think you’re in a position to bargain? I have no intention of suffering a human to live. Struggle all you wish!” He turned his attention to his lackeys. “Kill her.”

Well, it was worth a shot. I didn’t expect it to work anyways. But the parley, brief as it was, gave me a second to gather my wits through the searing pain in my hand. Ixion made a critical mistake. He should’ve pinned my right hand.

My grasp had faltered momentarily when he stabbed me, but I recovered my flint from the dirt beneath me. I struck it against my thumb ring again, sending a spark right at the female dark elf. She shouted and jumped back as her robes burst into flames. Her outburst distracted the other elf holding Rayna from carrying out Ixion’s order.

I looked to my friend—no, the woman I cherished and held faith in—and locked eyes with her. The naked fear on her face pained me, so I forced my voice to be as even and reassuring as I could manage given the situation.

“Rayna, run. Get help. I know you can do this.”

Ixion criticized his subordinates’ incompetence with choice curses, but my gaze remained fixed on Rayna. I could tell she didn’t want to leave me behind, and her eyes overflowed with anguish. With a reluctant nod of her head, she snapped her fingers. Her body shifted and slipped from her captor’s grasp, and he tried in vain to regain his hold, only to clench a few black feathers. She spread her wings and soared into the sky.

I prayed to all the absent gods of my people: if ever you would listen, please do so now and let this little crow fly swiftly back home, carry her to safety on the wind. Aloud I shouted with the last of my strength, “Go, Rayna! Go!”

I cried out again as Ixion yanked the knife from my hand, and he hurled it with murderous precision, carried on an ill wind of his dark sorcery. I raised my face just in time to see a handful of black feathers explode in the grey mists.

Tears fell from my eyes and splashed in the mud. “Rayna… no…”

[221bshrlocked]

Fever in my Eyes

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 8.5K (yeesh)

Warnings: Smut and Angst, my two faves. Blindfold. Breeding Kink!!! Things are consensual from both sides but since this is a sex pollen fic, some of you might consider it as non/con so please proceed with caution.

Summary: Felucia was not an ideal planet to track a quarry on and you find yourself in a sticky situation when you lose sight of the Mandalorian for a moment. An unexpected standoff between Mando and the bounty leads to you escaping back to the Razor Crest, unaware of the pollen which seeped into your nostrils and past your skin. What will the bounty hunter do once he realizes what you’re asking of him? And more importantly, is it worth risking whatever relationship he has with you?

A/N: As always, I am shit with summaries. It’s a sex pollen fic yall. I apologize if my smut isn’t as good as it used to be, I am trying. Also, please please please let me know how I did in the comments. This is only my second ever Star Wars fic and I was very reluctant to post it but Pedro Pascal made me do it because I cannot stop thinking of the man so here it is. Seriously, tell me how I did and what I can do to better my writing. There will be more Din Djarin fics to come :) Enjoy. And this is not beta’d!

This was not an ideal situation, but it never was. At least not ever since you took the ‘glorified babysitter’ position offered so graciously to you months ago. A short snort made its way past your lips as you walked through the greenery and recalled how you came into caring for the child currently biting and playing with your necklace. You looked down and smiled at him, not bothering to stop him from chewing down on the colorful jewels because you knew for a fact that if Mando heard you criticizing him over something so trivial, he might scold him and make him pout. Maker, the little womp rat made it so hard to be angry with him, let alone attempt to teach him some proper manners. 

So busy playing with the Child, you didn’t notice when the bounty hunter suddenly came to a halt ahead of you. You walked right into his back and stumbled backwards, apologizing immediately when he turned around and tilted his visor to the side. You’ve grown to learn what each tild meant and at the moment, he was definitely a tad bit annoyed with you. 

“S-sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Smiling awkwardly at the man in front of you, you waited until he turned around before narrowing your eyes at the kid currently giggling at your mistake. It was amazing how often he did that, almost as if he knew he was purposely getting you in trouble for his own entertainment. 

“So you never actually told me why this bounty was so important,” your eyes searched your surroundings and marveled at the lush reaching all the way to the top of the strange trees, barely noticing the way the Mandalorian’s shoulders tensed before continuing to walk towards the edge of the forest. If there even was an edge to this jungle. Maker, this was such a weird planet, it smelled weird, it was too hot and too wet, and you sensed there was something strange with all the exotic plants beneath your feet.

When he didn’t respond, you slowly put the Child down and reached inside your satchel for a drink. As soon as the kid noticed the satchel, he waddled back to you and pulled on your cloak until you brought out his favorite blue biscuits. 

“All I’m saying is, this bounty is weird. Who hides all the way out here anyways? I mean I have never heard of this place-”

“You’ve said that about the last four quarries.” You didn’t expect him to respond and eyed him cautiously, looking between him and the kid who continued to eat his snacks and understood absolutely nothing of what you were saying. A shiver ran down your spine when you noticed the way he put the tracking fob back in his pocket before slowly reaching for the blaster pistol. Reflexes instantly kicking in, you hurried to the Child and snatched him off the ground, shushing his little coos and preparing for the worst case scenario which was always, somehow, what transpired.

Silence filled the humid air and you tried to read the bounty hunter’s body language, knowing very well he was not one to say anything unless it was perhaps a little too late for you. His visor dragged through the dried prints on the grass and before you knew it, he was taking off towards the edge of the purple and pink plants. As you followed him, you felt your throat dry much quicker than usual. Thinking it was just the extreme weather of Felucia, you decided it was best to slow down and wait until the Mandalorian caught the bounty before following his path. He’d even told you once to not follow him if you ever saw him running off because that usually meant he was close to the quarry and wouldn’t need your aid. It was a little insulting in the beginning but you were caught during a shoot-out one too many times and understood he was only trying to look out for you and the kid. 

But not even a full minute passed before you heard a sudden blast sound off from the trees above you and before you could figure out what was happening, a heavy weight landed on top of you, and you watched in horror as the kid flew out of your hand into a nearby puddle. 

Trying your hardest to grab the blaster on your hip, you cried out in pain when you felt talons digging into your arms and twist them back. You didn’t know what else to do, eyes scanning the trees in hopes of finding the Mandalorian rushing towards you. But when you realized he was nowhere around, you looked at the kid and prayed he was alright. When you saw his large eyes blinking a few times before struggling to sit up, you knew there was only one outcome. 

“Make a sound, and I will feast on your organs.” The stench of the creature filled your nostrils and you sobbed quietly at the implications behind his words. Taking one last look at the kid, you took a deep breath and pushed off the ground as hard as you can.

“MANDO!” As soon as you screamed his name, you felt three talons break the skin of your shoulder blades and drag all the way down to your lower back. You felt hot tears roll down your cheeks and hated how distressed the Child looked. Almost on queue, he was standing up and trying to waddle your way, refusing to listen to your little objections as you tried to tell him to run the opposite direction. 

Before you could dwell on the many different ways you were about to die, you heard a large blast sound through the forest, throwing the creature off of you against one of the trees with a loud cracking noise. You looked up just in time to see the familiar glint of beskar coming closer through the greenery and as you tried to stand up, you felt the same weight behind you again, twisting the talons into your hair and pulling you to your feet. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat when you felt the edge of the hunting knife against your throat. Eyes unable to focus on the figures in front of you, you blinked a few times and realized there were too many sensations hitting you. But the one seemingly outdoing all the others was the growing wet patch on your back and you soon felt sharp pain growing against your skin where the strange liquid rolled down your skin. You weren’t sure if it was blood or if it was drool from the thing behind you and a part of you didn’t care because what difference would it make. 

“Should have known you were the only crazy one to come here...come after me.” A slithering whisper made its way past your ears and your knees buckled as you started to feel faint. But then the creature held you up roughly and pressed the knife harder against your throat, warning you against falling to the ground.

“Your problem is with me T'doshok. Let her go.” You vaguely saw the Child walk towards his father, relief washing over you when you knew he was safe once more. At some point, you’ve come to care more for him than for yourself and you were never sure if it was because he was so precious or because of how important he was to the Mandalorian. 

“Aren’t we past formalities Mando? At least do me the honor of saying my name...old friend.” 

Your gaze immediately shifted from the kid to the beskar-clad man standing in front of him. So they knew each other? Why didn’t he tell you? Did he still not trust you to know such matters until now?

“ Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh.” You heard the Mandalorian growl through the visor and even though you didn’t understand what he said, you knew it was anything but friendly. Wait, that meant the T'doshok behind you understood Manod’a. 

A sob escaped your throat when you felt the bounty laugh behind you at the warning. 

“You can’t possibly mean that Mando.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a hint of surprise etched in the voice growling in your ear.

“Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas...believe me.” The conscious part of your brain wondered why he continued to speak in Mando’a. He knew you didn’t understand much of it…

The silence was almost deafening and you weren’t sure what was happening until your boss stepped forward and tilted his helmet to the side,

“Gedet'ye.” The modulated voice sounded strange to your ears. He was only ever this softly-spoken with the Child.

“Well, this is unexpected. In that case-” You didn’t have time to react, watching as the world twirled around you before you fell among the purple and pink flowers you were so impressed by earlier. A strange scent hit your nostrils but you couldn’t dwell on it for more than a few seconds. Willing yourself to stand up, you pushed off the ground as soon as you saw the kid waddling towards you. As soon as he tried to walk behind you, you knew what he was trying to do and picked him up before he could do anything.

“No little guy...you- I can’t...I need to make sure you’re okay.” You could faintly hear the sound of blasters going off for a few moments and by the time you managed to take the gun out of your holster, you saw the Mandalorian standing above an unconscious reptilian creature. So that’s what a T'doshok is…

Slowly making your way towards them, you blinked away the tears and wiped your eyes to try and clear your sight. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” You shivered at the tone Mando was using with you. Dank Ferrik, you must have hit your head pretty hard if you thought the Mandalorian was worried about anyone but the green little thing in your arms.

“I- yes. I’ll be f-fine. Just-” You hadn’t meant to react the way you have but as soon as you felt his gloved hand touch your neck, you jerked away from him and held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer to you. Mando was shocked at your reaction and was glad to have something to hide behind. A few seconds passed in silence and you were still staring at him with wide open eyes and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were afraid of him. It occurred to him that it wasn’t shock that beat at his heart but a deep and twisting sense of hurt. And when he scanned your body language, he could tell you were trembling in front of him and the last thing he wanted to do was to give you another reason to fear him.

“Can you walk back to the-”

“Yes. I’ll- fu...I’ll take the kid.” Before he could say anything else, you were clutching the Child closer to your chest and walking back to the Razor Crest. You searched your mind to try and understand why you reacted the way you have to his touch but couldn’t find anything to explain the sharp pain striking through your insides. It was too much too quickly. Even though it wasn’t his skin, you felt neurons firing simultaneously as soon as he trailed his fingers down your neck. You hoped to the gods he wasn’t offended by your reaction because the last thing you needed was to drive him further away from you.

Barely making it back to the ship, you managed to go up the ladder and put the Child back in his crib in the cockpit before shutting it and locking the door behind you. Scrambling inside your mind for a moment, you turned to the ramp and walked towards the hatch before pushing in the code until it sealed shut. 

In an instant, everything touching your skin was too rough and incredibly heavy. Before you could think twice about it, you were violently stripping out of your clothes, throwing them to the ground on your way to the refresher. As soon as you walked into the small room, you turned on the cold water and sighed heavily as it beat down on your heated skin. 

“Not enough…” Crying to the empty room, you made sure the hot water wasn’t on before leaning back against the cool tiles of the walls. But no sooner than that were you hissing and pushing off of the wall. You completely forgot about the open gashes on your back and the shooting pain was almost instantaneous when you remembered just how large the wound was.

As you dwelled on the last hour or so, you felt your legs give out on you and before you knew it, you were sliding down to the floor. Eyes shutting slowly, you fell to the side and let the cold water run down your form. And as hard as you tried to stay awake, you couldn’t help your mind’s request as it begged to rest. You let sleep wash over you, the last sound ringing in your ear was Mando’s worried voice asking if you were okay.

Back outside, the bounty hunter was fuming with anger, not caring about how oddly violent he became with the quarry. He was never one to beat an unconscious being but something took over him when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. As he pushed his way through the forest, he thought back to the way you looked up at him with those innocent eyes. And he hated himself for the way his body reacted to your fragile body.

“Ni’duraa.” He whispered to himself when he saw the Crest come into view, continuing to pull the T'doshok until he walked up the ramp and onto the ship. It was awfully quiet but he decided to freeze the reptile before he walked around to look for you. Minutes later, he was ascending the ladder to the cockpit, unlocking it and reaching for the crib on his pilot chair. When he opened it and saw the kid cooing in his sleep, he shut it once more and left to look for you. It was strange how he couldn’t hear a single sound. You were normally talkative after a mission, and as he placed his weapons back on the wall, he noticed your clothes lying haphazardly on the ground. Mando sighed heavily as he picked them up, flushing violently when he saw the last two items leading into the refresher. Strange, you were never one to throw things around.

Not wanting to bother you anymore, he placed the clothes on your cot and ascended to the cockpit once more, wanting to leave Felucia as quickly as possible because he knew how the locals became when uninvited guests stayed for too long. As they left the sector, the Mandalorian couldn’t help but question why you were still in the refresher. You’d arrived long before him and it took him a while to navigate through the jungle because of how heavy the bounty was. 

Putting the ship on auto-pilot, he made his way to the refresher but not before noticing a strange scent fill his nostrils. Looking down at his hands, he noticed a bright purple powder covering his gloves and as soon as he brought his hands up to the edge of the visor, he was hit with many different sensations, all of which he could distinctively place back to you. Your honey-scented soap, the orange tea he saw you constantly drinking, the smell of your sweat on a particularly hot day when you tried to fix the ship...

“Fuck…” He swore before wiping his gloves against his cloak and approached the refresher. 

Knocking on the door, he waited a few moments for a response and breathed impatiently when  you didn’t bother to say anything.

“Open up, Cyar'ika.” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly using such endearing words to call for you and when he was met with more silence, he groaned in annoyance before warning you. “If you don’t open the door now, I will break it.” Normally, you would have clapped back with a snarky comment that would get his blood boiling but he knew something was wrong when you remained quiet. Throwing propriety out the window, he kicked the door open and walked in, eyes searching the small room until they fell on your unconscious form under the water. 

“Maker,” kneeling to the ground, his heart clenched when he saw a viscous, black liquid oozing out of the gash on your back. How did he not notice this when you left? Quickly reaching for the left knob, he swore when he noticed the hot water wasn’t even on and almost broke the other one as he tried to switch it off. Why would you take such a cold shower when you weren’t even on a desert planet? Wiping your hair away from your face, the Mandalorian tried to wake you and began to feel anxiety seep into his clothes along with the water cascading down your body when he realized this was much worse than he thought. He took off his gloves and pushed you onto your back, trying his hardest to avert his gaze from your naked skin as he bent down and carried you out of the refresher. 

Opening his quarters, he laid you on his covers before grabbing the anesthetic above him and turning you on your stomach to care for the wounds. As he sprayed your back, he noticed the way you groaned in your sleep and forced himself to attend to the task at hand. He hoped to the gods there wasn’t any poison in the wound before he grabbed the bacta spray and slowly made his way down the skin of your back. He sighed in relief when he noticed your skin slowly shifting and sealing itself, trying to calm his increasing heart rate when he remembered just how fragile and naked you were beneath him. Some sick part of him was attracted to you even in such a state and he wished more than anything for you to be awake and willing to-

This is not how he pictured seeing you for the first time.

When you started shifting beneath him, he kneeled away from you and covered your legs, continuing to care for the wound on your lower back until it started to close as well. By the time he put all the medication back in its place, you were turning around and moaning in discomfort and Mando realized it was because you were probably still freezing from the cold water. Taking off his cloak, he barely draped it on your sleeping form when you pushed it off and turned on your back. He felt the fabric of his pants tighten around his crotch and looked away from you.

“Please...too- too much. I can’t-” He couldn’t understand what you were trying to say and moved to place the cloak on you again, head instantly turning to your face when you smacked the offensive object away from him and began to trail your fingers down your skin. He hadn’t meant to and before he could stop himself, he was watching as your fingers made their way down to your hips before dipping into the space between your thighs.

Maker be damned, how were you so glistening and flushed?

“M-Mando?” His eyes snapped to your face and watched as you spread your legs until he positioned between them. “Mando I need...you. I need you please, this is- it hurts. I can’t...it hurts so much. Please h-help me.” Your voice was filled with dangerous requests, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants when he saw the way you reached for his thighs and dragged your nails down to his knees. 

“Cyare, you don’t know what you’re asking.” He forced himself to keep his gaze on your face and nowhere else. But with every passing moment, the need to look at where he’d dreamt of feasting on for so many nights outgrew his respect for you. 

“Mando...I want you, n-need you...please, I promise I’ll be good. So so good for you, just- oh maker I-”

The small part of his brain that wasn’t ruled by his pulsing cock finally figured out what was happening and he growled as he pushed off of you and out to your cot. Grabbing your shirt, he turned it around and saw the same purple powder that was on his gloves coloring the whole front of your cloak. He recalled back to what happened when he left you and remembered where the T'doshok pushed you before he attacked him. 

Of course. The pollen from the spore plants.

Which meant that-

“Oh fuck.” The Mandalorian felt his insides churn when he realized what was taking place not ten feet away from him, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he knew what could potentially happen to you if your...needs weren't properly met. With reluctance, he made his way back to his sleeping cot and felt his chest tighten when he saw what you were doing.

You were on your side, fingers rubbing furiously at your soaking core and whimpering at the consistent and harsh touches passing through your nerves. But it wasn’t the mess you were making that caught his attention. No, it was the fact that you had his cowl twisted between your thighs and around your back. He watched in awe as you pushed your face into the rough material, taking in deep breaths to try and fill your nostrils with his scent. Taking one step closer to you, his eyes bore into your heated skin and he choked on air when he saw you lick at the hood of the cloak before taking your fingers out of your cunt and replacing them with his cowl. He couldn’t believe his eyes and the thought of wearing it around with your scent sticking to it broke him. 

Mando looked around the ship for a few moments in an attempt to think of what he should do. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he approached your slowly and gasped when he met your eyes and saw the way you were looking at him.

“M-mando! Please...fuck me. I- I need you to...don’t c-care how. I promise I’ll do anything, wh-whatever you want...ple-please.” Chills ran down your spine when you forced yourself to throw the cowl away. Turning around, you laid on your stomach and took a deep breath before raising your lower half off of the covers. As you rested your head on your arm and bit into your wrist, you looked back to the beskar-clad man, silently pleading with him while swaying your ass in the air. 

“Gota'la…” Before the Mandalorian could talk himself out of it, he was kicking his heavy shoes away and making his way closer to you. A part of him screamed that of the two of you, he was the one less affected by the pollen and was technically responsible for whatever transpired next. And he was close to asking you if you were sure you wanted to take this further if it weren’t for the way you reached beneath you and faintly trailed your fingers through your soaking slit. 

“Ad'ika, gar cuyir mesh'la.” He was speaking to himself more than to you and smiled to himself when he noticed your cunt clenching around nothing as soon as his words filled the silence. “Sweet girl, you like it when I speak to you in Mando’a?” You shivered at his tone and found it difficult to respond to him, especially when you could tell he was definitely not looking at you but at the mess you were making on his bed. A loud cry rang through the small room when you felt his hand come down on your backside before squeezing the flushed skin. 

“I asked you a question Cyar'ika.” His deep and modulated voice only made it worse and you found yourself nodding at him before whispering out a low ‘yes.’

“K'olar,” you squealed when you felt Mando twirl your around onto your back before pulling your naked body flush to his still-clothed one. You were about to beg him to just fuck you already when he shoved two of his fingers into your mouth to shush you. You moaned shamelessly around his fingers, whining even louder when you realized you were sucking on his calloused skin and not on the gloves he almost never took off unless he was alone. 

“You’re going to come just like this sweet girl.” Mando manhandled you until you were straddling one of his thighs, growling impatiently when you tried to push yourself away from him. His arm tightened around your waist, pushing you down on the beskar cuisse until you finally understood what he wanted from you.

“C-cold…”

“Be a good girl and drench my armor little one. Let me walk around with the memory of your cunt dripping on me.” His words hit too close to your somewhat aware mind and you chose to dwell on their meaning later. Softly inching your hands onto his shoulders, you fisted your fingers into his shirt to support your weight before dragging yourself against the rugged and cool beskar in between your thighs. As you threw your head back and sighed in pleasure, Mando couldn’t help but squeeze the heated skin of your hip, knowing very well there would soon be fingerprint marks wherever he touched you. 

“That’s it...could smell how much you want me Cyare. Can’t believe you’re in my arms...look at you, using my thighs to get off.” You barely managed to turn your attention to him, lips still enclosed around his fingers and biting down on them the more he shoved them in your mouth.

“Mando I- I need to-” Before you could finish your request, Mando was wrapping the other arm around hips and violently dragging you against his cuisse, looking down to watch as your juices dripped on his beskar armor. 

“What a sight…” He groaned and turned his gaze towards you again just in time to watch you fall apart on him. He marveled at how quickly he brought you to pleasure and figured it must have been the pollen making you extra sensitive to his ministrations. Wanting to stretch out your pleasure for as long as possible, he threw you back onto his bed and pushed your thighs open, not giving you a chance to question him as he shoved two fingers into your cunt and massaged that spongy spot deep inside you. You arched your back and grasped at his arms, barely managing to look at the visor just as he increased pressure and fucked you with his fingers. 

“M-MANdo oh g-gods-”

“Scream my name sweet girl, and only my name.” Had you actually listened to what he said, you would have sassed back at him and told him you didn’t actually know his name. But you couldn’t care less at the moment, digging your fingers into his forearms as you came around his thick fingers, repeatedly praying his “name” until you couldn’t remember anything else.

“Mesh'la...you’re so tight and warm for me...that’s it, squeeze my fingers like the good little girl you are.” Mando watched as you came around his fingers, his eyes not knowing where to look and wishing he could taste the sweat sticking on your neck as you whimpered beneath him. 

He heard it before he felt it, moaning in blind lust as he took in the sight beneath him. Your legs shook violently as you, quite literally, drenched his thighs and blankets with your cum and Mando didn’t know if he wanted to lick you dry or stuff his nose into your pulsating cunt. 

“Sweet fucking darling, look at the mess you’ve made,” you shivered when you felt his fingers leave your slit, blinking hazily and turning to look at where he was staring. When you saw what he was referring to, you quickly covered yourself and tried to move away from him, embarrassment washing over you when you saw the way he was so obviously staring at the wetness dripping down your. But Mando was much quicker than you, grabbing your thighs and pushing them wide open again before laying in between them and dragging his crotch across your sensitive clit. 

“Never hide from me,” you nodded instantly and the Mandalorian would never admit feeling his chest fill with pride at the lust-filled fear he instilled into you with only a few words. Your chest heaved as you continued to look into the visor, almost whimpering when you were met with incredibly dazed eyes and messy hair staring right back at you. It was quiet for a few moments, the only proof that Mando was very much aware of your state being the hardness twitching against your sensitive cunt. 

Mando wasn’t sure what to do with you. He wanted to simultaneously fuck you into the next system and lick every inch of you until you couldn’t take it anymore. “I can smell your cunt Ad'ika...can almost taste your neediness.”

“Ma-mando I- I want you to r-” You felt so naked beneath him, wishing he’d at least take off his clothes before this went any further. Not a single care was given to his helmet and it was out of the question to even attempt and ask him if he could take it off. You just wanted to feel his skin sliding against yours as he fucked you. Nothing else mattered. Just his scarred and sweaty muscles contracting and trailing over your own. 

“What is it sweet girl?” His voice felt like a thousand needles piercing your soul and you didn’t realize where your hands were moving until you felt him roughly grab your wrists and slam them above your head. You could tell there was a shift in the air around you and ceased to breathe when you no longer heard his moans. 

“This is the way.” Those four words hurt you more than they should have. 

“I- I would never ask you to...I swear I just wanted- I wanted to touch you. Not take it off...please I-” Mando felt his heart shatter into a million pieces because somehow, even in your most inebriated state, you respected him. You put him before yourself. And he ceased to breathe when he sat up and watched as you grabbed at his arms and refused to let go.

“N-no don’t go...I need you- d-don’t leave me pl-” Your breathing was erratic and the Mandalorian feared you’d spiral into shock. Without thinking much of his next moves, he grabbed the nearest item of clothing and ripped a small piece of it, returning to rest between your knees and not giving you a choice as he wrapped the band around your eyes and tied it in the back. You trailed your fingers over the band and pulled away instantly when you felt his the hair on his wrist. 

“I’m sorry…” Mando thought of your actions so far and knew in his heart that if there was ever another who’d look upon him, it would be you. Softly taking your hands in his, he pulled them towards his helmet and rested them at the side.

“T-take it off.”

“I can’t...Mando, you don’t have to- I swear I was only-” As hard as it was to say those words, you wanted him to know that he owed you nothing. And you hated how selfish you were being in that moment because the man was trying to tell you something and you were only worrying about yourself and how much your cunt ached for him. You were so close to pushing him on his back and taking your pleasure from him but something told you it would be worth the wait. 

“Mesh'la, I want you to.” You always marveled at how much the Mandalorian could convey in only a few words and shouldn’t have been surprised when you felt just how much he was willing to put his trust in you. Not wanting to scare him, you slowly pulled on the visor until it was completely off, remaining motionless as he took it from your hands and placed it on the floor. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with your hands so you kept them to the side, fisting your fingers into the blankets to prevent you from reaching out and touching his face. 

Mando could tell you wanted to touch him. You even told him yourself. So he made the decision for you and leaned down, passing his lips over your forehead and smiling down at you when he heard you suck in a breath. You gasped when you felt his beard tickle your cheeks. He had a beard. Of course he had a beard. But as he continued to leave kisses over your face, you realized it wasn’t really a full-grown beard. It didn’t matter in the end because he was driving you insane with every small pass of his plump lips near where you wanted him.

As he finally molded his lips with yours, you felt him pull your hands up to his face and lay them on his cheeks, the groan escaping his throat letting you know he enjoyed you touching him as much as you, perhaps even more. The kiss grew frantic the more you explored his naked skin, and you couldn’t hold back the long moan that erupted into his mouth as soon as you felt him suck on your tongue. When you pulled on his soft hair, Mando couldn’t help but growl into the heated kiss, not caring for how rough he was being as he grabbed and squeezed your thighs. 

But the kiss was over as soon as it began and you whined after him when you felt him pull away from you. You felt your fingers ascend to your face but remembered why the Mandalorian blindfolded you in the first place. Not wanting to lose his trust, you pushed your arms beneath your back to prevent any temptations from taking place. Unbeknownst to you, Mando was watching every little muscle twitch on your nude form and he almost devoured you right then and there when he saw you quickly moving your fingers from your face. 

He was amazed by how caring you were even when you didn’t hold any proper level of the right consciousness. Anyone else would have removed the cloth and blamed the pollen. But not you. 

You were special. 

Refusing to waste any more time, Mando made quick work of the beskar armor, not caring about the mess he was making just outside his room. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, smiling when he noticed you shivering beneath his gaze. He was on you as soon as he deposited his long-sleeve and pants, devouring your mouth and digging his fingers into your waist as he rutted against you. 

“Ner-” 

The possessiveness was almost palpable and he surprised even himself at the single syllable. Since when was he like this?

“Mando,” you whispered his name as you wrapped your arms around his back and pulled him flush against you, sighing in relief when you felt the hair of his chest tickle your nipples. Mando noticed your reaction and instantly descended on your heaving chest, biting and licking and pinching at the hardened buds until you begged him to slow down.

“Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. You’re so fucking delicious.” The way he effortlessly switched between his mother tongue and Basic shouldn’t have turned you on this much and yet you were. 

“Fuck me.” Your words were dripping with desperation and the Mandalorian wasn’t able to hold any longer. He wanted to take his time with you, commit every little curve to memory. Memorize what made your breath hitch and what made you sigh. 

But the request ended all of his curiosity and before you knew it, you felt him roughly pull down on his boxer briefs. You flushed when you heard the sound of his hand jerking his cock, mouth falling wide open when it jutted at your inner thighs and you felt how fucking hard and thick it was. 

“What will it be sweet girl? You want me to make love to you,” he paused for a moment and took advantage of your distracted expression, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet slit and biting his lips when he felt you arch against him at the simple yet filthy movement. “Or fuck you like I own you…like you’re mine.”

Hearing him say ‘fuck’ in such a vulgar tone did it for you and you didn’t know what to do with yourself except widen your legs more for him and grab the bed sheets beneath you.

“F-fuck me like you own me Mando...ruin me. Take what you want and- oh maker you’re so- so...fu- please, u-use me however you want. Just- I need your cock. Need to cum on your cock...can’t wait anym-”

Mando was sure he broke you with his words, watching in awe as you begged and begged until you couldn’t breathe anymore. There was no warning, no asking if you were ready for him. There was just your wet cunt teasing him until he couldn’t bear the thought of not being deep inside your pussy.

Resting his head against yours, he took his painfully hard cock in his hand and shoved it past your wet lips, letting out a deep growl as he felt you scratch his back.

“Mando, Mando, M-mando…”

You didn’t find the strength to think of a proper sentence to express what you were feeling so you opted to pray his name over and over again. He was shaking above you and you knew instantly he was trying his hardest not to break you.

“Take what you want- I...I won’t break.” 

Just hearing you say those words to him almost made him cum right then and there. You were returning the trust he gave you and he knew there was no way of putting this moment behind him even if he tried. 

Pulling out until only the head of his cock was splitting you open, Mando bucked his hips violently back into you, whispering the filthiest promises into your ears as he set a rough pace that had you seeing worlds you didn’t even know existed. 

“So, fucking, tight...how are you so wet and tight for me Cyare?” It took you a while to realize you were hearing his voice without the modulator of his mask. How had you not noticed how beautifully sinful it was when he first took it off? You wanted to tell him how much you loved hearing his thick and smooth voice. You wanted to kiss down his neck and bite onto his shoulders. You wanted to push him down and force his cock inside your throat. 

So much. You wanted so much. 

But you couldn’t find your voice in that moment. Not when he was railing into you with such an unforgiving force. 

“Made for me...made to take my cock. Such a sweet fucking girl- ah.” You should have known Mando would not be the quiet type in bed. He was a man of few words during his day-to-day life so of course he would take this chance and spill out his innermost thoughts. But it surprised you nonetheless considering how downright dirty his moans and whispers were. And you were sure he was as filthy, if not more, when he continued to speak in Mando’a. 

With every passing moment, you felt a piece of your heart split from your chest and slowly make its way into his hands. He was branding you, his cock reaching so deep inside you that you were sure you could feel him right below your navel if you only moved your hands against your skin. But you couldn’t afford to let go of him, not when he was using you just as you requested. 

“Mando you...maker, you’re filling me so- so good. I- please, can I cum? I want t- to cum. Been so good for you. Need to-” The chuckle that left his lips was sweet music to your ears until you realized he might be laughing at how pathetic you were. 

“Fucking gods Ad'ika...fill you up? Is that what you want sweet girl? You want me to- fuck, fuck...want me to fill you up with my cum? You’re killing me baby.” His voice was hoarse and he realized his mistake as soon as the words left his lips. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away from him. It was his deeped, darkest secret. He swore he would go to his grave with it. Too often he thought of breeding you, fucking you and fill you up until his cum leaked out of you and you couldn’t move. Too many nights he went to sleep thinking of what it would feel like to wake up with your sweet cunt still wrapped around his cock. What he’d give to ensure not a single drop went to waste. 

Too many days were spent dreaming of giving that little womp rat a sibling to run around with. 

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed by him and he was about to slow down when he felt your hands grab his ass and push you closer to him.

“Want your cum Mando...want you to cum inside me, fill me up until I can’t breathe...oh fuck, until I can’t feel anything but your cum hot and deep inside me. Fuck a baby inside me Mando I- oh oh gods I-” Mando couldn’t hold back anymore, violently pushing his cock inside you and swallowing your moans every time they echoed just a little louder than he preferred. He groaned in ecstasy when he looked down and saw pure bliss etched on your soft features. You clenched around him, thighs vibrating around his hips as he somehow drove into you harder and carried you past the point of pleasure. You didn’t know you were coming around him until you heard him whisper ‘good girl’ in your ears. And it sent a jolt down his spine when he continued to rut against you and fill the ship with the heavy sounds of skin slapping on skin. It was almost painful, the way he didn’t let up and continued to rail into you without a single care. 

“Mine...mine, fucking mine. That’s it sweet girl, feel me. Feel me marking your fucking soul.” He was a mumbling mess at this point and he wasn’t sure if it was because you were panting like an animal in heat or because of the way you desperately licked and kissed and nipped at his neck and lips. 

“Yes, I’m yours Mando. Yours...always have been.”

The heaviness of your words struck his heart instantly, and he shoved his cock so deep inside you he swore he could feel your heartbeat. Mando rested his head in the crook of your neck, biting harder than intended on your shoulder as hot spurts of cum coated your inner walls. You feel a sudden warmth wash over you and dug your nails into his ass as he thrust once, twice, three times before stilling completely. 

The two of you continued to breathe heavily against each other and when Mando moved his knees to get comfortable between your thighs, you unintentionally squeezed his cock and felt him twitch inside you.

“Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika.” It was such a silent comment and you knew this was much different than everything he’d said thus far. Something about his tone told you he was spilling his heart out and you wished more than anything to ask him what he was saying but knew you shouldn’t...wouldn’t. Not unless you wanted him to continue and speak to you.

You were brought back from your thoughts when the Mandalorian kissed your lips, and you felt yourself drowning in his scent when he rubbed your hair and nudged your jaw with his nose.

“Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar.” Slowly, Mando wrapped his arms around you and rolled you over until you were practically sleeping on top of him. The two of you hissed when you felt his cock leave your heat and Mando wished more than anything to spread your thighs and watch as his cum leaked down your thighs. No worries, he’d do that later.

Later…

Oh what he would give for there to be a ‘later’ with you. 

The thought of not being able to have you again snapped him back to reality and he realized there was a very high chance this would never happen again because as far as he knew, this was only a consequence of the pollen.

Not wanting to bother you with his insecurities, Mando pushed your head down onto his chest and rubbed your shoulders, telling you to get some rest and to not worry about anything else. 

Hours later, Mando was waking up to a soft noise emitting from beneath him. As he rubbed his eyes and took in his surroundings, he looked down and noticed you were still very much naked and cold next to him. Pulling the covers over you, he allowed his eyes to feed on your curves before meeting your face. Dread filled his heart as soon as he saw the wet patch on the band around your eyes. 

You must have woken up and realized what happened. A thousand different scenarios flew through his mind and Mando knew that almost each one of them was caused by your regret of sleeping with him. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” When you didn’t respond and sniffed loudly, Mando knew he had to brace for the worst. 

“Please...are you hurt anywhere?” Hearing his pleas was what did it for you and you threw yourself into his chest. 

“Mando I- I took advantage of you. I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t know what was happening...I promise I- please don’t tell me to leave. I can’t leave you or the Child. I- I promise I’ll pretend this never happened. Just- don’t leave me. I can’t bear the thought of living without you...without him.”

Of all the things the Mandalorian thought he would hear from you, those were certainly the last to make the list. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky with you? Not only did you refuse to take the blindfold off when you woke up but you genuinely thought you’d forced him into sleeping with you.

“Cyare, it hurts to see you cry. Come here.” Mando sat up against the cold metal wall, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the covers around you so you weren’t exposed to the cold air of the ship. 

“You didn’t take advantage of me sweet girl. If anything, I- I should be the one apologizing. I was not hit with the effects of the pollen as much as you have been and...and I should have refused your pleas. But you looked so beautiful, Cyar'ika. You prayed for me to have you and I- I was selfish. I was selfish and I couldn’t stop myself from sinking into you. Branding you. Being with you.” To say you were surprised by his words would have been the understatement of the century. 

The Mandalorian wanted you. He wanted to have you. He wanted to be with you. 

“I-I’ve wanted you for so long...spent so many nights dreaming of being with you.” You confessed to him before you could think of the meaning behind your words and you were met with a deep sigh and a kiss on the lips almost immediately. 

“How long Mesh'la?” 

“S-since Tatooine.” 

Mando’s heart skipped a beat at the short yet direct response. He’s only ever been to Tatooine once with you, months and months ago when he needed Peli to fix something on the Crest for him. You hadn’t even been with their group for three weeks then. So busy thinking of all the ways he could have had you since then, Mando didn’t notice how the silence affected you until your fingers twitched against his chest. 

“Mando?”

“That was eons ago.” It was more of a comment than a question and you weren’t sure if he was angry or surprised. 

“Is...is that bad?”

“Bad? No Ad'ika, not bad.” When he didn’t offer more of an explanation, you rested your head on his chest and continued to draw circles on his naked abdomen. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in each others arms but the faint sounds of cooing and laughter snapped you out of your haze and you realized you should probably get up and make something for the kid to eat. Before you could move away from him however, Mando was bringing you closer to him and kissing you again. You knew you could never tire from feeling his lips mold and pass over yours and you welcomed his tongue with as much vigor as you could muster up.

As he pulled away, you smiled at him and wished more than anything to be able to see him smile back at you. 

“Din.”

“Hmm?”

“My name...it’s Din. Din Djarin.” 

Mando could see the exact moment you registered what he just said and he smirked to himself at how pretty you looked when something shocking took place. 

“Din.” You repeated his name silently, afraid this would all be a dream and that he didn’t actually just tell you something that was so important to him.

“You didn’t have to tell me…” You traced his jaw with your fingers and marveled at how oddly soft his beard was. 

“I didn’t, but I wanted to.” Din was silent for a few seconds before he flipped you beneath him and took hold of your wrists before slamming them harshly above your head. “I wanted you to know it, Mesh'la, so you could scream it the next time I fucked this sweet and tight cunt.” 

For a man of few words, he sure knew what to say to get you worked up again.

Translations: 

Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh - I will kill you if you do not leave her.

Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas. - I do not care about the credits.

Gedet'ye. - Please.

Ad'ika - Little one

Ni’duraa! - You disgust me.

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Cyare - Beloved

Gota'la - Maker.

Gar cuyir mesh'la. - You are beautiful. 

K'olar - Come here.

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Ner - Mine.

Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. - I can’t...hold back.

Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika. - I fear you, darling.

Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar. - You are too important to me. I can’t lose you.

[what-the--curtains]

The Salt and the Sea

Chapter 11 - The Knife Edge

(Finnick Odair x bi!f!reader)

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Summary: Time warps, and reality melds into dreams. Between torture and physiological experimentation you can no longer trust yourself. Will you inability to separate fact from fiction end up costing you everything, or will you manage to beat Snow at his own game?

Authors Note: Whoop a new chapter! Sorry it took so long existential crisis hit hard this week!!! Thank you for sticking with me, this chapters a lil brutal but theres fluff to come soon💕💕 let me know if you want to be tagged😊

Tw: Torture, psychological manipulation, brain washing, scars, starvation, drugging, physical assault

Word count: 3.9k

Tagged: @tomihoeka @abaker74

Playlist

Outfits

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The blood drips slowly down your chin as you're dragged back towards the basement, ankles hitting against every step. Bright light and the familiar smell of death confronts you as rough hands push you into your cell. Having fallen to your knees, you look over your shoulder.  Your laurel glimmers momentarily in the fluorescent lighting before the door closes leaving you in the dark. You chuckle as you push up from the ground, wiping the dirt and blood from the once pristine dress. Wandering around you trace you hand against the cool metallic walls, eyes adjusting to the darkness. You stop, raising your hand, pausing momentarily before tapping loudly against the metal. It takes a moment, but a weak tap echoes back in the darkness. Alone no more. Pressing your back into the wall you slide down to the floor and rest your head back, as a shiver runs up your spine. 

Rest was necessary if survival was to ensue, so you close your eyes, but they open quickly as screams pierce the air. They never falter over the course of the hour, only stopping when you hear the adjoining cell open. Radio silence offers another opportunity to sleep, but a sudden influx of light fills your room, and no matter how hard you squeezed your eyes you could not block it out. Two days pass, the lack of food or water makes you wonder if Snow really did intend to kill you.  Though there were faster, more efficient ways to kill you than dehydration. Loss of nutrients and sleep leaves you feeling muddied, and your thoughts become increasingly abstract as the hours pass. Fleeting thoughts ponder why you'd remained untouched, but you find no reason for it. Perhaps Snow believed mere deprivation of basic comforts would break you. Perhaps he’d always underestimated you. Perhaps that was your way out.

You jolt as the door opens and a faceless guard throws a metal canister in your direction. Lazily, you crook your neck to avoid it. It rings out against the wall before falling to the floor with a thud. You look at it, then to the guard and shake your head only leaning forward once the door is closed. you doubted the canister was benign, but death by dehydration was not the way you wanted to go. You unscrew the lid and gulp down the fluid. Your moment of relief disrupted as the walls around you begin to melt. The warped sound of doors sliding open and approaching abstract figures are the last things you know before blacking out. You wake up in your cell, your gown replaced with a loosely fitted, pale grey jumpsuit. You roll up the sleeves and trace along your arms noting the faint injection marks. You strip naked and examine yourself for any damage. Scrapes and bruises on your ankles, and a fresh surgical scar running vertically up your side. You trace along the ridge, that's what you get for taking from the Capitol. You redress and return to the floor bringing your knees into your chest as you try and piece together the gap in your memory. 

“Are you ready to comply?” the guard asks, tray in hand. You stand and walk towards them, stopping a metre away and spitting, the glob landing at their feet. They drop the tray food spilling out as it clammers to the ground. You walk past it and press back into the wall staring at the guard who closes the door. You refuse the food as long as possible, but survival outweighs better judgement. You eat slowly, intermittently hoping to keep any side effects to a minimum. You feel the effects take hold and you brace yourself as the world around you begins to spin. This time you wake in a chair, arms and legs restrained despite the drug induced paralysis keeping them still.  A screen and blurry image in line with your vision. 

“Put her back under, it won't take otherwise,” a distorted voice drawls, and the screen blurs as you sink back into unconsciousness. You drift between images of men in grey suits, and bright flashing lights projecting images of your past. Your house, the ocean, your family, Shri hanging. Your family is hanging beside her. You shoot up, sweat pouring down your brow, the heat from the lights suddenly unbearable. You tap against the wall, and someone taps back. You steady yourself. 

“Shri is dead. Snow killed her. My family is alive, they are safe.” you repeat over and over, until they once again become true. Such images would plague your dreams for an extended period of time the length of which you could not decipher. A week perhaps? Maybe more. Time did not exist down here. Not beneath the constant glare of the lights. Every night new images would weasel their way into your subconscious, ones seemingly planted during your blackouts. It started with Shri, then your family, dead behind the eyes, cool and uncaring. It was how you knew they were lies, despite their increasing clarity. So clear they felt like memories, dangerous ones you continued to dispel as you rocked back and forth in your cell.

You identify the drug in your food as tracker venom or at least some variation or it. You’d experienced the hallucinogenic effects once before after mistakenly eating a dish laced with it. Its recreational use among the Capitols elites was well known, well at least to everyone but you when you had first arrived. You don’t remember much of the experience, though Finnick had told you he’d stopped you from idly placing hor d'oeuvres into passerbys pockets. He’d intervened just before you stuffed a deviled egg into the governor of finance’s pocket, reasoning that he needed it back. When pressed for an answer apparently you had stated because it has his exact likeness. This was early on in your friendship, still tenuous, but that was the first time you’d seen him genuinely smile. The drug's effects then weren't all together displeasing, but at a higher dose they were increased ten fold. They were now impacting your memories, disrupting them and morphing them into images that tried to convince you of an alternate truth. If Snow was trying to disrupt your memory of your family  it wouldn’t work, you loved them, and they loved you that at least was real. As real a memory as you had. 

Your refusal to break leaves your captors scouring deep into your subconscious, trying to find a weak spot to exploit.  Your nightmares shift from home and you’re plunged back into the arena. The concrete love you knew with your family was lost, all relationships surrounding the games flimsy at best.  The faces of those you had killed haunt your sleep; frozen figures of Dio and Lux, Azlon with his throat opened, Pearl and Marlin shredded beyond recognition. Those memories you couldn’t verify. They were wounds left over from acts committed by your hands. Their presence lingered long after you had woken up leaving you exhausted in their wake. Slowly similar images of supposed allies came to fruition, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, even Finnick, each one blurred but clear, cruel and unfeeling, abusive and persuasive. Each horrific nightmare lasted a lifetime and then you'd wake up in your cell. It feels like months have passed but it can't be? Can it. Memories were becoming harder to untangle. You’d lose them and then yourself if you were kept here much longer. 

Even the return of complete darkness dosen’t grant you rest from your psychological torture. At first the depletion of light felt like a gift, a much needed break from constant assault of light, but it quickly soured when It returned. The reanimation of your fellow tributes had brought It to the forefront of your mind. The first night of darkness you were idly tracing the fresh scars along your back, as the door opened. An ominous feeling fills the room and a chill runs over your body when a growl fills the room. Metallic joints stalk forward and you freeze when hot air hits the back of your neck. You remain as still as possible, eyes wide against the wall, body paralyzed in fear.  Whether it was there or not is up for debate, but you were not sure enough to risk it. It leaves and the lights turn back on , but it returns again, leaving you at your wits end. By the fourth day you pray for the drugs, anything to blackout again. Your prayers were answered that night. 

“She's ready for phase 3” one of the surgeons mumbles as you stir awake, still eating intermittently  in hopes of gaining information.

“Then It’ll be ready to be tried on the boy” another states, as a burning pain shoots up your spine. 

“What?” you mumble through the pain, but they administer another dose and you wake up back in your cell. It stopped as suddenly as it started. Water came and you drank it, food came and you ate it but your world remained intact. The effects of the tracker venom had worn off, unfortunately so had whatever pain medications they had been administering. You shiver in your cell, pain shooting throughout your body as you pick at the vines adorning your wrist. Haplessly working to remove them, as you try to separate truth from fiction. The door slides open and you press feebly back into the coroner as the guard approaches. It takes all your energy but you spit at them, and you flinch as they raise their fist.

“No, no,” Snow states, and the guard stays their hand.  “We won't be doing that today,'' he says, kneeling down to meet your gaze. “ I just thought I would ask, before I proceed, what Finnick Odair mean to you?’ he asks, and you throw your head back laughing maniacally.

“Come on Snow you really fell for that shit? I thought you were smarter than that,” you laugh, your voice taking on a demonic flair now it was no longer used to conversation. 

“Well then it makes no difference that he’s to be tried for treason,” he echoes solemnly, as you smile widely, chuckling as you lift your neck up. 

“You don’t have Finnick,” you say, shaking your head, “if you did you would have marched me out to gauge a reaction, not be down here sitting in piss and shit with me” 

“Perhaps, but ask yourself, are you willing to stake his life on it,” his eyes bore into yours and your smile falters. 

“Prove it,” you taunt

“Very well,” He says, as the guards lift you to your feet. They parade you out past the tools still stained with your blood stopping stop in front of two way glass. The light flicks on, and you step forward placing your hand on the glass. 

“Finnick?” you whisper, watching as he moves expressionlessly around the cell. Was this another trick? Something about him was off, vacant, though if he was drugged it would explain his dispondance. 

“How?” you ask, gaze remaining forward. 

“ A raid on district 7, he was with Miss Everdeen, but it seems he wasn’t worth saving, he was picked up in the aftermath,” he states. 

“How did you…” you start

“Cameras we have them everywhere, they picked them up the second they arrived,” he replies

“What are you gonna do to him,” you whisper, trying to remain level. 

“Treason demands retribution in the highest form,” Snow replies

“The people love him,” you reason

“Not so much these days,”

“And what if you gain a willing spokesperson, my compliance for his life,” you bargain looking up to him. 

“I cannot set him free,” He states. 

“I know that,” 

“ I will not harm him if you comply. Do we have an agreement?”

“Do I have a choice?” 

“You always have a choice, it’s the consequences you should worry about, what was her name?  Your first consequence”

“Don’t, don’t say her name. You don’t get to say her name,” you snarl lunging towards him , he almost flinched, but the guards pulled you back, forcing your gaze forward as Finnick doubles over in pain

“Finnick!” you shout, “I said I'll do it,” you exclaim furiously,  as tears fall from exhausted eyes,

“Take her to her room, call in the team, make her as presentable as possible. The cameras will do the rest. Editing is amazing you can make almost anything look real these days” he whispers in your ear. The guards press you out from the fluorescent chamber and back into the warm glow of the mansion. The sickly sweet scent turns your stomach.  You’re shoved back into your original room and you turn to face Snow.

“How do I know you won’t hurt him,”

“I'm not the one who has failed to live up to promises,” he remarks, and the doors close leaving you alone. You walk past the mirror, not daring to look up, and flop down into bed, but you find no rest in the plush sheets. After a few hours, you toss a pillow down onto the floor and pull a sheet off the bed curling up on the cool marble. No creature comes for you, no tormentors and somehow, sleep finds you. Light shines through the window stirring you awake and illuminating the damage your body had sustained. You push yourself up, weakness apparent in your immediate exhaustion from the simple task. You exhale heavily as you stumble towards the door, and to your surprise the handle turns. Perhaps you were stronger than they thought.  You push out into the hallway, making it all of three steps before running into Snow. Whose surprise shows through his grimace. 

“I want to see Finnick,” you state quickly. 

“After the announcement,” he replies, haste in this voice. 

“Why?” you question.

“Why do you think?” he replies irritably. Your response is cut short as Peeta emerges from the interview room, dressed in white, and looking just as depleted as you.

“Miss Aalto!” Snow exclaims as you step towards Peeta smiling, but he remains stone faced until he passes you by. His eyes meet yours; glossy, and pained, the only indication he was the same person you’d spoken with in the gardens. 

“What did you do to him?” you whisper. 

“Need I remind you of the stakes of your current situation? ,” he snips, and you do as you're told. The door locking behind you. Another night passes, but the rest leaves you more confused than clear. You stir out from your makeshift bed just as an Avox enters to change your sheets. He startles back when you emerge from the pile on the ground. 

“That bad?” you sign and he gives you a small smile. 

“No,” he replies

“I thought you weren’t supposed to lie here” You responde knowing you looked so dead, even the Capitol’s finest cameras would struggle to fix it.

“It's all they do.” He responds, quickly looking from side to side before continuing “Their lying to you,” 

“It's not him?” you utter aloud, but the avox bows out leaving you to ruminate in the new found information. Was this another of Snow's tricks? Or was he an ally amongst liars. Your head throbs desperately trying to sort the distorted information swirling around your brain.  You smack the side of your head in an effort to get it working as the style team enters. Your self-inflicted pain quickly stopped as a guard cuffs your arm to a chair. You’re reeling as the make-up team does their best to make you look human. Your eyes fixate on the injection sites around your tattoos,  some were fresh, though you had no memory of them occurring. Snow's words come to the forefront of your mind “Anything can be edited these days.” Did that include people? Who was in that cell. If they had Finnick, they would have Katniss as well, she wouldn’t leave him behind. If they had her, they had 13 and logically the war would be over. Though when has there ever been logic in war? You’re uncuffed and they pull a long white skirt around your body, the weight of it causing your knees to buckle. The young man steadied you before moving around to tighten the corset. You cough as it restricts your lungs and you catch a few droplets of blood in your hand. Where it came from was anyone's guess. 

“I'm sorry” the young man whispers, placing an elaborate crown atop your head, your neck straining beneath the weight, but you would not falter yet. Not until you were sure. 

“It's not your fault,” you reply clearly, wiping a tear off his cheek. He meets your gaze and you turn walking barefoot down the hallway, too weak to walk in anything else. Even with the layers of makeup and perfume the stench of decay clung to you like clothes left out in the rain. You turn the corner and come face to face with the pristine interview room, a small gathering of internal reporters and journalists. You could hear the crowds of people outside, the mansion awaiting your address. 

“Don’t play me for a fool, we both know how it’s worked out for you in the past”, Snow whispers as he passes by you. You enter the room and see Finnick in the corner still staring blankly ahead. A gun held against his head. There was no warmth in his features, his entire energy was cold, plastic, like a vacuum to the world around it. The images of your destroyed family come to mind. Even Peeta felt like Peeta when he passed by you in the hallway, still there behind the drugs and the pain. You look over Snow who raises a glass of champagne, toasting to his victory.  Your brow furrows and you open your mouth to call Finnick, but you're quickly pulled behind the camera and your speech appears on the teleprompter before you. 

“President Snow…” you start swallowing, eyes flicking over to Finnick when a headache hits you. The pain was overshadowed by the sudden disappearance of Finnick from where he just stood. You blink feverlently until he reappears, and the longer you stare the more clear it becomes. Snow was still playing the game, and he would win at any cost. 

“Preseident Snow…” you start looking back to the corner, Joannas words come to mind “ they got out, don’t tell them a fucking thing”. They got out, or was it only she? It didn't matter, whatever that was standing up there, it was not Finnick and of that you were certain.

“President Snow is lying to you,” you state clearly, eyes fixed on Snow as you hear a gunshot ring out and a body thudding to the floor, but it wasn't really him, was it? 

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“He’s going to kill her, Katniss! He’s going to kill her and for what? Why would she say that,” Finnick screams in the dining hall. His mental stability was more than up for question these days, many people walking on eggshells around him since your disappearance from the Capitol’s broadcasts. You had finally returned only to plunge him further into darkness. Aside from the words spoken, he saw what you looked like, technology in 13 worked to undo the edits made in the mansion. You were dying, and this was your final goodbye, the one last act of defiance you'd always had in you. Did you stop to consider the cost, or the toll it would take on those that cared for you. He hates you for a moment, for being so selfish, for giving up, for not complying, for not waiting until he could find his way back to you. Anger quickly gives way to deep rooted sadness, and how he had never gotten to live up to all the promises he made you. Katniss escorts him out the room quickly noting the heads turning towards them.  

“He's not going to kill her. It doesn't make sense. Hes just torturing us, he wants us to pay, and its the only way he knows how,” she soothes. 

“He’ll break her though,” he whispers, eyes watering as he turns to Katniss “and that's worse. I've heard things, Katniss, things about the experiments done by the Capitol. What they can do to a person, she’d be better off dead. I wish she was dead. I wish we’d all died in that arena,” he relays, hand idly fidgeting with the ring you'd handed him the last day he'd held you.

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You weren’t allowed up after that. There were no more negotiations, no Snow would not be made a fool again. He left you to the mercy of the guards and experimental doctors. You knew only beatings and hallucinations. Your reality had melded seamlessly with your dreams and you could no longer be trusted to tell what was real and what was fake. You could no longer trust your memories. Finnick was dead, or maybe he wasn’t, you were sure before, so sure. But now, now you doubted. If he was still breathing you hoped to grant him the last of your strength when you finally departed this world. He would need it.

Eventually the experimentations stopped, beatings filling the hours of the day. With every lash, every scream, every needle and permanent scar a piece of you left your body, leaving behind a fragmented creature no longer recognizable. It hardly took a genius to see you werent long for this world. Eventually, even the most sadistic guards lost interest in beating someone who couldn't fight back. They were leaving you to rot and every minute you felt yourself take one step closer towards death. Whoever was in the cell next to you stopped tapping back, though you knew Peeta and Joanna were still alive. Their screams had imprinted on you like the footsteps of family members moving about a house. A fourth voice had appeared tormented as the rest, Enobaria had fallen out of favour as well, likely a result of something you had done. She was far too smart to end up here by her own volition. You kept waiting for something, for the dice to fall one way or another, but they never did. There was no escape, no grand plan, no final act of valour. You would die in a dank, shitty, bloody cell of your own creation. Snow always loved a metaphorical ending. 

Your mind drifts to your family frequently as you wither away. You prayed Cecelia had fulfilled her promise. Maybe Haymitch had tipped her off. Maybe they were long gone, hiding from war in the deep woods of a world long forgotten. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe they were all dead. Maybe it was better that way.  You blink slowly, haggard breaths pass through your lips as you stare at the faded metal lining your cell. You keep your eyes open, eagerly awaiting a nightly visitor that had been coming to you as of late. She had blurred over the years, the edges around her fading, but it was still her. It was still your Shri. The last time she’d appeared was when you fell through the ice. Death had chosen your guide then, and she was coming back to you now. Coming to take you home. Her outline forms parallel to where you lay and you reach out, but she disappears at the sound of the door unlocking. With the last of your strength you push yourself up turning towards the door squinting into bright lights of militarized weapons pointed forward. You straighten your back, and lift your chin, closing your eyes in preparation. They open as the light moves off you, the silhouettes weapons now lowered. 

“Miss Aalto? We don’t have much time, we have to go. Now,” the modulated voice says, and a hand extends out to you.

[bestiesenpai]

Hostage - Okkotsu Yuta

At first when I saw this my internal response was that there was nothing that I really wanted to write, no scenario that would warrant answering such a question. But I’ve given it time and well...what better thing to write than a horny for love delusional yandere? Gender neutral and Okkotsu in this has graduated from the school, I imagine him to be mid-20s 4.8k words

Content warnings: yandere shit(which in this context includes kidnapping, past stalking and being really fucking creepy), manipulation, noncon hand job

How long had you been here in this dark basement with only a red couch and a TV that wouldn’t turn on? There wasn’t a single window to tell you if it was day or night, no clock on the wall to say if it had been ten minutes or ten hours since you were kidnapped. You didn’t even know who could have taken you, knocked out from behind after hearing a mysterious voice.

There wasn’t a single lead to go on except for the fact that you would pass out from time to time and wake up to food on the low coffee table, hot meals that helped to soothe your otherwise empty mind and body for however short a time it allowed. Sometimes there would be candy stuffed into your pockets as well, candy that you never ate and let pile up in one of the corners of the room.

The door at the top of the stairs leading down to where you were stayed locked at all times and no amount of banging and screaming and trying to break it down worked. All your efforts were for nothing, you didn’t even make a scratch in the wood.

Whoever put you down here seemed too hesitant to show you their identity. You never heard anyone outside the door and whenever you thought you did, you would wake up however many hours later with food and no recollection of what happened before then.

Until today, when the door silently swayed open and there was the barely there tap of footsteps coming down to greet you. Scurrying behind the couch and crouching down, you were scared to finally meet your captor.

“Hello there.” He wasn’t at all what you imagined. A young man with noticeable bags under his eyes, hair with a few strands that fell into his face and an otherwise unassuming and slim build. His voice was soft and gentle like he was talking to a baby as he roused them from slumber.

He immediately noticed the way you were trying to stay away from him, making sure to keep the couch between you as he rounded it. A sad sigh left his lips, a short sound like he was already getting frustrated with what you were doing.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down? There’s a lot to discuss.” Gesturing toward the couch, he took a seat at the end. It was then that you noticed the sheathed sword he had on his back as he took it off and laid it on the table.

Your mouth hadn’t been used to speak to anyone in a long time, tongue heavy and foreign in your mouth. Having given up screaming for help a long time ago, you didn’t speak to anyone unless to yourself, and even then it had devolved to being just thoughts in your head.

So you shook your head no, trying to keep your sudden anxious breathing down to a minimum. You’d waited for this day to finally see who took you but now that he was here in front of you, just his presence brought you great stress.

“Are you feeling okay?” The man asked again, brows furrowing slightly. The look of genuine concern on his face is what caused you to speak, spiking anger in your heart.

“No!” You shouted, surprising both him and yourself.

“Why don’t you sit down, hm?” He patted the cushion next to him and you shook your head harder.

“No, no. L-let me go!” Tears were already beginning to collect in your eyes, some spilling out the sides. Were they from anger at being held captive? From how concerned he looked when he was the one who put you there? Was it from fear of what he could do to you? Perhaps hopelessness at the whole situation was starting to set into places you tried so hard to keep it out of.

“You shouldn’t yell, (Y/N), it’s not good for your throat.”

“What the fuck would you know.” Now anger was truly taking residency inside your chest, making it tighten with each pounding beat of your heart. This man had the nerve to call you by your first name as if he was a friend, the syllables rolling so smoothly off his tongue it sounded as if he had said it a hundred times.

“Don’t swear at me.” He snapped, face immediately going hard as he stared you down. The look made a shiver go down your spine, the anger quickly making space for fear to come as well. He sighed again, glancing at his sword before looking at you again. “Now please, won’t you sit down?”

This time when he asked, you listened. Hovering on the very edge of the cushion farthest from him, your entire body was painfully stiff and unyielding even to your own breathing. It was different when you were standing and he was sitting, it felt like there was a level of control that you still had.

But this felt like you were just a pitiful little rabbit with their neck caught right in a lion's mouth.

“Oh darling don’t cry, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His tone immediately shifted back to the soft and gentle one from earlier. Reaching his hand out, he stopped short of touching your arm when you curled yourself away. Putting his hand into a fist and tucking it back into his lap, he let out a sharp exhale. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t touch you, should I? You must be nervous now that I’m here.”

Sniffling and nodding were all you could do to answer him. Maybe there was a logical reason he might have taken you, there had to be a solution to whatever problem he had that involved you.

“It’s funny, I’d say. We’re soulmates and yet we’re still so nervous with each other.”

What?

“Why, it took me almost two weeks just to do this much! I finally stopped having Inumaki put you to sleep and-”

Huh?

“Before you know it this will all be a distant memory, we’ll be living together-”

“Wh-what the fuck.” Your voice was meek and trembling and there were fat tears streaming down your face that couldn’t be stopped now. Listening to this man go on and on about this life he’d made for the two of you all in his head was going to drive you insane.

“What was that?” He paused, a hopeful smile on his face. Glancing at him, you set your bleary eyes on the sword.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” As the swear left your lips, you flinched at his sudden inhale. “I-I don’t- I don’t know you. We’ve never met.” Burrowing your face in your hands was probably a bad idea, it was probably best to keep him in your line of sight, but you just couldn’t face him.

“Physically we’ve never met, but our hearts have. Our souls are connected, we just had to find each other.” There was a dip in the cushions and the ghost of his knee brushed yours.

“I don’t even know your name!” You croaked, further curling in on yourself by dropping your head to your knees. At this rate you were set to fall off the couch and onto the floor and you welcomed the reprieve not being next to him would bring.

“I’m Yuta. Yuta Okkotsu.” The first touch of his fingers on your shoulder made you yelp and jerk away, and you could imagine his hand hovering in the air. “But you can just call me your boyfriend, okay?”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Getting up from the couch the second time he touched you, you pressed yourself against the furthest wall next to a chess table with no pieces.

“Darling-”

“No, don’t fucking call me that!” Stamping your foot on the ground, you ignored his warning tone.

“(Y/N), I told you-”

“I don’t give a damn! I don’t want to be part of whatever bullshit you said earlier! Just- just let me go!” You were getting hysterical at this point, your whole body was hot and sweaty and your face was on fire. It was hard to hear anything over the ringing and pounding in your ears giving you headache.

Except you were able to hear the sound of a knife going through the air and feel it graze your cheek before sticking into the wall behind you. Everything fell away as you looked at the silver blade glinting in the harsh fluorescent light above you. There was just the tiniest hint of red at the edge, further proof that what you felt was real.

“I don’t mind you getting upset, I don’t mind you yelling and screaming at me. It’s a normal reaction to such a new situation.” Yuta’s low voice cut through the sudden silence and he stood up slowly, swaying slightly on his feet before planting them firmly on the ground. “But what I won’t have is such ugly words coming out of your mouth. That type of language doesn’t belong in a mouth as pretty as yours.”

He walked over to you slowly, building the tension with every step he took. It was then that you noticed, when he was only a foot away, that the silver of the knife matched the silver buttons on his shirt.

“If I have to remind you again, I promise I won’t miss.” Letting the sentence hang in the air, Yuta gave you a once over before grabbing onto your wrist and upper arm tightly and dragging you back to the couch. His strength was much more than you first assumed, there wasn’t a chance in hell that you could ever hope to wiggle out of his hold.

Sitting down with a huff, he pulled you onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Putting your hands on his shoulders, he settled his on your hips, making sure you were properly seated on his outstretched legs. Staring at the buttons on his shirt, you tried to avoid getting too close - keeping at least some semblance of an arms length between you and making sure your sex was far from his.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” It was amazing how easily his mood shifted from one to the other. What had just been a quite heavy and intense moment was washed away by a little uptick of his lips and the tilt of his head to the side.

The things you wished to say were lodged in your mouth, waiting on the tip of your tongue for you to open up and let them fall out. But you couldn’t afford to keep testing his patience like this, not after what just happened.

“I suppose.” So you bite your tongue hard and say what you think will get you closer to getting out. Whatever it is he wants you can give him so long as it keeps him happy and lets you walk free.

“I knew you’d come around.” The smile on Yuta’s face takes proper form, pushing the apples of his cheeks up and wrinkling his eyes. One hand on your hips dares to venture further onto the small of your back. The warmth of his palm would be comforting in another setting.

“Y-yuta.” It almost makes you sick to say his name.

“Yes?” It makes his eyes light up.

“When will I get to leave?” Somewhere along the line you’d stopped crying and now only your eyes burned with the memory of the tears.

“When I know you’re ready, (Y/N).” He said softly, rubbing a hand on your back.

“Ready how?”

“I just want to make sure of a few things before we start our new life together. Is that okay?”

Did you really have a choice?

“What things?” You pushed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’re together now and that’s all that matters.”

“Please tell me, I really want to know.”

“(Y/N).” He sang your name but it was anything but cheery. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, so drop it please.” Even though he was speaking his mouth barely moved, jaw locked tight in hardly hidden frustration.

“Okay.” You quickly let the subject go.

“Now darling…” Yuta brought a hand up to your face, trailing his fingers down your cheek softly. “Won’t you smile for me? You have such a pretty smile.”

The question of how he knew what your smile looked like cropped up in your head but you quickly stamped it out. Now wasn’t the time to worry about those things. Doing as he asked, you gave him your best smile.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Skimming his thumb along your bottom lip, Yuta grasped your chin in his fingers. “I’ve been missing your smile so much lately, the recent missions I’ve been on have really put a damper on my mood.”

“I’m- I’m sorry to hear that.” Extending an olive branch wouldn’t hurt, right? It was clear he wanted your compliance in this scheme of his, desperate to have you love him. Your words shot straight into Yuta’s heart, making him bite his lip in to stop a shy giggle from coming out.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have my darling with me.” A light blush went over his cheeks and Yuta let a sliver of the giggle out. “But there is something that would make me feel even better.”

“What’s that?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant when his thumb touched your lip again.

“A kiss. Just one, I promise.” Licking his own lips, Yuta grabbed onto your jaw more firmly. “I swear I’ll be gentle.” Weighing your options, the inkling that it wouldn’t be ‘just one’ was in the back of your head. But as long as it stayed just kissing, maybe you’d be okay.

“One.” You repeated, allowing him to pull you in and close the gap between you. Kissing Yuta was something that, once again, would feel nice in any other circumstance. The texture of his lips wasn’t bad, his breath didn’t smell and he seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe in another world, you really could have been soulmates.

Breaking the first kiss to take a short inhale, Yuta immediately went in for another. The hand that was on your jaw slid up to the back of your head, holding it firmly in his calloused hand to make sure you didn’t move.

“Y-yuta!” Whining against his lips, you tried to push away from him.

“Just one, I know! I know but-” He mumbled back, the tip of his tongue daring to touch your pursed lips. “I can’t help it, I love you so much.” Crushing you against him, Yuta got his tongue into your mouth when you gasped for air. The urge to bite him arose and you almost did, but he pulled away right as you made the decision to.

“You said only one!” Giving his chest a hard push, you wiped the spit off your lips in disgust.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Putting his hands on your back, Yuta grimaced at you. “I’m sorry darling, I just got excited! I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, can you blame me for wanting more?”

You could blame him for that and a few other things. Wiping your mouth off again, you huffed angrily and avoided his sorry eyes.

“Don’t do it again.”

���I won’t lie to you anymore, I promise.” Yuta mumbled, already forcing you closer again. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Yuta, no.” Shaking your head, you put a hand over your mouth. The blush that was on Yuta’s cheeks got darker and a hand gripped the back of your neck.

“It may be a bit soon, but there are other places where I can kiss you.” Latching his lips onto the side of your neck, Yuta sucked on the skin lightly. He didn’t want to leave any unseemly marks on you and he wouldn’t dream of using his teeth.

“Yuta, get off.” Tugging on his collar, you squirmed at the feeling. “P-please, Yuta, get off.” You were getting more desperate by the moment, accelerated by his lips going down the column of your throat and to the collar of your top.

“I just want to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“No, no I don’t-” As his head nudged your chin up, you started to sweat and really yank at the fabric in your hands. “I don’t want you to kiss me there, Yuta!” Your voice reached a crescendo and the soft sound of his kisses stopped. Pulling away slowly, Yuta kept his head ducked down.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Releasing the hold on your neck, Yuta smooths his hand down your back once more and threads his fingers together at the base of your spine.

Struggling to catch your breath, you force yourself to relax and let your head dip down, uncurling the fingers fisting the fabric of Yutas shirt and letting the blood naturally flow back to them.

As the silent seconds tick by, there’s something that comes into your consciousness that can’t be ignored. There’s already a good amount of heat built up between you and Yuta from the kisses you shared and the struggle that ensued.

But was he that much of a repressed man that just kissing your lips and neck had his cock standing at half attention? It seemed so, because when you made a face at it, he chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry.” Yuta wasn’t sorry for what was happening. He didn’t feel remorse for any of this, especially not the thing that was causing you distress now. It was only natural for such a reaction to occur! You were squirming so much on his lap while he kissed you that it was like you were begging him to get hard.

Gently raking his nails up and down your back, Yuta stared hard at your lips. His gaze almost pierced right through you and he wasn’t subtle about wanting another kiss. Another slurry of apologies left Yuta’s lips as he once again grabbed the back of your head and forced you to kiss him. His words got mushed together, spoken against your lips as he tried to work his tongue into your mouth.

Whatever screams of protest you had didn’t matter in this moment, Yuta was a man on a mission and desperate to take what was his. He felt bad about pushing your boundaries and ruining the chance of growing an actual relationship any time soon, but those were things he was willing to sacrifice.

And after all, good boyfriends help their partners grow in uncomfortable situations.

Moaning in a high pitch when your crotch just barely grazed his, Yuta took advantage of the fact you were too busy trying to push him away to focus on your lower half. Grabbing you tightly at the hips, he dragged you forward and fully pushed you against the front of his pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He panted as he moved your bodies in tandem, getting bolder and bucking his hips like a sad teenager dry humping for the first time. This continued for a while and you were sure he was going to cum when he suddenly stopped and flopped his head back against the couch.

Fervently wiping off your lips, the urge to slap him came over you in a blinding rage, and you quickly swiped your hand down. Fully expecting to make contact with his face, you put all the strength you could into the motion only to be stopped by Yuta grabbing your wrist.

“Hitting isn’t very nice, (Y/N).” He sounded like a disappointed preschool teacher and when you raised your other hand to try and slap him he caught that one as well. Holding both your wrists tightly in his grasp, Yuta stared at your heaving chest as he thought about what to do.

“Let me go.” You said, trying to tug yourself free.

“Sshh, I’m thinking.” His eyes wouldn’t leave your chest and he licked his lips. “I think I know a better use for your hands.” Letting go of one of them, Yuta was quick to go to the button on his jeans and undo them.

Your fingers were touching his clothed cock before you had a chance to protest. The speed Yuta moved at was dizzying and you seemed to be about 10 seconds behind him, left to scramble and catch up on whatever he’d done.

“Just a little, please?” Yuta whined and gripped your fingers around his cock, digging into the fabric of his dark underwear and outlining the shape of his cock.

“Yuta…” Back were the tears, a light misting this time that blurred your vision. It was gross touching him, even as the scent of a minty body wash rolled off him. This was gross, the heat from his cock and the way the skin moved beneath your fingers all felt horribly off.

“Just be good for me, (Y/N), I know you can do that.” Giving your lips a quick peck, Yuta let out a shaky exhale. His hand was holding yours so tightly your hand pulsed, throbbing from lack of circulation.

Touching him through his underwear quickly became not enough for Yuta and he hurriedly pulled his cock out, shoving his underwear down his thighs a bit to make more room. Unbuttoning the large overshirt he had on, Yuta let out another exhale as the sweat evaporated off his body.

“Are you shy? Here, touch it like this.” Gingerly now he wrapped your hand around his shaft, squeezing with just enough pressure to make sure you were really holding it. You tried to avoid looking at it, staring at the tanktop Yuta had on underneath his other shirt.

Tilting your head up, he kissed you gently as he worked your hand up and down his cock, slowly loosening his hold the longer he went until he was able to let go and you were still stroking him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “So, so much.” You whimpered in response, keeping your eyes tightly closed to avoid looking at him. “I’ve followed you for so long now, it feels amazing to finally be here with you.”

“Followed?” You didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to know, you didn’t-

“Six months. For six long, agonizing months I watched you from the shadows. Making sure you were safe, following you home from work to make sure no one messed with you, going into your home when you weren’t there to make sure you didn’t have the stove on-”

“Stop.” Sniffling back another wave of tears, you shook your head. “I-I can’t, please-”

“You’re right, I’m killing the mood.” Chuckling softly, Yuta kissed at the corner of your eye. Putting his hand back on yours, he sped up the pace and bucked his hips up. “A-and I really don’t want to do that.”

Kissing you again lest he start rambling again, Yuta moaned freely into your mouth. He had dreamed of this moment and so many others, staying up late at night just fantasizing about you touching him and finally being in his arms.

To say he was pent up was an understatement. Ever since he saw you, Yuta vowed not to touch himself, wanting you to be the only one that gave him such pleasure. It was a painful wait, but every time he saw you he knew it was worth it - and it was. He was already nearing an orgasm and it hadn’t even been that long.

“Oh darling-” His face started to screw up and Yuta broke the kiss, putting his head on your shoulder and making your hand go faster. “God I love you, (Y/N)! I lo-love-” He was babbling now, unable to focus on any full sentence coming out of his mouth. “Say it- tell me.”

“Say what?” You asked, struggling to keep your breathing even as you felt him get closer to the edge.

“You love me. Tell me you- tell me you love me, even if it’s not true yet.” Yuta was so close it hurt, but he refused to cum unless you said those words.

“I-I-” The desire to not say it was strong, keeping you from really forming the words. It wasn’t true right now and it would never be true. You would never love Yuta for as long as you lived.

“Say it, say it please!” Yuta wailed, his other hand gripping your waist so hard you were afraid he was going to break something. “I love you so much, just say it back!”

“I love you! Yuta, I love you, okay?” His hold was really starting to hurt and as soon as you said it, he let go. “I love you, I love you.” You repeated over and over until his body locked up and he came with an almost sobbing moan.

“Oh god, darling, I love you.” Yuta wasn’t crying but he might as well have been. His hand stopped for a brief moment before continuing, coating the back of his hand and your fingers in his cum. He kept going until he was able to squeeze the last drop of cum out of him, swiping at the tip with his thumb until the sensation began to hurt.

It was too quiet now in the room without Yuta’s frantic breathing and mindless babbles. Taking deep, gasping breaths, he forced himself to calm down and let go of your hand, letting his softening cock fall down against him.

“Here.” In his pocket he had a handkerchief and Yuta wiped your hand clean, diligently going between the digits and getting every last pearly drop. Throwing it onto the coffee table, Yuta collapsed back onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

His face was impossibly blissed out, a dopey smile stretching his face and showing off his teeth. He couldn’t be happier in this moment, the weight of your body on his lap a constant reminder that this was real life, the reality that he had been dreaming of and striving for for so long.

The door he had entered from creaked open much faster than when he entered, and there were thundering footsteps descending the stairs quickly. Yuta immediately perked up, hugging you close to his chest as he turned over his shoulder to look at who came in.

“This is a surprise.” There was a tall, lanky man standing at the bottom of the steps, his white hair sticking up in all directions. You wondered how he could see with a blindfold on and Yuta seemed happy to see him.

“Gojo, hello!” Rushing to fix his pants, Yuta helped you off his lap and stood up.

“I see you’ve finally made yourself acquainted.” Gojo grinned, his head flicking towards you for a moment.

“Mhmm! We uh- we’re having a great time getting to know each other.” Yuta flushed, trying to not make it obvious that his pants had just been undone and that you’d just been jerking him off.

“Well I hate to break up a happy couple, but there’s a visitor here for you. I think you’re going to have another mission soon.”

“Really, so soon? I just-” Glancing at you, Yuta bit his tongue. “I’ll be back soon.” Grabbing his sword and the knife still stuck in the wall, Yuta gave you one more look before walking past Gojo and up the stairs. As soon as the door clicked closed, you shot up from the couch and walked around to Gojo.

“Please, you have to help me, get me out of here!” Clasping your hands together in front of you, you pleaded as hard as you could. “H-he’s absolutely crazy, please help me!” Unable to look Gojo in the eye, you could only assume he was looking back at you from the way his head moved.

“That’s not very nice, now is it?” He questioned, quirking a brow and crossing his arms. “Yuta loves you so much, you shouldn’t say those things about him.”

“Sir please, you don’t understand!” Shaking your head hard, you let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t belong here! He kidnapped me, don’t you understand?!” It felt like you were the only sane one left in the world. Gojo chuckled and sighed, placing a large hand on the top of your head and leaning forward.

“Actually, Yuta wasn’t the one that actually kidnapped you.” A soft ‘no’ escaped your lips and Gojo laughed again, drinking in the sinking feeling in your gut and the way it twisted your face in agony. “It was me.”

[heliads]

Our Paths are One

You recently became a Ranger, traveling the North to protect the land and its people from monster attacks. When you meet Strider, you cannot help but wonder why you seem to keep finding each other in the wilderness, even by accident.

masterlist

The woods of the North are cold this time of night; cruel winds whisper between the trees, carrying with them reports of steel blades to the West and monsters to the East. There is no safe place to rest without keeping one eye open and one hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s a dangerous place, out here in the wilderness, and the threats only grow in number once darkness falls across the hills. All the same, you prowl in the dark with a smile on your face.

Your footsteps, at least, are silent. You’ve been in the forest many times before, and it knows your scent. It’s best not to let it know your footfalls too. That being said, you can still hear a dense shuffling and stomping sound coming from the trees to your right, down a ravine. Your fingers close around your sword, slipping past the pommel to wrap firmly around the grip. The air is thick with the promise of a coming fight. You can only hope to strike now, while you still have surprise on your side.

You’d heard rumors of a pack of orcs traveling somewhere in the vicinity, after a harried traveler had collapsed in a nearby pub last night, bawling stories about how his party had been attacked and had to flee for their lives. There are no doubt many boastful groups looking around for the same monsters, but the title of killing them can only go to one, and you intend it to be you. You only became a Ranger recently- it’s time you earned your stripes and cemented a place for yourself amongst their ranks.

You drop down into the ravine silently, using a patch of moss to disguise the sound of your heels landing on the packed earth. You unsheathe your sword, paying no heed to the bitter glint of moonlight along its edge before you begin your work. You’re able to stab two orcs in the eye and slash one’s throat before one of the beasts finally lets out a dying gurgle of blood and the rest discover that you’re there.

They yell gutturally at you in anger and charge, although you’re ready for them. Their lunges are strong but clumsy, and you’re able to dance around them as if you were part elf instead of fully human. You parry a fierce blow, forcing the nearest orc’s weapon down into the earth before quickly riposting to cut through its chest. Normally, you keep your sword as sharp as possible; tonight, it slices through orc flesh as if it were the thinnest of silks. You smile. It is not the gentlest of looks.

You move steadily through the pack. Trapping them in the narrow ravine had been a smart move, and they’re limited to attacking you in groups of two or three, which you can dispatch quickly before more manage to climb over their fallen brethren to reach you. In fact, you’re just readying yourself for a final swing towards the last pair before the orc in front of you lets out a startled sound, strangled by the blood knotting in its throat and the sword suddenly jutting out of its chest.

The blade is quickly removed, and seconds later, the final orc’s head is spinning off into the ground near its feet. The body falls as if kicked, and you’re face to face with your apparent savior. However, you don’t feel grateful for the rescue, only annoyed. “I had them down. Why would you interfere?” The man before you is tall and dark-haired, his eyes piercing even when lined by a splash of orc blood. His lips are slashed by a smirk. Evidently, he’s proud of himself for ruining your string of kills.

“I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the newest Rangers, after all. I have yet to see you on this side of the forest before.” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you this welcoming to all new Rangers, or only me?” The corner of his lips twitch again. “You could simply thank me, you know. Let’s just leave it at that.”

You scoff, reaching forward to wipe the blood from your sword on a nearby patch of grass. “Oh, of course. I shall sing your praises to the archangels themselves, mysterious stranger. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be on my way. Or are you going to take over my later travels as well?” There’s a glint of something in the man’s eyes. It could be irritation, could be satisfaction. Perhaps a bit of both.

“Only if I was certain that you would be this upset over it. Who are you, then?” You consider him for a second longer, then nod. Whoever this man is, he’s a fellow Ranger, and committed to ridding this world of orcs, even if the kills are meant to be yours. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.” He inclines his head. “They call me Strider.” You sheath your sword, tapping the hilt once before making for the hills once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Strider. With all respect, I hope our paths should never cross again, or I’d fear for my other quests lest you add yourself to them as well.” You can practically hear his grin as you walk away. “The same with you, Y/N.”

You assume that your leaving will be the end of this. The forests and grasslands scattering the North are vast; canvassing them by yourself could take years. The chances of running into this Strider fellow are slim to none. 

That being said, when you find yourself crossing through a particularly dark patch of the wilderness and hear the sound of conflict carried to you by the winds, you can’t help but shake your head. You can hear the clang of steel and the snarl of what appears to be half-trolls, but every now and then, you hear a grunt of exertion coming from the swordsman taking on these monsters. It’s a familiar sound, and a familiar voice, despite the fact that you’ve only heard it once before. You grin to yourself. This is going to be fun.

You come across the scene soon enough. You have to admire Strider’s courage- he’s taking on a trio of these half-trolls without an apparent care for his own safety. Then again, you can spot the fleeing silhouettes of a family of travelers. Strider has likely taken on these monsters to save the journeyers, but he’s now left with the difficult task of saving his own skin. He’s so concerned with making it out alive that he hasn’t spotted you yet.

You wait until his back is turned to you, sword holding back the blow of one of the half-trolls’ stone clubs, until you strike. You can see Strider’s eyes widen slightly as your knife buries itself in the chest of the monster in front of him, which sways back and forth before crumpling to the fallen ground. It was an excellent throw, you can admit that yourself. You drop to the ground, rolling under a looming fist before coming up on your feet behind the beast, your sword already in your hand and slashing at its back. The half-troll groans in agony, twisting around to swat at you, but by the time it’s facing you again you have relieved the monster of its arm. It cries out again before turning to run, although it doesn’t make it far before Strider’s sword lodges firmly between its ribs.

When you turn to face the battle scene, you note that the other troll has been dispatched. The clearing is empty save for you, Strider, and a few half-troll carcasses. Strider moves towards you, eyes roving over your arms to check for cuts and scrapes that aren’t there. “May I ask why you chose to intervene?” You can’t help a satisfied smile. “I wanted to make sure that you would not be hurt. You are one of the most maddening Rangers, after all. I couldn’t just leave you to die.”

You walk forward to retrieve your knife from the chest of the fallen half-troll, so you don’t see the slight incredulity washing over Strider’s face. You can hear it in his voice, though, along with the undercurrent of humor that always seems to be present within him. “I appreciate you looking out for me. That’s the sign of a good Ranger, you know. However, seeing as I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, I might advise you to not take on enemies that might be too much for you.”

You stare at him now, before roughly yanking your dagger from the dead monster’s trunk. It comes directly from its heart, and shines darkly from the blood coating it down to the hilt. You hold it up, heedless of the scarlet starting to drip down over your knuckles. “If I thought I couldn’t handle those things, I wouldn’t have gotten involved. I’d argue that I’m worth a little more than you might think, Strider.”

You step forward slowly, until you’re only a few feet away. “We are both Rangers now. It would be best for you to stop seeing me solely as a commoner who stole a weapon from a nearby blacksmith.” You say, yet Strider’s hands close quietly over your knife. You’re not sure why you let him take it, but you watch as he walks a few feet away to wipe the blood from the metal. He does not say another word until he has come back to you, pressing the weapon gently into your awaiting palms. “I would not dare, Y/N.” Something almost like a smile plays over your lips. “I should hope not.”

You see Strider again, and then again. You don’t plan it, honestly, this meeting up with him, it just happens. You’re trying to rid the forest of some thieves, he appears on the path behind you to stop you from being cut off at all sides. He’s cornered by some rogue orcs, you find yourself charging the lot to ensure that the one Ranger you know won’t find a lonely death in the forest. You’re not sure whether you would consider him a rival, a friend, or any mixture of those terms, only that it does make you smile every time you see him.

Then, in the midst of a nighttime journey, you get the sensation that something is wrong. The feeling washes over your skin, raising the hairs on your arms and chilling your bones. You dismount from your horse, walking forward to look over the edge of a nearby bluff for any signs that another conflict has come upon you. You see it then- a rocky outcropping not far from you, a single curl of smoke piercing the sky. It is quiet, and suddenly a shriek shatters through the night.

You clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp of shock. You’ve never heard that deathly wail before, yet you can recognize it instantly: a ringwraith. It could be nothing else. Even by hearing the sound, you can conjure up the mental picture: darkly clothed figures, rattling breaths, the stench of death even before they strike. Somehow, you know that the wraiths are approaching that mountaintop, and somehow you know that there is a Ranger there who will attempt take them on alone.

You’ve jumped onto your horse before you can muster up a second thought, lashing the reins and charging forward in a thunderous gallop. You’re not bothering with silence this time, only speed. Your steed canters forward as fast as it can, racing between low-hanging boughs and up the side of the rocky mountaintop. You can only hope that you’ll arrive fast enough. The thought alone is not enough to stop your nerves from threatening to tear you asunder.

You approach the rocky clearing soon enough, and your heart catches in your throat to see the scene. Across the space from you, you can see four of what appears to be hobbits, one of them lying painfully on the ground as if injured. Then, closer to you, one man armed with a torch and a sword, taking on five Nȃzgul as if they were no more than garden-variety thieves. You could almost laugh at his selflessness, were it not for the fact that he’s about to get himself killed.

You have a torch of your own, and hold it in the air. Your horse raises itself on its hind legs, neighing loudly in the still air. The attention of the ringwraiths is diverted to you, as is Strider’s, although you cannot tell whether or not the look in his eyes is driven by relief or regret. You charge forward, torch held at the ready. Your horse bears down upon the cloaked beings, moving forward swiftly despite their shrieks and calls. You swat at first one then the other, beating them back with the fire. 

You can feel your horse panicking beneath you, so you jump down after a second, trusting it to remain close. You and Strider fight side by side, forming a barrier of flaming torches and steel that does not allow any of the Nȃzgul to approach. At last, Strider lunges forward, forcing the last of them back. All of a sudden, you are alone once more, the air seeming to heat up again now that the soul-sucking chill of the ringwraiths has been removed.

You do not have a chance to speak with him immediately. The dark-haired hobbit, Frodo, is gravely injured from a wraith’s blade, and is rushed away with an elf who smiles at you briefly before taking off once more. Then, you have to watch over the remaining hobbits, and make sure they don’t manage to call attention to themselves once more. Only once it is far later into the night, when Strider has allowed the three hobbits to rest, do you follow his unspoken request and go with him a ways away from the meager camp to talk.

Strider waits until you’re sufficiently out of earshot of the camp before he begins. He is pacing away, away, and then he whirls back to you. There’s a fierce sort of light in his gaze that has never been there before; it becomes him, in a way. “What were you doing here? You could have been killed!” You raise an eyebrow. “You could have been killed as well. That’s why I was here, actually, making sure that you weren’t murdered when you tried to take on a swarm of Nȃzgul.”

His eyes flash in the darkness. “Do not put the blame of this on me. I will not have your death on my conscience.” You let out a surprised, bitter laugh. “You won’t, I’m still alive. How are you upset about this? This is what we do, we save each other. You want to avoid thinking that I could have died because of you? How do you think I would feel if you died when I did nothing about it? I would rather have been killed than know that you were going up against ringwraiths while I sat back and watched.”

Strider’s expression is merciless. “I would rather have your grief if it meant you were alive. There are only so many rangers in the forest. We cannot afford to lose one because you wanted to get involved in something like this.” You shake your head, disbelieving. “That’s what this is all about? You would chide me for saving your life, all because you are worried about the numbers of rangers?” 

There’s a pause, and then he speaks again. “No. It is not for that.” All of a sudden, his fierce stance is gone, replaced by a man, just a man. Out of some indescribable emotion, you reach forward and take his hand. He stares at your interlocked fingers, and so do you. “Then what is it, Strider? What would make you speak this way?” He looks at you for a second longer, then his gaze flicks away again. “Aragorn. That is my true name. I would have you use it.”

Your fire is gone now, as is his. All that remains is a few embers, catching light in the dark night of this section of the forest. “Then, Aragorn, what would make you afraid to lose me?” Your tone is light. You cannot think about the consequences of what this all means. “This is a lonely life, Y/N. All the same, I have still had you. Do you know how large the wilderness is, how great the expanse of territory that we rangers pursue? Yet, every week or two, I still see you. Somehow, our paths keep crossing. If I lost you tonight, and I had to go back into the forest without knowing that you were there somewhere with me, I would feel more lost than the first time I stepped from my doorstep.”

His voice is quiet. Yours is too. “Then you understand why I had to fight too, don’t you? It is the same for me. Your loss is mine.” Aragorn looks up at you. “The same?” You nod. His eyes have warmed again, the fire warm this time, not meant to burn but to encourage you to stay a little longer. He glances towards the camp, no doubting wondering what trouble the hobbits have managed to get themselves into. “We go to Rivendell, after Frodo. Will you go with us?” You smile at him. “Anywhere, Aragorn. My path is yours.” He kisses you before he goes, and you watch him walk back to the camp, silhouetted by the soft starlight. You will follow soon enough. For now, you sit and think to yourself, wondering how you managed to get this lucky.

lotr tag list: your compliments would lead me to swear undying allegiance to you @underc0vercryptid​

[michaelsbigreddick]

matt murdock-red lights part 3.

there's 2 more parts to this mini series but you dont necessarily have to read them to read this part. If you happen to want to read the first part you can find it here .

summary: You're Foggy's friend that also happens to be his paralegal. You met Matt through foggy but didn't like him because you had a feeling he was hiding something. One night you wake up to a loud crash and find out its daredevil who broke in. You save his life, and DON'T take his mask off. You take care of him till you think hes ready to leave. He ends up taking a liking to you and comes around every so often when he's 'hurt' or really just wants to see you.

By the way I've never read the book I mention here. I just watched the movie and really enjoyed it.

little details?: you have a medical background. you're friends with jessica jones. you were kidnapped right after college by a drug cartel. (i'll be going more over that in the next chap)

warning: mentions of guns and knives. (they're not used tho) needles are used

matt murdock x female reader

idk man im new to tumblr and i'm still figuring this first part out. Hope y'all enjoy tho.

_._._._

You were settling down in bed with your latest reread. It was ‘Never Let Me go’ by Kazuo Ishiguro. You’d read it for the first time in your second year of college. There was a feeling of home in it that you seemed to be missing for a long time. It's been years since you last saw your family. When you left for your internship in another state they weren't under the best terms. And when you disappeared from the face of earth, they didn't take much notice. Throughout the years you read this same book when you needed some sort of comfort. It was the same copy from years ago. The bent spine, curled pages with coffee or wine stains, yellowing on the edges, it was home in the palms of your hands.

“Why? Why didn't he just tell her?” you close the book frustrated with Tommy. You had once again reached the part when he and Kathy were talking about the ‘exceptions’ in the woods.

Laying your head against your pillow, you think about what would've happened if he would've only admitted his feelings.

It was around two in the morning when you heard a crash on your balcony. Your bedroom was parallel to the balcony, if the crash was loud enough to reach you it had to be worth checking out. You didn't remember whether you had locked the door or not. Most of the time you just shut it since you were on the fifth floor. You didn't think there was any possible way to get up to it from the outside.

You reach into your bedside table and debate on whether to take your knife or gun. You preferred your knife but since you didn't know what, or who you were up against you picked up your gun.

You began to walk to your bedroom door.

Your ring bell went off signaling that the balcony door has opened. You listened for them. By the heavy breathing you could tell they weren't trying to be quiet. Perhaps they were running from someone? You took into consideration that they haven't closed the door. That was probably to make a quick get away, which meant you were being robbed. But if they were thieves they'd want to be more quiet.

They didn't close it because they couldn't.

You walk down your hallway and see a figure sprawled on the floor. As you get closer to get a better look you, keep your gun pointed at them.

They began to hum something, a song you were familiar with. Between grunts and shallow breaths you could swear you knew the song but couldn't quite place it. Now within a closer distance your heart feels like it's stopped, just to pick up its pace and quicken again. The one and only Daredevil is laying on your living room floor.

“Holy shit.” you whisper, inching closer to him. You dare to kick him to get some sort of reaction.

“Ow.” he groaned.

“Ow? What the hell are you doing on my floor in the middle of the night?”

“Please, I, I’m, I don't want to cause any trouble.” he tried to prop himself up on his elbow but collapsed onto his side.

He left a dragged blood stain where his hand was. You didn't know what to do. You noticed you still had your gun pointed at him. You didn't know what the best call was. To shoot or not to shoot? You thought about Karen and how no matter what argument is made, she stood behind him.

“Jesus christ you're gonna stain my rug.” you say putting your gun onto the coffee table. You get behind him and put your arms under his. You drag him to the side of your sofa.

“Where are you hurt?” He tried to tell you but he was in and out of consciousness.

“You seriously couldn't be making this any harder.” you give it a moment of thought. If he's here it's because he needs help. If you were going to offer him that help, you'd have to find where he's hurt.

“I'm going to undress you alright?” he gave you a little nod before his head fell to the side. You thought about taking his mask off but decided against it. If he had it on it was for a reason. Even in his unconscious state, you had to respect that.

You start off with his boots. They were heavier than you'd thought they'd be and left pebbles on your floor. His suit was the hardest to get off of him. It was like a matching supersuit that you had to take off of an oversized sleeping toddler. The whole time you undressed him you were uneasy about how long he was unconscious. For now the best you could do was let him rest and hope to god that he woke up. As you retrieved your first aid kit from your bathroom you heard him begin to choke out.

You rushed over to him, kit in hand and dropped it next to him. He was fighting for air and you could feel the sense of calmness drain out of you. You had to think fast. He was too weak to stand, which meant low oxygen. His chest and sides were severely bruised, he couldn't breathe. The only thing you could think of was tension pneumothorax. Which meant he needed a needle decompression.

He tried to get up and you set him back down as you dropped to your knees.

“Hold on a second. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay.” You start searching through your bag for the needles. You found it only after tossing everything out of the bag. You grab the cleaning alcohol that you had put on the side for this exact moment. you apply some on your hands before spilling some on his chest and the needle. You felt around his chest for the right spot till finally giving up and puncturing his skin. You applied pressure till you heard the gust of air.

“Oh for fucks sake. I have never liked doing that.” you say out of breath.

You let out a deep breath of relief and laugh. You lay your head on his stomach and groan remembering that he had a cut on there too.

“Sorry.” you say, wiping the blood off your forehead.

He took another shallow breath before shaking his head slowly. “No, no, thank you.”

“Im, uh going to stitch you up now. And you're going to need a chest tube.” you look down at your mess on the floor. “I don't know if I have a big enough chest tube...You're going to have to go to the hospital.”

“No, no, hospitals.” he said between consciousness. You decided to clean up shallow wounds and stitch up what needed to be done first. You took your chances with him and didn’t take him to the hospital. Instead you brought your office chair with wheels and used it to transport him to your bedroom. You threw a blanket over your white sheets hoping for the best.

He woke up long enough to help you get him onto your bed. He was unconscious for the most part, but you gave him sedatives for the pain he might have felt between alertness.

You decided to call up Jessica for a little bit of help.

“Hey.” you sounded tired but that wasn't anything new.

“Hey y/n is everything alright?” she sounded concerned between her slurred words.

“Yea yea, everything's alright, I um, I was just wondering if you, it's actually a really big favor.”

“Well what is it?”

“I need some medical supplies. Nothing crazy, pain meds some fluids,”but she cut you off before you could continue.

“y/n you're not in that shit again are you? I need you to tell me so I can get rid of them.”

“No, they, they haven't found me. I'm alright.”

“Then why do you need all that crap?”

“It's for a…friend.” she groaned.

“Look, I'll tell you more in the morning, alright?”

“Fine.” She hung up.

You did end up having a big enough chest tube for him. After hooking him up you laid down at the foot of your bed.

There you watched him for the night. Every once in a while Nicki would come in and check on both of you. It was morning when you felt him try to get up and leave.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“I have to go. I appreciate the help. I do but I have to go.” he tried pulling the chest tube out of him and winced.

“That's one reason you can't leave. Now stop being a pain. Do you have any idea how scared I was putting that thing on you? You have so much scar tissue!” you realized how much you had raised your voice and lowered it before continuing. But the truth is you were terrified last night. Maybe it was the ptsd. Maybe it was the pressure of having to help Daredevil. All you knew was if he died in your apartment, you'd have to start from scratch all over again in a different city.

“You can't leave. Not yet. Plus it's only eight in the morning.” saying that made you realize how late you were to work. “Oh shit. Foggy.”

You look for your phone on the bed and call Foggy. He seemed understanding when you told him how bad your period cramps were and said he'd pass by later with some Pho. But you made up some other lie to keep him away from your apartment.

"I'll do what I can from home."

Right as you were hanging up you heard a knock at your door. It was most likely to be Jessica with the things you had asked for. You had sent her a full list of things you needed to keep this guy stable.

“I need you to stay here and not move. Move that thing too much and it'll get infected.” you knew that wasn't the reason for infection but you'd say anything to keep him put. He rests his head against the headboard in defeat.

You opened the door and Jessica entered with a plain black duffle bag. “You look like shit y/n.”

“Well so do you Jess.”

“Touche.” she said, dropping it besides the bloody handprint on your floor.

“Whats this?”

“I uh, he's in the bedroom.” you mumble. She smiled and headed towards it.

“Jesus Jess not like that,” you follow closely behind her. She stops at the door frame.

“Why is he shirtless?”

"Because I don't necessarily have anything that will fit him now do i?” she shot you a look. You had more than enough options on shirts for him to wear

“Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything.” she walked over to him, eyeing him looking to see how weak he really was. You leave her there with him while you go and get the duffle bag which you have to drag to your room.

“You're telling me the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is just okay with lying in some civilians bed?” you're setting up the i.v now to get him hooked up on fluids.

“Not exactly. I may have given him a little something for the pain. It makes him a little sleepy but it should also be helping him with the pain.”

“You kidnapped him?”

“Thats,” you stopped, giving it some thought. It did seem like you had kidnapped him.

"Well no, he stumbled into my apartment." Stumbled would be the wrong word. "He broke into my apartment in the middle of the night on the verge of death so I'd say I did not kidnap him. He came to me,” you cleaned up his arm and inserted the I.V into his arm,.

“Oh god y/n. Well what are you going to do now? And why the hell does he still have the wrestling mask on.” You could tell she was growing frustrated and you felt yourself doing the same.

“I dont know alright? When someone needs help I dont think about what comes after alright? I'm just figuring it out as I go. Jess, thank you for bringing me this stuff. However you got it, I will pay you back but for now I need you to leave.”

You knew this had to have sucked for her. She got you out of that horrible situation back in texas. She gave you a new beginning and now you're acting like you dont need her.

“Please, I'll be okay.'' Neither of you enjoyed hugs or physical touch much. But you hugged her anyway.

“Call me when this blows up in your face alright?”

“I will.” you promised.

You began to cook breakfast. Something that wouldn't take too long to make or much of a mess to clean up. You end up cutting up some fruit, scrambling some eggs, all with a side of toast.

You cooked your portions first then cooked his when he finally woke up again which was around noon.

“I really appreciate all of this but I have to go.” he said as you entered your room.

“I will keep you drugged for days if you keep saying that.” you were only slightly kidding. You climbed onto bed from the other side to avoid the possibility of accidentally tugging on his chest tube. When you set the tray on his lap you realized you'd have to feed him.

“I'm going to feed you, but don't make it weird.” he smiled and chuckled lightly,wincing at the pain in his chest. You started with the eggs. It was weird the way his lips made the chewing look so sensual. You were staring even when he was done chewing.

“Where'd you get those scars from.” you were referring to the ones that laid nearly symmetrically below his collar bones.

“I thought they'd look cool so I hired a ninja to do them.”

“Asshole.”

“It was a ninja. I just didn't pay him to do it.” you started off with the fruit and interchanged it with the toast.

“Why haven't you tried taking my mask off?” he asked as you fed him another portion of fruit.

“I don't really care who you are.'' It sounded rough. Maybe it was the phrasing. But that's as simple as you could put it. You didn't care to know. Maybe it was better if you stayed not knowing.

“I don't expect anything in return for this. Not even knowing who you are. You wear the mask for a reason don't you?”

“Yea, I do.” he said, sounding on the verge of disappointment.

“Im uh going to clean up the kitchen now. Any recommendations for dinner?”

“Pho?”

You looked at him confused. “Um yea. I can order some for dinner.”

The entire day you did your best to make him as comfortable as possible. You were a little giddy to have him in your apartment. You wanted to ask him questions like how did you get up to my balcony? Why my place? How did this happen? Why do you want to leave so bad? But like a lot of things that came with this entire situation, you decided against it. You had a feeling the more you pushed the more he'd want to leave. When you offered him your phone to call someone and let them know he was okay, he said he didn't have anyone that would be worried.

You spent the day between emailing foggy files back and forth and taking care of your patient. Which was pretty much trying to keep up with work while helping Daredevil do some podcast surfing. You insisted that there were more interesting things to see on tv, or any other streaming service but he insisted on podcasts. Most of them were led by women.

You got a bit uncomfortable with him wearing the mask all day so you offered him something else. A thin black scarf that you typically prefered to just tie onto your purse as a little accessory.

“I won't look while you switch it. Or I can just close the door and knock before I come in. That way you can put it back on.”

“I'll take the scarf thank you.”

By dinner you fed him again and you made sure not to stare more than was acceptable. You wanted to wash him up a bit which he in the beginning declined but in the end was alright with. It was summer and even with the a.c even you who wasn't sitting in bed all day felt sticky.

You were now laying down on the end of your bed again. You told Foggy that you'd need another day or two before coming back. You were reading your book again. The rustling of your pages and Nicki's purrs were the only things to be heard. Nicki had quickly taken a liking to him. Spent more time with him than she liked to spend with you.

“Is that book any good?” has to be if its in that condition right?” you realized he wasn't very good at telling jokes very early on and decided to let the backhanded comment go.

“Yea its one of my favorites.”

“What's it about?” the question caught you by surprise. There wasn't really a moral to the story, you just liked it.

“It's about a girl who loves a boy. The boy loves the girl back. When they grow up they're still in love. But soon after they act on those feeling of love, they both die. A simple story really.”

“It's never that simple.”

“Books?”

“Love.”

“It is. We people choose to complicate things.”

He hummed.

“Would you mind reading it to me? It'll help with the healing process.” he grinned. You felt a flutter in your stomach.

“From the beginning?’

"From where you are now is fine.” but you decided to start from the beginning. No one had ever wanted to read this book after you recommended it. You felt like if you were going to enjoy something completely, you had to know everything there was to know about it. You read till your eyes and throat felt dry, you read till you fell asleep.

When you woke up to check on his tube and give him his medication you found the book lying on your bed stand. It had a bookmark from your drawer in the last place you remember reading.

He spent another two days with you. He was leaving only under strict conditions that he'd be back for some check ups till you said he was better.

“That means no crime fighting for at least a week. It’s a miracle you're even off this thing already.” You were wrapping his chest tube to make it easier to throw away.

“I'll do my best.”

“Not your best. You come back here with anything new and I swear to you you're going to walk out of here worse than how you came in.”

“With threats like that what makes you sure I'll be coming back?” he had his suit on, ready to leave, hands on his hips waiting for your answer.

“They always come back.” you toss the scarf to him and he catches it with one quick hand.

“Now go before I change my mind.” He walks to your balcony and turns back to you one more time before leaving.

You didn't lock your balcony anymore after that. The next time he saw you he had healed better and didn't have anything new. He wore the scarf when he came to see you. Sometimes he even brought you a bottle of liquor for you in return for all of your help.

You got to know him. He was a simple guy really. There was nothing extraordinary about him. He was just a guy in a suit with what he called enhanced senses. He was a bigger fan of older music than he was to anything new.

When he stayed on your couch you read to him until ultimately falling asleep. You would always wake up on your bed each morning of. Those mornings you'd wake up tired, so goddamn tired. But the giddy feeling you'd get after remembering the night before gave you more than enough energy to get you through the day. It felt surreal. Besides the medical equipment and blood in your apartment, there wasn't any other trace of him. The secret of it all made it more of a thrill. It was a dream that you never wanted to wake up from.

[bloodycassian]

Azriel x reader - enemies to mututals. LONGER - Peregryn Reader and Az go on a mission together. Comebacks, snark and injuries. - azriel taking care of hurt reader. 

Send me requests please! 

Not a soul dared step in your way as you plowed through the war camp.  "You will not be flying anywhere." You shouted over the murmuring group. Rhys' inner circle whipped their heads to you. Cassian's hand went to the dagger at his side instantaneously. You felt the spymasters shadows curling around your ankles. 

"You challenge me, I'm impressed." Rhys smiled like a cat, pushing off the table littered with pawns and a map of the region. Azriel's shadows curled further up your legs, taking the hint from his high lord. "Your spymasters eyes and ears seem to be doing an inadequate job." You said with distaste, glaring at Azriel. You tucked your feathered wings in tight, tension in the room spiking. Darkness flared, Azriels' shadows spiking over your legs, swirling angrily. 

Rhysand considered for a moment. None of the eyes left you. You dared not look away from the high lord. The piercing eyes of The Morrigan burned into you. Her silver armor shone even in the dull tent. "Leave us." He said at last, with a wave of his hand. His counterparts glanced at him, before obeying and walking out. 

Azriel stayed put, the shadows still circling the room like a fog. 

"I don't like being insulted, Peregryn." Azriel growled, his wings twitching.

  "I dont like dying, Illyrian." You countered. His face twisted in disgust. Rhysand sighed, taking a seat at the head of the table. You felt his aura inside your head, asking, tempting. They knew not many were a fan of their court, but so far you could really see the WHY behind it. 

"I understand you're a part of a different court but we are here fighting together against this threat." He spoke aloud, you felt his presence recede from your mind.  "If you don't want me to see what you have seen, how am I to know to trust you?" He smiled wickedly, as if he knew you would never let him in to your head. True, the night court and autumn court were not on the friendliest of terms. Especially after Thesan had made a public enemy of you for abandoning his court to help in the fight on the continent. 

"I understand fully that we are different courts, with different ideals working together. Perhaps your generals don't though." You nodded out the open flap of the tent. "Why my forces are going in first when there's an aerial threat beyond the border to Rask is beyond me. Perhaps you could explain." You said sweetly, pulling out the chair at the opposite end of the table and sitting. Azriel remained standing, his presence looming. He glanced toward Rhys, and they seemed to have a silent conversation in the looks alone. You had no doubt that he and the high lord were speaking mind to mind. 

"I can assure you there was no ill intent behind it." Rhys muttered, his eyes held no trace of lies. He had no tell , no body language that would suggest other wise as he spoke plainly. "As for the aerial threat, I will find Azriel here sees to it. If you are willing to help, of course." He swirled the glass of wine on the table, taking a sip. Azriel's face went a bit red. Likely mentally shouting at the high lord. "You understand, this assures I can trust your word and you're not trying-" He took a breath, humming as he let it out. Considering. Or putting on a show. It was hard to tell what face of him was the genuine one. "Well if you would let me in I guess I would know if you had any.. intentions." 

The silence seemed electrifying, Azriels shadows were swirling faster, whispering over his shoulder into his ear. His hair moved slightly in the presence of them. His siphons glowed, despite no direct threat. 

You stood slowly, standing tall in the presence of the two. "You know where my tent is, Shadowsinger." His face revealed nothing at your words. Rhysand saluted you mockingly. Chin held high, you strode out of the tent.

+ As soon as the sun had dipped below the treeline enough to cast shadows through the forest Azriel had appeared at your tent. The temperature seemed to dip slightly at his presence. "If you're ready we can go." He said, voice plain outside your flap door.

"And why wouldn't I be ready, shadowmaster?" You said with a charming smile, hoping it annoyed him. While pulling on your light armor, you stalked past him and to the edge of the forest. He seemed stunned momentarily, but caught up quickly. He matched your pace with ease.  

The hilly terrain made for an interesting forest pattern, but the area you remembered spotting the archers and arterillary trebuchets was very obvious. You dared not fly, with your wings so light colored against the darkened sky.  "We're walking?" He asked, his wings flaring. You crunched through the brush that lined the forest edge. 

"It's an aerial capture unit. They'll either shoot us down or take us prisoner until they get what they want." You said over your shoulder. "Is the Illyrian afraid of a hike?" You teased. 

You heard a grunt and he was suddenly right next to you, his footsteps loud as he adjusted to the rocky slope you were heading up. "I don't like being called that, you know." He muttered, his eyes straight ahead. 

Strange. Very strange for an illyrian indeed. Normally they were obnoxiously proud of their heritage like no other. It made you pause your comeback for a moment. you tried to remember the brief history of the night court you had been briefed on in training. Nothing was ever said about the high lord or his generals beyond their extraordinary abilities. 

You knew the Illyrian possessiveness first hand. Anger flickered inside you, remembering what they did to their females. The abusiveness of their court when it came to yours and your winged cousins. How cruel they were in battle. You couldn't stop the thought as it raced from your lips - "Not proud of the clipping or breeding, spymaster?" You growled.

He was on you in an instant. Had you pinned against the side of the grassy knoll a second after that. The air left your body at the impact against the dirt burm. Your wings splayed out behind you on instinct, trying to balance you. His were as well, using them as extra force to hold you there. Your hand was at your dagger, but you didn't feel the need to use it, his grip loosened.

"Fuck. you." He bit out. You saw his hands as they gripped your armor. Scarred lines lay on his fingers, the back of his hands up to his wrist. They were a lighter color than the rest of his dark skin. Ridges puckering together like soft peaks of a mountain range. The sounds outside of your breathing together seemed to stop, his sharp tone silencing the woods completely. His eyes seemed like an endless pit, despair and malice under their shallow surface. 

He shoved off you with a sigh, and continued down the trail. Wings snapped in tight behind him. You dusted yourself off and followed under the cover of nightfall. 

+ The group of fae and beasts was getting exceedingly more and more rowdy as the night went on and the barrels of mead emptied. You didn't doubt the reason being that they thought your forces wouldn't move in the night. Not with so many foot soldiers that could be picked off in the forest by...unknown creatures. You shuddered at the thought of such things. The group was no more than thirty large, probably to winnow faster. Every pair had a weapon or a net weighted with stones that would nullify any magic. The arrows were likely poisoned as well. The trebuchet was packed with stones, boulders and what looked like wooden nails. They were planning for maximum damage.

"You take east, I'll go by the river." You whispered behind him, knowing that his shadows would pick it up if he didnt. The enemy campfire flickered in front of him, making his silhouette glow from where you crouched. His only response to your plan was a slight nod. You left him to it, creeping through the trees, avoiding leaves and fallen twigs that would make more sound than the soft pine floor. The fog of shadows whipped in a flurry around you as departed him. They stayed with you until you were firmly in the trees, the bubbling stream of the river loud enough to cover your tracks.

His signal to attack was subtle, but it worked. At first it seemed like their campfire had begun to sputter and smoke, leading to them quieting. Then, two decapitated heads were flung into the middle of the crowd circling the pit.  A rustling from where Azriel originally stood had them scrambling for weapons, sticks, swords. Anything they could find. Then he sliced into three of their knees from behind. You were diving into the fray when the group had finally gotten their defenses up. 

+ The snarls died out one by one. Azriel finished off the final Attor when a blinding pain in your back hit you. Your first instinct was to stab. The fae that stood behind you held your dagger in her stomach, looking you in the eye. The wooden steak at their side dropped to the ground. Her lips parted in a wicked smile as she pushed your knife deeper into her own stomach. "Death." She hissed. You felt the blood drain out of your face. She raised her other hand and was bringing it down when Truth Teller sliced clean through the neck. The hand dropped, as did the rest of the body that held your knife. 

Pain returned to you as soon as the head stopped rolling on the ground. You could feel the blood dripping... not from your back. You let out a roar of anguish, trying to fold your wing inward. Your feathers were stained a dark red. It looked black in the dim light. Azriel was on you in a second, without a word he had his hands on you, your wing. 

Pain dazzled you in more ways than you ever thought possible. It burned, it stung, it ached. It was enough to make you pass out for a few moments while Azriel carried you closer to the fire. "Fly- Me-" You panted between words. "Healer." You barked, letting your wing hang limp at your side. Azriel was assessing behind you. Slowly, methodically. Coolness encapsulated your wing. It was a slight relief against the burning.

"I cant fly with you if you can bring your wings in. And we need to get this out before it spreads, its poisoned..." He paused, hissing at whatever he was seeing. There was a pinch and he had a hand on the firm ridge, bending slightly. " Its in too deep to hope for a healer to recover by the time we get there too." he finished, working delicately around your feathers.

He was gentle, and firm while he did his best to get the bigger spikes out. You could feel the smaller slivers digging in whenever he bent your wing a different angle or if you tensed it at all. It began to itch as the fire died, casting you in darkness. "Dammit." He sighed, getting up. You hadn't realised how bad the gash was until you looked over your shoulder to see the pile of splinters he had gotten out so far.

"I may have left some in there, just don't move alright?" He stroked the curve of your wing. It sent a thrill through you that made your stomach flip despite the pain. "I'll be back in a minute. Just... stay put. Please." He added, then he was gone.

Your eyes grew heavy while you stared at the embers glowing in the fire. Thinking of Rhysand and his smug smile kept you awake. You couldn't wait until his own general proved him wrong. And proved the group was very capable of taking out winged foes, apparently. You sighed, then went rigid. A crack of sticks sounded. You panicked, knowing how treacherous the forest was without an extra pair of eyes looking out for you. You flung yourself to the fae woman's body, clawing for your dagger still embedded in her stomach. Your wing drug behind you, limp and aching. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Azriel gasped, dropping the pile of wood next to the fire pit as he came into view. 

"You're a bastard." You groaned, wishing you could just lay down and wake up from this nightmare of pain and terror. "You're terrible and I hate you. So much." You panted, dropping the dagger. It rolled on the dirt beside you. 

Once he had you set back up where he could see properly he began the more painful process of removing the splinters. You doubted any monsters in the dark would come lurking with the sounds you made.

"For some fucked up hands they do delicate work." You ground out through your teeth. He paused for just a second. A sharper pain than normal twisted through the wing. You laughed slightly at that, despite the pain. 

"Well- for some fucked up wing you sure do have a mouth still." He chided back. "I told you to just stay put and you crawl ten feet away. And get dirt under your feathers on top of that." He sounded like he was smiling. 

"I didn't know you were such a neat freak, Shadowsinger." He huffed a laugh, continuing to patch you up.

"My mother was. My actual mother." He said softly. He was solemn for a moment. You wished you could see his face as he spoke. "My step mother's children are the ones who did this to my hands." His voice was near a whisper. You nodded, causing a shooting pain through your back and the area he worked on. "If I have to tell you to hold still again I'll just knock you out." He warned, putting a hand on your shoulder.

+ Once he was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and helped you fold your wings in. It was stiff. It felt like a part of you had been cut off. An unusable part that acted only to slow you down. You despised it. The pain radiated through to your back once you pulled them in. Fear struck you at that. Weakly, you turned to him. 

"I cant-" You bit back tears. You hated the words as they came out. "I cant fly." You muttered, your throat tightening. 

Silently, he held a hand out to you. An invitation. 

He was even more delicate while flying, gliding on the air as much as possible and keeping your weight balanced so you wouldn't jostle your injury too much. It was still uncomfortable. The base camp was miles away, with differing terrain. You hadn't realised how far it was until you were overhead and couldn't see the light from the camp anymore.

"I'm going to call you feathers after this." He said, the air around you almost drowning him out as he flew as quickly as he could. The pain spiked at the pinch of folding them in, but it wasn't as unbearable. 

On the brink of sleep, you trudged your mind back awake to respond to him. "What do you mean?" You groaned, letting your head fall on to his shoulder. Exhaustion was quickly sweeping over you. A glance up at him and you saw the worry in his features. He pinched the back of your thigh slightly, provoking you.

"Feathers seem like a pain in the ass. Going around them, cleaning them, trying to... maneuver them?" He adjusted his grip on you slightly, pulling you closer. His heart hammered in his chest, you could hear it. "Stay awake for me, asshole." He was gliding lower now, his words were clipped.

"Tell Rhysand..." You groaned as he circled the healers tent "Fuck you." You panted, moaning in pain while he offloaded you on to the healers table. Medics surrounded you in a heartbeat. He began filling them in on the injury. Azriel did not leave your side the rest of the night.

[its-snicket-here]

Yandere scp? With Kain, The plage doctor, hard to destroy reptile, and Dr.Gears w/ guard obsession of theirs

You know. It'll be interesting if you have a total of 4 Yandere going after you. One a kuudere yandere one, one believes that you're highly pure, one angy Yandere, and the other a caring Yandere :)

I'm really sorry if this seem to be really rushed, or that any of the characters you requested doesn't have any more dialogue in this story, or that this seemed to be more sided with Dr. Gears. ;-;

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

Name: ◼️◼️◼️

Age: 27

Sex: Female

Notes: A women who have been taking training early at age 22 after being chosen from the ◼️◼️◼️. Held no hesitation on agreeing to be apart of the MTF forces. Willing to be instead be chipped with a drug that give her cardiac arrest when activated then amnesticized.

(7/15) After 2 year being part of the forces, scientists noticed that SCP-049 and SCP-632 had reacted positively than per usual when ◼️◼️◼️ is in the room. Furthermore, now ◼️◼️◼️ is required to be in the room whenever further testing and integration is required while doing her duties. ◼️◼️◼️ is allowed to shoot if needed when inside the room.

(8/17) Strangely enough, SCP-073 also reacts much more positively than usual. We are keeping a close eye on ◼️◼️◼️ and her interactions with other SCPS for a reason why.

(◼️◼️◼️) After the incident at site ◼️◼️◼️ in ◼️◼️◼️, her last known whereabouts with scientist Dr. Gears is unknown. As well the disappearance of SCP-049, 682, and 073. We are still throughly searching through the world to find the SCPS as well, possibly, an alive ◼️◼️◼️ and Dr. Gears. When looking through the database, it was seen that ◼️◼️◼️ had her chip off. Any indications where Dr. Gears and ◼️◼️◼️ could be was her body camera. This is the footage where ◼️◼️◼️ and Dr. Gears were last seen.

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

You held your firearm tightly, peaking over a corner preparing to shoot on sight if a Chaos Insurgencies, D-Classes, or any SCPs appeared. The alarms blared, flashing red. A breach has occurred.

It felt sudden, out of the blue. Rarely a containment breach would appear as the site is unknown and the fact it was kept under watch 24/7. It's damn near impossible to get a breach happening. You were split apart from your squad, aside a professor, Dr. Gears. He suck beside you when the two of you were split apart from the squad from a rouge SCP. Blood were smeared, and many dead bodies from scientists, guards, all alike littered the floor. Some where even filled with lead, while some were missing half of their bodies.

Dr. Gears still behind you, following closely behind. Too close for your liking, but you don't want to peep a word. The last thing you want is to have some chaos, D-class, or even worse, and SCP to hear you. Especially SCP-682, 049, and hesitantly, SCP-073. All three of them gives you extremely bad aura. Despite SCP-073 being a class Euclid, you can't shake off the feeling that he has a much more darker turn for you.

"Do you know the way out, doctor?" You whispered quietly. The alarms still blared in a rhythmic way, flashing red. But before he could say a word, you heard a roar and blood being ripped out. Gun fire could be heard in the distance. The doctor doesn't seem to have any response to the terror, only coldly stare at the corridor in a blank response.

"There should be an elevator that'll take both of us-"

"W̷h̶e̴r̵e̵ ̸i̶s̷ ̷s̶h̶e̸?̸!̴" The voice roared off into the distance. Though it sound rasp and barely auditable, both of you two know that there will be no survival when facing that creature. That is, you don't get killed by the other SCPs that escaped. Swiping you card to a reader, you urged the doctor to go in first before entering after. You could hear the reptile bulking angrily forward to where you two are at. You ushered the doctor more, getting increasingly worried with each more step you could hear thumping over. "S̷h̷e̵'̶s̶ ̶h̵e̸r̸e̶!̷ ̴W̴h̴e̴r̸e̷?̷!̶"

The doctor seem to held no fear or suprise in this, and continued on with his sentence, "-up to the first floor. Gate A." You nodded as you quickly ushered him to the elevator. You rather not meet that lizard ever again. You already keep getting bad vibes from him whenever you come near. Though, that short peace soon come forth to end as you heard zombies groaning and the grinding of a small knife.

"You'll be cured soon enough..." murmured a voice. You froze again as you remembered who that voice belongs. Slowly easing by the distracted plague doctor with the corpse, you still held the doctor behind you - but seems like SCP-343 wants to edge you along. The plague doctor lifted up his head, seeming to sense that there were people behind him. Though... what he recognized is you... You are pure from the pestilence. He needs to take you away from the horrors of the pestilence before you too get infected too. You're still the only one pure from the pestilence. He needs to protect you from the pestilence. Though you weren't taking any of this. You just want to go get the hell out of here right now.

Immediately pulling the trigger on your firearm, allowing yourself to go nuts on the zombie horde and possibly hurting SCP-049 in the process. You roughly shoved Dr. Gears behind you, "Go, Gears! Get the hell out of here!" Though usually you would have to burn SCP-049-2 to get rid of them, but this isn't the time now. If you're going to die, at least you're going to die with a fight. Dr. Gears grunted a little, but he stood there watching you go Rambo on the SCP in admiration. He sees you a woman to be admired and praised, as well... Well, that's for a thought for a later time. You turned your head around, scowling a bit.

"Are you too fucking stupid, doc?! Fucking run!" You yelled. Corpses of SCP-049-2 piled up in front of you, but SCP-049 was nowhere to be seen. Hearing footsteps going away from you, you turned your attention towards in front of you. You let go of the trigger, taking heavy breaths. The hallways is already painted with violence. Searching your vest for a lighter or anything to light up with, you pulled out a small flask of rubbing alcohol, as well some gaze rolls and a lighter. Grabbing your knife, you cut off a piece of a finger from a dead SCP-049-2, wrapped it up with gaze, and soaked it with the alcohol. Lighting your mini source of tinder, you hastily threw it to the pile of corpses. Hoping that it'll cut off the plague doctor and any other possible SCPs away from the elevators.

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

Opening the door to an office place from Gate A, you huffed in annoyance seeing that they're all the same. It feels like you're going around circles in this damn place! Hearing metal taps on the ground, you ducked over a tipped over desk, peaking over the corner. Ready to attack if it's human. Though, you are running low an ammo too... The door opened with ease, as a dark toned man appeared. His arms seemed to metallic from an unknown source, accented with a softly blue glowing hue. Ah yes, SCP-073, or titled as "Cain." Though the containment members can interact with SCP-073 safety, you had gain a bad feeling from him. He always seem to be always by your side or following you whenever you do your patrols. Always gazing you... almost in an obsessive way. You frowned, as you hesitantly withdrew your weapon away.

Stepping out of your spot, SCP-073 smiled as you do. "I thought I've seen you somewhere in the corridors, Ms." You grunted, as you rolled your shoulders. Easing your sore muscles and joints from the stress going on. Although the alarms didn't blared annoyingly loud unlike underground, the lights continued to blink red.

"What can I say? These corridors are the same, perhaps you have been walking around circles, SCP-"

"Please, call me Cain."

"...Cain..." Though, despite you being at ease with a very calm and helpful SCP. You couldn't help it but feel uneasy with him. You keep having a feeling that there is much darker tone whenever... SCP-073 is near you. Always chatting you up and worry about your health. Every. Single. Day. It's like he has an obsession with you or something...

"Ms, I can lead you where Gate A is. I've explored around the facility enough to know where it is. I know you don't trust me because I am not-"

"Lieutenant, there you are." Behind you was Dr. Gears. He seem disheveled slightly, but still maintained his stone faced. Unbothered that he managed to get some blood on him and had his clothes crinkled up. In his hand is a pistol, probably from a fallen MTF, D-class, or Chaos. The tension in the air thickens even more, as you could feel that the two of them seem to have a disliking on each other for a much darker reason. "Lieutenant, we need to leave, now." You were rather shocked, upon hearing the doctor's voice to dip down. Almost into a threatening snarl.

SCP-073 still maintained his cheerful attitude, but even then. You could tell that this is becoming dangerous. His smile seemed more forced, almost holding back the urge to attack Dr. Gears. You glanced between the two of them, thinking if you should just instead sneak away and let the two have some form of threatening stance fight or just run away fully and possibly lose your job if Dr. Gears survived the encounter. The tension between the two soon broke when distant growling and scurrying footsteps through the hallway that SCP-073 came out from. SCP-073 turned around, giving you the chance to grab Dr. Gears and dashing off where he can from. "I̴ ̷s̸m̴e̷l̴l̷ ̸h̷e̸r̴! G̸i̶v̸e̷ ̶m̶e̷ ̵h̴e̸r!" Dashing along, you found the elevator that lead to the final upper floor where the gate A is supposed to be. Rapidly spamming the button to summon the elevator, Dr. Gears was still beside you. Though... He look more agitated than being stoned face. His knuckles grew pale from holding the pistol tightly.

"That... SCP. What was he exactly doing?" Your ears perked up, as you hear a hint of venom in his voice. This is the first time you heard the doctor to break in some emotions.

"He... Was offering to lead me to where Gate A is at."

"You shouldn't habe trusted him, Lieutenant. You'll never know if he's actually truthfull about it. Expeciaaly from an SCP."

"Dr. Gears. I admire your worries, but SCP-073 means no harm... He is proven by multiple facities members that he is fri-"

"Before I found you. You could tell there was something dark with him, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. But-"

"He's planning something to do with you. You know it too. Why exactly are you trusting him?"

"I wasn't, Dr. Gears!" You growled lowly. You were already annoyed and tired from running away from danger and protecting his ass already. "Before, you came along and managed to distracted SCP-073 mid sentence. I was about to pretend to follow him to only go to the opposite way. Honestly, what the hell is up with you?!" This seem to caught off the doctor with your sudden burst of anger, though obviously he didn't seem to react to it. Before he could respond, SCP-682 burst in. His blood drips down from his matted fur... skin... thing, face, and claws. His tail swayed dangerously as he admitted a growl. "T̶h̵e̸r̸e̸ ̶y̷o̵u̵ ̴a̷r̶e̸..." The elevator opened behind you as the two of you cautiously pulled back.

Quickly, Dr. Gears pulled you inside. Firing a few shots at the beast to at least distract him momentarily. You quickly mashed the up button, hoping that the beast doesn't come in pissed and maul the two of you, or even worse, destroy the elevator. SCP-682 roared loudly at Gears' attack and him daring to touch what SCP-682 considers his. Your breathing became rapid when you saw SCP-682 dashing towards you. Though the doors closed shut, SCP-682's claws went through - almost slashing your chest. Dr. Gears pulled you closer to him, as the beast's hand left scrapes on the floor. With a groan and metal being scratched together, the elevator slowly went up. You pushed yourself away from Dr. Gears, already feeling sick and lightheaded from the near death experience. You're going to quit after this whole thing comes to an end. Leaning against the bars of the elevator, you slowly pulled in deep breaths. You looked over where the doctor is at, lo and behold, unsuprisenly the fucker is still unfazed on what just happened - despite showing some emotion earlier. The elevator groaned as it came become to a halt.

Dr. Gears slinked in-between the pried doors, as you began to reload your firearm. This is your only last round of bullets... Gonna have to go melee for a while until then... Stepping out of the elevator, suddenly your head got hit by something blunt. Vision hazy, you tried to get up but it hurts too fucking badly. You tried to move away only to end up passing out, before a blurry figure appeared.

Dr. Gears carefully took off your body camera and smashed the lens before picking you up bridal style. Though he doesn't want to hurt you, this was the only way to neutralize you. If he tried to take you far away from the foundation life, he knows that you won't go down without a fight. He finally broke into a small smile as he now realized that you'll finally be with him. No longer have to be cold and collected for professionalism. The two of you can now rest together...

"Que penses-tu faire au juste?"

"What are you doing?"

"L̵e̴t̸ ̸g̷o̸ ̶o̶f̶ ̴h̸e̸r̷!"

Oh... Seems like Dr. Gears have a competition...

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

Que penses-tu faire au juste? - Just what do you think you're doing? (French)

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: jin's trying to teach y/n how to slice an apple properly and she's having none of it

➺ pairing; kim seokjin x reader

➺ genre; culinarystudent!seokjinniverse!! honk honk humour!! smerhaps smut!! y/n's a moron in the kitchen but jin likes to take care of her so it's okay!!

➺ wordcount; 1.4k

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"what... are you doing?"

there are a lot of reasons as to why jin doesn't want you to wander off into his kitchen without his strict supervision

first of all, you're very messy: you leave paper towels everywhere, you place knives on the edge of the counter so that the handles are hanging off and just waiting to be knocked over, and there was that one time you spilled a whole pot of tomato sauce when the two of you were making homemade pizza together

second of all, you don't like to play by the rules (as seen by your ramen can be cooked in a coffee pot and bacon can be fried with an iron! mentality) — but when it comes to the kitchen, jin really, really needs you to play by the rules because you could end up hurting yourself somehow if you start goofing around!

and what you're doing right now is most definitely not playing by the rules, which is why he needs to step in and do something straight away before you lose a limb

"slicing up apples. duh." you jump when the knife slides off the smooth surface of the apple and you nearly catch the tip of your finger

whoops

you look up to frown at jin before jabbing the knife accusatorially in his direction, "see? you're distracting me!"

"you're using a butterknife to slice apples?" jin asks incredulously before shaking his head and hurrying over to you, "no, no- you are not using a butterknife to cut up anything in my kitchen-"

"what's wrong with using a butterknife??" you tsk, "it's a knife, it can slice into things- as long as it gets the job done, i don't care-"

"but i do!" jin interrupts, gently plucking the butterknife from your fist before placing it into the sink, "why can't you just eat an apple whole?"

"well, i wanna make apple sauce!" you gesture to the array of ingredients that you pulled out from jin's pantry (you tend to take advantage of all of the goodies he has whenever you come over because duh, why not?), "actually, it's not really apple sauce. i want to make apple pie filling and just eat it like apple sauce."

"oh my god, okay-" jin pulls a knife out of the wooden block with a swift shing! before placing it on the chopping board in front of you, "in that case, you're going to have to cut your apples up into decently sized chunks with a proper knife."

"fine, but you are making such a big deal out of this-"

jin's eyes widen in panic when you pick up the knife only to suddenly raise your arm and whack it down against the poor apple like some sort of a mallet

"well, how the tables have turned-" you raise the knife to show him the apple that's now stuck on the sharp blade, "your fancy chef's knife doesn't work."

"okay, it looks like i'm going to have to jump in here-" jin moves over so that he's standing behind you before wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands over yours, "let's put this poor apple out of its misery first-" he hums, guiding your hand over and helping you pull the apple off the blade

"i can do this myself, seokjin-"

"you absolutely cannot do this yourself, y/n-" jin snorts, leaning down to prop his chin upon your shoulder so he can get a better view of the chopping board, "do you want a chunky apple pie filling?"

"ooh, yeah!" you nod enthusiastically, jin immediately sliding his fingers in between yours to keep your hand from moving when you suddenly reach for the apple, "i want, like- i want the chunks to be in, like, cute little cubes-"

"okay, darling- no bouncing like that with a knife in your hand, please-"

"sorry." you immediately stop bouncing on the balls of your feet and you look down at the apple, "okay, chef. show me your ways."

"when it comes to cubing apples, i like to take the top and the bottom off first- and we'll use what's called a santoku knife to do that-" jin places your hand securely atop the apple that's now laying down on its side (while making sure your buttery fingers aren't in the way) before his other hand forces yours down in one swift movement, the top of the apple plopping down on the board

he spins the apple around to the other side and you slice the butt end off as well

(you don't want to toot your own horn or anything but you think you're doing a fantastic job so far)

"-and then we're going to use our paring knife to peel the skin..." jin murmurs, moving your hand and making you set the san...tofu(?) knife down, "hold on, this might work better if you place your hands over mine. that way, you'll know how your hand is supposed to move-"

"okay... so the paring knife..." you place your hands over jin's as he picks up the smaller knife and you watch as he digs the tip around the stem before curling his wrist

"there's still a bit of the stem here and you wanna get rid of it since you obviously won't be eating that..."

unsurprisingly, it doesn't take you very long to lose focus on the apple, your eyes now wandering to your boyfriend's very pretty hands

you could spend hours just looking at them

one of the reasons why you like spending time in the kitchen with jin is not only because he lets you taste-test most of the yummy things he makes but also because you get a chance to watch his hands move... from the way his knuckles tighten when he grips around the handle of a knife... to the way his fingers delicately pluck at the ingredients...

you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth as you trail a finger along the prominent veins at the top of his hands and you're suddenly very aware of the fact that jin's basically got you pressed right up against the kitchen counter

"-and then you're going to go around the apple carefully while keeping your thumb right under for more control..."

jin's voice starts to fade out in the background as the little voice in the back of your head reminds you of what else jin's hands could be doing right now instead of peeling an apple

...

"and now you-" jin pauses when you suddenly pull your hands off of his before twisting around, your arms now hanging loosely around his neck as you lean up to press a warm kiss against his jaw, "you... have successfully peeled an apple."

he immediately bites back a knowing grin as he sets the paring knife down, and he's about to ask you what you think you're doing when he decides that acting as though he has no idea what you're doing might be a better idea

"-eating the core is unpleasant, so we're going to cut around the core instead of slicing the apple directly in half," jin swallows thickly when your hands slide down to pull his hips towards yours, his cheeks flushing slightly when he feels himself twitch in his sweatpants, "the- the key here is a good, sharp knife-"

he really thought he had the upper hand here but his body is betraying him!

"seokjin..."

jin mouths a silent 'oh, god' to himself at the sound of the pitiful little whine slipping past your lips

he loves it when you get needy like this

"i'm- i'm trying to teach you a lesson here, sweetheart-" he clears his throat as he stares down at the apple, suddenly blanking on what his next step should be

how the hell did he forget how to properly slice up an apple?!

"-and i'm trying to tell you that i prefer doing my learning in the bedroom."

...

you hear jin set the knife down with a clatter and it's only a second later that you feel your feet leaving the ground

you can't help but let out a squeal of delight as jin bounces you slightly to adjust your legs around his waist

"you're a real handful, you know that?" jin teases, squeezing under your thighs before letting out a laugh, "god, you drive me crazy-"

"i know-" you manage to swoop your arm down to grab the naked apple before jin starts walking and you bring it up to your mouth to take a bite, "you luhv it, fho-"

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here? (full fics!)

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles! mini series!)

🌟or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this one!)

[alderaani]

still i find you there

summary: after Rako Hardeen, there are several things that need fixing.

written for @codywanweek and the day 1 prompt fix-it. I fully intended to have more days completed for this, but given that it’s *checks notes* day 5, it’s probably not going to happen. this is very angsty and perhaps a bit melodramatic, but the heart wants what it wants. also catch me forgetting obi-wan was wearing his vambraces when he ‘died’ and having to stretch to make it work for me. warnings for grief, percieved death and all that good stuff.

-

He’s alive.

It seems impossible. It feels entirely predictable. And yet...Cody can’t make himself believe it. He saw Obi-Wan die, the grainy security-holo footage of slick Coruscant rooftops showing little more than a bolt of red and a lone figure reeling, falling. No sound, no clear faces, and yet...He knew that red hair. He knew that posture, how it could startle like that if timed very, very well.

It had been the only thing that made it real.

It had been a terrible idea to look at the footage, just like Rex (and Fox, and Wolffe, and Boil) had told him, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed something to help him break out of the stupor, the long silences, the staring at the door like Obi-Wan was going to walk right through it. The war didn’t stop just because someone had died, and the GAR hadn’t cared about the cataclysmic shockwave it had sent through Cody’s life.

They’d sent the 212th packing to Mimban within a day of the assassination, and Cody had nearly gotten his head blown off after leaving his left flank wide open, expecting the snap-hiss of a lightsaber to cover him. Instead Wooley had been his salvation, yanking him back at the last second and roaring that he needed to get it together. It had been like walking in a dream.

Watching the holo had worked. It had convinced some deep, desperate part of himself that Obi-Wan really wasn’t coming back. That somehow he was going to have to carry on alone, or worse, with another Jedi, whose differences would grate at him like a knife paring into bone.

And in the end, it had all been a lie.

Cody takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against one of the blaster racks in the armoury, the durasteel sharp and cool on his skin. His knees shake and he grips the shelf edges until his fingers hurt, just standing there, just breathing. 

His heart feels big and swollen in his chest, gluttoned with relief and anger, paired with a sharp, aching grief that now, more than ever, has nowhere to go. There’s no reason to harbour it; he should know better. 

He just can’t help it. 

He’d stood through the shuttle landing, through the torturous debrief, through strange, hairless Obi-Wan meeting his eyes and explaining earnestly that ‘if it hadn’t been classified of course he’d have said something…’ without so much as a twitch, but a great yawning chasm in his belly had opened and only kept getting wider the longer they kept making small talk about provisions, and reopening Obi-Wan’s quarters and a million other things that had happened since he’d - gone away. In the end he’d excused himself, planning to retrieve the personal effects he’d personally cleared out of Obi-Wan’s quarters because he’d needed to feel close to him, after, and there hadn’t been any other practical reason to go in there.

Except now he’s standing here, the relevant box at his feet, and he just can’t move. 

Eventually the trembling in his legs slows, and he lifts his head from the shelf, turning instead to slide down it, using it for balance until he hits the floor. His knee thunks against the crate as he collapses, the scant things inside clinking against each other. 

That had been one of the worst things; Obi-Wan always filled a room. His presence was a gentle, quiet, pervasive thing. Cody had held his small collection of two plants, a meditation mat, a few trinkets from planets visited and a lightsaber maintenance kit and felt nothing. 

He swipes ruthlessly at his face with one hand, thumbing under his eyes to scrub away the moisture. 

He needs to get moving. They’ll be looking for him soon. 

Instead, his knee has dislodged the thin fabric covering the crate, and his eyes catch on the vambrace stacked on top, the straps frayed and snapped. Cody had helped paint this one and its pair, had shown Obi-Wan how to get the colours to take properly to the unwieldy plastoid. 

He’d been the one to break it, too. Obi-Wan had just come out of the field medstation, bruised to shit but still smiling, and Cody had crowded him against a powered down holostation in the empty command tent and yanked at his clothes, just needing to feel his pulse under his skin, to feel the warmth of him safe and alive. It had been too much for the worn out armour to bear. 

Two cycles later Obi-Wan had been on his way to Coruscant again, and there had been no time to fix them. It’s stupid, but Cody had taken one look at them on the little desk, in the space that had once been Obi-Wan’s room, and all he’d been able to think was that he hadn’t been properly protected. Cody had broken his armour. Cody had left him vulnerable.

Obi-Wan’d taken his spare set, of course, but he’s always complained that they chafe, and if there’s one thing Cody knows, it’s that if your armour isn’t right you aren’t fighting at your best.

He reaches for the broken piece now, thumbing the frayed synthleather and the chipped paint, yellow and red and faint scuffed up grey. 

He knows now that it wouldn’t have made a difference to what happened, but he still heaves himself up to his feet after a moment and goes to the supply closet, pulls out a new strap, and sits back down again, committing to unpicking the stitching of the old before he can attach it.

He should’ve done this sooner. 

He should’ve been more careful. 

He should’ve been there.

He should’ve - 

He could have - 

He’s crying.

He’s crying, and he doesn’t realise it until the salt is heavy on his cheeks, until his neckline is wet, until his vision blurs so hard he can’t see. Cody makes a low, animal sound and curls over the vambrace, his fingers stilling against the threads. 

His throat aches, his face is swollen, his body hot. He feels sick, and disoriented, overwhelmed in a way he can’t name.

“Cody?” 

He flinches like he’s wounded, turning his face away from the door, like it will hide the evidence of his weakness. He knows he’s failed when Obi-Wan’s breath sucks in, so loud in the quiet. 

“Cody?” His voice comes again, much closer this time. “Will you...will you look at me?” 

Through the haze, Cody catches something that does make him turn. Obi-Wan sounds...hesitant, so uncharacteristically tentative that it cuts through the rest. 

He wipes quickly at his face, smearing the mess, and gets his eyes just clear enough to find Obi-Wan’s face, so foreign and smooth but so dear for all that. His eyes are still the same, glacier-heart blue, and worried, right now, focused on his face. 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan whispers at whatever he finds there, then reaches out, stutters halfway through, and drops his hand. His wrist is bare, and his robe sleeves flop backwards.

“I was trying to fix it,” Cody croaks, shifting to unveil the half-mended vambrace. “Before I brought it back. I broke it, and then you left without it and then you -”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to flinch back this time, while Cody greedily drinks him in, taking in the changes to his face, the way the lack of a beard makes his jaw look sharper, his features look younger. The stubbly fuzz of his hair is odd, true enough, but it’s still him.

“I - I never thought,” Obi-Wan says haltingly, and now Cody frowns, because it’s so unlike him to lose his words. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker away, then back, like he’s steeling himself. Almost like he’s afraid. 

“I never imagined you’d feel responsible - Cody - I’m so sorry -” 

He reaches out, his fingers loosely catching Cody’s wrist this time. Cody feels it, the warmth of his hand sharp and electric. Tears spring to his eyes all over again; it’s the first time they’ve touched since he walked Obi-Wan to the hangar and he kissed him goodbye behind a LAAT/i. He’s replayed it so many times since, thinking he’d never get another, but the memory does the reality no justice, failing to preserve the way heat floods under his skin. 

Obi-Wan moves to take his hand back, and Cody traps it there, anchoring his fingers and dipping his head, just breathing through it.

“If I could have told you,” Obi-Wan continues. “I would have, I swear it, I -”

“I know,” Cody says instantly, because he does, he’d never doubt it. “I know you couldn’t.”

Their fingers curl more securely together, calluses and knuckles finding a home against their pair. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan says. Cody shakes his head before he even thinks about it.

“It was your duty. I just -,” he squeezes his eyes shut again, voice breaking. The deception had made him angry. He can admit that, but it was never directed between them. The war stops for no-one, after all. “I can’t believe you’re still here.” 

“I promise, I always intend to stay,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Cody’s smiling when he kisses him, so full his cheeks ache with it. It tastes of salt and bitter-sweet and just a hint of desperation, their hands clasped with the vambrace cradled between them. 

Then Obi-Wan draws him in, tucking his head under his chin. Cody presses his wet skin to the hollow of neck, listens to his heartbeat, and weeps.