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rayofsunas · 4 years ago

Text

s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

A/n: hello everyone! I hope your day is going alright, and that you’re doing well 🥰 I recently hit 300+ folllwers, like Sunday morning, and omg, that was the best thing to wake up too 🥺❤️ thank you those new and old for following and taking a chance with my account and sometimes trashy works 🙃 I’m gonna make a longer post at some point saying my thanks and discuss what I plan to do to celebrate 300 followers. It would really mean a lot to me if you guys chimed in if you have any ideas, after all, this is a thanks to you and I want you all to be involved! also, if you saw my recent rambles about how a draft was deleted, it’s referring to this post... what I had written got deleted TWICE in the span of FIVE MINUTES. gosh I was so pissed, I almost screamed. mobile tumblr is not it 😔 but here we are. I hope you like this. I tried to write this three times.... 🤡 also, since I am not a doctor or anything, I put a link to possible symptoms/what a “mental breakdown” is, that’s in the warnings, just click the link, it helped with my accuracy.

Summary: s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

Parings: Xiao/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader, Albedo/Reader, Childe/Reader (all fem reader)

Warnings: angst, mental breakdown (panic attacks, stress, anxiety, ptsd, hallucinations, insomnia) fluff, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of injury

Word count: 3.5k (whew after tumblr DELETING this draft twice here we are folks ;-;)

requested by @mintyhuening

Xiao

he knew you weren’t okay at all

Xiao knew the moment you locked yourself in your house

at first he thought maybe you were just temporarily feeling this way, but as the weeks passed and you hadn’t come out, he decided maybe not

coming from someone who enjoyed silence and solitude he could understand the distancing part, but it had been weeks, and even he needed socialization, so why hadn’t you come out?

you spoke to him through the door a few times, letting him know you were alright

he didn’t believe that though, sure you were alive, but not alright, he was mainly checking for confirmation to see if you were still alive while he thought of a good way to approach the situation

he didn’t want to invade your privacy, but he also hated the fact that you wouldn’t come out, not even to see him

it was lonely without you, he concluded

even for someone who enjoy solitude

you were a careful creature, but never this careful and cautious...

were humans always like this?

eventually, he couldn’t stand it, and did find other ways to get into your house

he grew antsy after pacing outside your door for days

he found you huddled in your bed, a heap of pillows and blankets surrounding you

you were shocked to see him when he’d sat down on the foot of the bed, causing it to dip significantly

“How did you get in?” You snapped once you saw who it was.

“I have my ways.” He said raspily. With a huff of annoyance, you were back to facing the wall, away from the Adepti.

“It’s dark in here.” He announced matter a factly, looking around the nearly pitch-black room, windows and doors covered by sheets and hefty duty curtains. “It’s how I like it.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t care, go away.”

Xiao was starting to grow impatient surprisingly, he truly just wanted to help, why couldn't you see that?

“Being passive is not going to help the situation, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He worried. If he said the wrong, would you push him away even further? If he said the right thing, would you even care? Did you want help?

Xiao moved closer to you, hand going to touch your leg, although it was underneath the blankets, you felt it and did have to admit the affection was comforting.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Xiao said. “Your friends miss you, I miss you as well.”

Maybe if you weren’t cooped up here anymore, you would start to come around. The room and house all together were very stuffy, dark, and depressing, he despised it.

“It’s beautiful outside, come with me,” he'd whispered. “At least if you don’t want to be around people, could you allow me to take you to a secluded area?”

“The fresh air will do you good.”

You were thinking about it, you had to of been if you still cared.

“Fine, mother.” He watched with hope in his eyes as you slowly rose from the bed, and began

The outside world was very very bright at first, enough to induce a headache. But you became used to it the more you were out.

Xiao stayed true to his word like you knew he would unless you wouldn’t have come. You were taken to a very secluded area, there wasn’t even a path or road to it, just green luscious grass, and crystal core everywhere, beautiful blue and orange ones; Anemo and Geo respectively. You weren’t sure where you were, somewhere between Mondstadt and Liyue, you assumed.

The fresh air did wonders, Xiao had noticed. You seemed to open up. Telling him a little of the problem. You had told him about how life was just stressful right now, you hadn’t taken any commissions in weeks, spoken to any of your friends Mondstadt, hence why they had come to him, accusing him of kidnapping and brainwashing you. He was offended, nonetheless let them know that wasn’t the case.

The ever so secluded Xiao would take you out more, slowly introducing you to crowds of people, and would still take you on daily walks to that secret place you now called your special spot.

It would take a while, he knew that, and you wouldn’t be comfortable doing everything that others around you did, maybe not for a while. He could respect that, as long as you allowed him to help and encourage you.

Scaramouche

being a harbinger was HARD, Scaramouche knew that, even if he didn’t admit it

admitting it was challenging, could lead to always being doubted or seen as incompetent. therefore, no one mentions how hard it is

he had been off doing his duties when he got news that you had lashed out at a few lower rank fatui on your team, resulting in you being called in to meet with The Tsaritsa... let's just say she went easy on you because you were one of her highest ranking soldiers, if not, she would've severely punished you

you were forced back to your sleeping quarters immediately to calm down, told to stay put until you could stop “lashing out like a child” as she had put it

you weren’t one to argue against The Tsaritsa, everyone knew that was common rule... so you walked back as calmly as you could without snapping at anyone else

when Scaramouche had heard how you acted, he was annoyed

the always so calm and calculated Y/n, lashing out at her fellow members? he couldn’t help but be annoyed, despite it being completely out of character of you

he had finished his duties relatively quick, wondering why you were acting so out of character

when he got back, he found you in your sleeping quarters, pacing in front of the large windows near the furthest end of your room

you were still wearing your typical combat gear, though your hair disheveled and body language looking extremely anxious, he hoped it was not yours...

“What did you do this time?” Had asked the violet-eyed man, carelessly throwing his hat on your bed, lean arms folding across his chest.

No response.

“Excuse me, I believe I asked you a question.”

A loud irritable huff.

“Be quiet for once in your life, Scaramouche.” You hissed, anxiously biting at your nails. “Sorry- I’m just trying to calm down, but my heart can’t stop racing.”

Scaramouche wasn’t the most in-touch person with his feelings, and out of all the harbingers, he was one of the more difficult ones to deal with.

Surprisingly, he had shut up, despite finding it difficult to hold his malicious comment back.

“What’s wrong?” Your lover asked, more softly this time.

“My mission today was... hard. I know you said it’s important for missions to just be a one and done; no hard feelings. And you know I’ve always been that way. But this one was different.” His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing in annoyance.

“I can’t help but think about what they did.”

“Did you get what you went for? I heard you sought after information regarding that Knight, Aether.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’d call that a successful mission,” He stared intensely, casually moving to sit on the comfort of your bed. Of course, he wouldn’t take this seriously. “Any casualties?”

“None of our men, but-”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“There were children, three little children, and those idiots just slaughtered them.”

“Ah... I see.”

Despite stating he understood, he really couldn’t sympathize with what you were saying. Those children were enemies as long as they worked against The Tsaritsa.

Your voice suddenly cut through the silence, staring directly into his eyes, “What if those were our children?”

“They weren’t.” Your eyes rolled at his comment.

“But what if!” He rolled his eyes, mocking your previous action.

“But they weren’t.” He mocked for a second time.

“You’re not helping, Scaramouche!”

“You’ll never understand, unless you see what I saw,” He knew you were right to some degree, but even then would he feel bad? A mission was a mission after all.

“They were begging me to protect them, and the youngest, she would not let go of my arm and then the next thing I knew, they were dead.” You continued, left hand going to grip your right, he assumed to show him where and how the said girl had gripped you. You were still shaking, this time being closer, he noticed how bad it was.

“They were pleading, I told them I would try my best, and then-” He had long ago stood, making himself present in front of you. His warm hands had grabbed your shaking ones harshly, ceasing the trembling momentarily.

“Please, be quiet,” The sixth harbinger snipped. “I don’t like seeing you upset.” Although it sounded harsh, he was trying his best to make it sound how he felt, even if those feelings were minuscule towards this specific topic.

“Although, I don’t agree with you about this particular concern of yours- I will do whatever you need to help you.”

Albedo

now, he may just be an alchemist, but trust me, Albedo sees the signs before anyone, he has some sort of familiarity with them due to his incessant reading

and it may have taken him longer to see the signs because of how busy he was, but he saw them

he was no fool to the likes of insomnia, in fact he knew it very well, often staying up very late into the night and morning, sometimes for days at a time

he was cooped up in his lab and it wasn’t as if his body wasn’t tired, cause hell he was, there was just s much more to learn and discover, his brain WOULD not stop,

Albedo hadn’t known how long this had been going on for, but he was seeing signs now

ngl, he didn’t notice that you hadn’t been sleeping properly until one night he decided to accompany you in bed earlier than usual (It was three a.m, yikes), and found that you were awake still

you were lying still on your side of the bed, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he reached over to kiss your cheek, only to see your eyes open, he would’ve assumed you were alright and asleep

“You’re awake?” The ashy-blonde man asked, sliding into bed next to you.

“Can’t sleep.” You shrugged nonchalantly, scooting closer to him, seeking his warmth and comfort.

“You should’ve come to get me, I would’ve come to bed earlier with you.”

“It’s alright, I peeked in to see if you were still alive,” You joked, he chuckled. “You seemed very busy.”

“Yes, but, I thought I told you to remind me when you need attention, I often get sidetracked and enamored with my work.”

“It’s quite alright, Albedo. As long as you’re sleeping.”

He hummed, whispering tired words of adoration in your ear. That carried on for a while, as long as talking about the day's work and whatnot, until you eventually questioned, “Can I play with your hair?” The gesture was sweet, and that did sound amazing right about now since he was on the brink of sleep, but just needed that little push. But weren’t you tired?

“Aren’t you tired?”

You sat up, climbing behind Albedo, gently placing his head in your lap. “I’ll go after you.” A soft smile adorned your beautiful face. “You need sleep, you stay up for Archon knows how long.”

He selfishly allowed his eyes to close and waited for sleep to accompany him while you began untangling his two braids and ponytail. You played with and braided his hair until he’d fallen asleep as you said. You stayed up the rest of the morning though.

Eventually, probably out of boredom, you fell asleep for an hour or two around five a.m. Though, unfortunately, you were back up before six. You busied yourself while Albedo slept, starting with cleaning his lab. Albedo often did not like people touching his books, paperwork, and findings, but after instructing you how to properly take care of his stuff, he welcomed your help with open arms, seeing as though his lab was ALWAYS in shambles from not having enough time to take care of things himself.

Albedo surprisingly woke up around nine, wavy hair surrounding him like a lion, you chuckled to yourself at the sight. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright, considering my sleep schedule is nonexistent a lot of the time.” You nodded, bumping shoulders teasingly. “How about you?”

“Okay,” You said, immediately changing the subject. “I woke up early, so I cleaned your lab, I hope it’s to your likings, Kreideprinz.” You teased, bowing at the waist.

The alchemist waved you off, with a smile. “We’ll see about your organizational skills after you eat.”

How had he known?

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Albedo asked, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“That obvious.” You wondered trailing after him.

“You always wait for me, darling.”

“You look exhausted.” Albedo’s concerned voice cut in through the smooth Mondstadt breeze. You had been so distracted with the discovery in front of you, you hadn’t realized your boyfriend was staring directly at you. “When was the last time you slept?” He glanced back down at the discovery, still listening, but if you didn’t speak soon he’d be lost in his world again.

“A day or two, but-” Albedo probably got whiplash from how hard he’d snapped his head to face you, but now he was staring at you with features reading nothing but shock, cerulean eyes blown wide.

“I think your bad sleeping schedule is contagious.” You joked, trying to make the situation lighter-hearted. He didn’t laugh.

Albedo was more serious this time, proving it when he faced you completely. “What’s been going on?” His voice was soft, but he was extremely worried.

Nervousness built up in his lover's body. “Nothing! I just-” You sighed. Might as well tell him the truth, he’d coerce the answer from you no matter what it took. “It’s been harder to sleep after my injury from that ruin guard. When it hit me, I banged my head against the concrete, and ever since I guess it’s been hard to sleep.”

“You could've told me sooner. I would have stopped everything and anything for you.” Yes, that was true, that was the problem though. You didn’t want to be coddled like a baby

“I know, I’m not sure why I didn’t... Naturally, I don’t want to worry you.”

He moved closer to you so he could cradle your face in his hands. “You can always tell me anything you know that.”

“I understand that. You’re a busy man so-”

“From this moment on, my work will be dedicated to finding a cure for you.”

You panicked, not wanting to stop his work for the likes of what you were dealing with. “What? Wait no-”

“You can’t stop me, darling. You take precedence over everything.”

Albedo made it his goal to do whatever possible to help you. Whether it be spending days in his lab making concoctions in hopes of creating something that could safely aid you with sleep. Or he’s in the libraries, reading all the books on the wellness and health of humans. He’s already on top of it the minute you expressed your concerns. In the meantime, he’s going to make sure he goes to bed with you much earlier, and won’t go until you do, to ensure you’re resting.

We love sweet caretaker Albedo.

(I understand insomnia can have other causes, not just a mental or nervous breakdown, but it’s kind of implied when reader hurt her head that she’s not well.)

Childe

Childe is simply not going to know your not well, he just won’t, it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s more so the fact that he has a hard time paying attention to anything other than his missions and duties, he does not want to slow down

you have to show signs or tell him to realize

he decided to take a break though, seeing as he did promise you dinner tonight. he told you it would be his treat, since he did have a bunch of Mora lying around that he simply had no other use for

he figured a nice dinner and trip to one of the nicer cities with more to offer would be nice, he would buy you anything you desired

it was nearing the time for dinner though, and the reservations had already been made, so when he was left waiting, let's just say he was irked...

if you didn’t want to show up, you would’ve told him, so maybe you forgot? he concluded that couldn’t be it

the last time he’d brought it up, two days ago, you had been so excited you couldn’t sit still nor stop talking about it

asking a few people around town if you had been spotted anywhere, some said you had wandered off to Luhua Pool, something about there being a myth about special healing properties within the water

now he was even more confused

one, you NEVER went to Luhua Pool, there was never a need to do so

two, special healing properties? why would you need that? were you hurt in his absence?

you were his family, and he loved his family more than anything, so if something was wrong, he’d do whatever it took to help you

he traveled from Snezhnaya to Luhua Pool in record speed

he did find you eventually, the sun was setting, but thanks to the glowing water he could make your form out easily

you were hunched over, in what looked like to be some simple greenish cloth dress, he couldn’t see what you were doing, and called out your name

no answer

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” The orange-haired teen asked, crouching down beside his lover to see what was wrong.

“Cleaning.” You had said. That’s when his dull blue eyes traveled to what you were doing, watching with a confused stare as you scrubbed at what seemed to be clean hands.

“Hmm, I see...” He couldn’t tell if this was a prank or not, you usually played along with his teasing nature. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Was that really today?” Your head lifted, leaving your hands to momentarily hanging in the air, water droplets dripping off into the pool.

Okay... so you did forget it seemed, which did shock him seeing as though you were over the moon, less than seventy-two hours ago.

“Uh, yeah, did you really forget? That’s unlike you! I’ve learned women don’t forget anything.” He teased, hand going to his chin. You hummed, turning back to do whatever it was you had been previously.

The harbinger frowned. “Do you still want to go? We can make it if we’re fast.” You sounded like a robot, much like a ruin guard, he concluded.

“I’m sorry, not today, I’m dirty...”

Childe couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dirty? Sweetheart, you’re cleaner than most people I’ve seen, what’re you on about-”

“The blood, it’s stained my hands, can’t you see?” Even after holding your hands to show him, he saw nothing resembling blood.

“Are you playing games with me? Sure, it would’ve been funny any other day, not today though-”

“You don’t believe me?” You sounded hurt, but whatever was going on, he wouldn’t feed into these... false hallucinations. “The townspeople said the same thing, they called me crazy...” You scrubbed even harder at your hands, letting out a frustrated huff.

“I don’t see anything, I’m really sorry,” He said gently, reaching into the water to grasp your warm hands in his, “But if you continue to do that...I will see the blood.”

Childe was not sure what was going on, maybe some sort of PTSD? Although, he wasn’t sure where it could’ve come from... you’re not a harbinger or fatui, or anyone that is engaged in battle, etc. so it didn’t make sense. Unless something happened that decided to resurface now.

He immediately took you home, hand in his to keep you from further scratching your hands. On the journey, you often asked, “Why are you even touching me? There’s a lot of blood.”

He didn’t want to have to feed into whatever was going on, worried he’d damage you somehow, and he didn’t want to make you sound crazy, so instead he said, “Because I love you.”

When you both arrived home, he’d immediately laid you in bed, saying you appeared tired before going to search for a doctor.

Child will see every and all doctors in Teyvat and will pay whatever amount necessary to figure out what’s wrong, that’s for sure. Doesn’t take orders from the harbingers (not like he was anyways) and opts to stay close to you at all times.

He decided to keep his teasing to a minimum, though he found that sometimes things slipped out accidentally, he’d do anything in his power to help you.

1.18.21, rayofsunas

#rayofsunas #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #childe #childe x reader #tartagalia #xiao #xiao x reader

2K notes · View notes

theskywaslookingback · 4 years ago

Note

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

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How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

#statement ends #anonymous #fic recs #save #((this took me like two hours lmaooooo))

113 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 4 years ago

Text

Afterlife

Word Count: 2229

Names:

Alba- Scotland

Cymru- Wales

Albion- England

Ériu- Ireland

Set in the same world as ‘Wind Walk’

-----------

‘What happens when we die?’

Alba paused, halfway through carving a gouge in a block of wood to look over at Albion where he was stood by the fire, face turned to the flames. He had his back to Alba, a roughly spun blanket draped over his shoulders which was made from thick, undyed wool that scratched but did the job. Cymru was getting the hang of making them now, able to weave in a few patterns if he had the time and the colours, but it was haphazard work and nothing fancy at all. They were sometimes able to trade for nicer ones, ones with intricate designs of knots and swirls, charms woven into the fabric to dance across borders and seams, but food was more important, usually. Things they couldn’t catch or pick from the land, like bread.

Mama had never really praised overly nice things, or stressed their importance beyond a passing aesthetic appreciation, and so none of them were too concerned that their everyday clothes were dull and shapeless. Their nicer things Alba kept in a bag at all times near his person- golden armlets and bracelets folded in the plaid of their family woven by Mama herself to show them as children of the earth, Gods amongst men. Rich colours and bold patterns that Cymru eyed with greedy wonder.

Alba saved these for when they visited their people, the scatterings of them spread across the island that bore them. He was thankful that he and his siblings didn’t really grow.

‘What do you mean?’

Albion hesitated, mouth pressing into a tight line before opening again to speak, ‘When we die. Because people…’ Albion shifted, casting a quick glance back to him before turning once again to the fire, ‘humans don’t come back, do they?’

Alba, gave up on whittling anything further and sat up straighter, left hand holding what would one day be a bowl resting on his knee, ‘No, they don’t.’

He looked about their camp from his spot on the floor, back pressed again the trunk of a large tree they’d pitched their shelter against. Despite it being night Cymru was off somewhere, away on one of his walks that sometimes took him for days and there was no telling when he’d be back. This time Alba wasn’t too sure what had caused him to need space, the air was calm and friendly amongst them all, but Cymru had grown silent and still regardless and Alba had followed him with watchful eyes until he had taken himself away, seeing him retreat to the West where he could feel him linger on the edge of his perception.

He was the one that usually had these conversations, the ones where there wasn’t a clear answer, or a kind answer. Cymru could mould the truth into something palatable, something easy to understand and swallow without it becoming a lie. These sorts of conversations were not Alba’s strength- he did not like things for which there was no answer, or no easy answer, and so either worked at them silently until there was one, or ignored it. Not all things needed to be understood or reasoned with, some things just were and it was easier in the end to accept that.

But Alba had a feeling that Albion was leading to one of those sorts of questions and he was going to have to be the one to answer it.

‘But we do come back,’ Albion continued on. He said it as a statement; the tone was unquestioning but also unsure and Alba cracked his knuckles on one hand with his thumb as he tried to read between what Albion was saying and what he might be leading up to.

‘Yes, we do.’

An unspoken ‘sometimes’ fell flat and awkward between them. Mama hadn’t come back.

Albion looked down at the ground and rolled a stone underneath his foot. He was barefoot, again, because he refused to stay in shoes for very long if he could help it, and he balanced the pebble under the ball of his foot, round and around.

‘What is it?’ Alba knew this had come out rougher than he had intended by the way Albion’s shoulders twitched, a sudden self-conscious jolt that made Alba click his tongue in regret and try again. He was still getting used to this, ‘What are you thinking about?’

Alba watch the curve of Albion’s brow furrow into a frown, light from the flames silhouetting him and making him appear older and unknown, ‘Do we turn human? When we die? Is that why Mama…’ he trailed off, no words needed.

‘No, we don’t,’ he said it confidently but really, Alba knew as much as anyone did. Which is to say, he knew nothing concrete at all. None of them truly knew what happened to Mama, although her disappearance was as sure and real to him as much as his own hand was. Mama wasn’t missing or elsewhere, she was gone. He felt it as a truth deep within him, somewhere ancient formed long before his time. No matter what Alba didn’t know, he knew this all too well, ‘we stay as we are. We fade, when our time comes.’

He could see that this reply brought more questions than it did answers and thought of a way to try and fill the gaps, ‘humans die from age or sickness, or injury. We die from other things.’

Albion turned around to face him fully, ‘Like what?’

‘By the Gods, what is it with you today? Why so many questions?’

Albion scowled and lightly kicked the pebble he was worrying away from the fire. It rolled somewhere to Alba’s left, landing by the roots of a small shrub. They both watched its progress, ‘doesn’t matter.’

Damn it. ‘Don’t be huffy, why’re you asking all of a sudden?’

Albion shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tensed under the blanket, pulling it tighter around him and huddling in on himself. He ducked his head to stare somewhere off and down, ‘You’ll laugh.’

‘No, I won’t,’ Alba was slightly offended, although it couldn’t say for sure that it was unwarranted. Maybe there had been times when he’d read his youngest brother wrong. Albion was often prickly and capricious and it was difficult to tell how he was truly feeling, hard to know whether he was hiding another truth under thorns.

Alba also wasn’t used to talking with him in such a way yet. Before Mama died, he could be a brother: tease Albion whenever he said something stupid, or fell over, or messed up. But now Alba had to be something more, had suddenly found himself thrust in a role he didn’t ask for and the shape of caregiver hung too large on him. He was trying to fill a space of parent for everyone but all he himself really wanted was for someone else to come and do it for him, for Mama to come back and fill it perfectly.

It was hard to know where to tread on a path you’ve never gone down before, especially one made by someone else.

Albion still looked unsure and as much as a large part of Alba was tempted to let it go, to take the easy option that was presented to him and move on with the evening, another, more stubborn, part wanted to prove Albion, and maybe himself, wrong, ‘I promise I won’t laugh. Now will you just spit it out?’

Albion remained staring somewhere at the ground between them, ‘what if-,’ he cut off, swallowing, ‘what if you die?’

There was a beat of silence in which a flurry of emotions coiled in Alba’s chest, ‘I will die. We all die.’

Albion pursed his lips tight together and blinked a few times in succession- too quick, ‘But I don’t- I don’t want you to.’

Alba’s throat felt thick suddenly, ‘Hey, come here.’

Albion refused to move, still studiously looking down at the ground and locked stubbornly in place, so Alba half stood to reach out and grab hold of the blanket and tug him closer. Albion stumbled at first, unwilling to allow himself to let go easily, but another tug had him near enough for Alba to wrap him in arms, falling back down into a sit with him. Once there, all pretence was dropped and Albion lifted his arms to curl them around Alba’s neck, chin coming to hook over his shoulder.

Alba shifted him to settle more comfortably on his lap, legs around his waist and blanket forgotten on the floor, and rubbed his back, holding him tight with his other arm. Albion’s hands gripped Alba’s tunic in a tight bunch, tugging it awkwardly askew around his back. They stayed there for a few moments, mostly silent and unmoving apart from the odd jolting repressed sob from Albion who still refused to give in completely.

After he’d calmed down, shaky breaths softening into regular breathing, Alba reached up to cup the back of his head and lightly ruffle his hair, ‘I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’

Albion sniffled and released one hold of Alba’s clothes to rub at his eyes, ‘How do you know?’

‘Because I do.’

Albion dropped his hand to once again grabbed hold of his tunic but looser, tugging and pulling at the fabric in a half-hearted distraction, and huffed, ‘That’s a stupid answer.’

Alba prodded him in the side, smiling when Albion twitched in surprise, ‘It’s the truth. I think Mama knew; we knew as well, didn’t we.’

Albion hmm’d, unwilling to agree. Alba knew he had noticed though, as small as he was. He had never fussed or questioned when she’d wandered away and left them, had never tried to follow her on her journeys alone. He had known, as they all had, that she was disappearing into time and a place no one could follow.

‘We are our people. We watch them and speak for them- we remember them,’ Alba shifted him and rested his cheek on the crown of Albion’s head, speaking into his hair, ‘when our people change, sometimes we can’t change with them. I think that’s what happened to Mama.’

Albion stayed silent. Alba could feel him thinking, sense him turning this over in his head to search for holes.

‘What brought this on?’ Alba tried again, gently. He felt Albion swallow against his shoulder.

‘Things feel more different now. Cymru goes away and sometimes I can’t feel where he goes. Ériu feels the most different and-‘ he paused for a moment, thinking, ‘humans feel different. Some I can’t feel them at all, I know they’re not mine now. So, I thought… what if…’

Alba raised his head and shrugged his shoulder for Albion to move off. He leant back, heavy in his lap, and Alba caught him by the chin to keep him from looking away, ‘Just because we’re growing apart now, doesn’t mean we’re going away,’ he smoothed a thumb under Albion’s eye before resting his hand on his neck, steady, ‘we’ll be different but we’ll still be here. You’ll know when it’s my time to go.’

Albion’s eyes slid to stare at Alba’s shoulder so he tapped him under the chin to get him to look back, ‘Alright? You’ll know.’

Albion gave a small nod, ‘yeah, okay.’

Alba eyed him critically, searching for anything lingering that he still wasn’t saying. Finding nothing and feeling satisfied that Albion had taken in what he’d said, Alba gave a moan and rubbed theatrically at his thighs, ‘Good, now get off- you’re heavy.’

Albion scowled, ‘No I’m not!’

‘By Gods you are, I can’t feel my legs.’

Albion shoved at his shoulder but stood, moving off to the side, ‘Maybe your legs are just weak.’

‘Maybe it’s all those raspberries you keep filching when you think I’m not looking.’

Albion coloured, ‘No it’s not!’

‘Must be, I did think you were looking rounder,’

Alba prodded Albion in the stomach and he scowled, swatting his hand away, ‘I’m not round!’

‘Well, you certainly ain’t a feather. Here,’ Alba picked up his block of wood and his carving knife and held them out to him, ‘help me work on this. It can be for you to carry the berries in rather than stuffing them in your shirt and staining everything.’

‘I don’t do that,’ Albion huffed but took the wood and tool anyway, sitting down next to him. Alba picked up the blanket and shook it out to shake off the dirt before draping it back around his shoulders.

‘Do you think I can’t tell? Stop grousing and hollow me out a hole, we can smooth it later.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Albion began to carve in the centre, widening the impressions Alba had made earlier.

Alba fished in his pocket for his hunting knife, ‘I’ll sharpen this and then go and check the rabbit traps.’

He leant behind him and around the tree for his travel bag, pulling it closer and rummaging about inside it for his whetstone.

‘Thanks.’

Albion’s voice was small and quiet- Alba probably wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t still been so alert to noise from him.

He prodded his brother on the arm with his knee and turned to carry on digging through his bag, ‘of course.’

-----------

AN:

Another mini story that will be fleshed out for AO3 one day. Can you tell I’m procrastinating updating my other WIPs? Because I am and I am a cretin.

This is very self-indulgent with no historical accuracy or research whatsoever- please forgive me. If I go digging for historical truth, I fall into a rabbit hole and that is very difficult to peel myself out of.

Thanks for reading!

#my writing #hetalia #aph #hws #hws england #hws scotland #aph england #aph scotland #arthur kirkland #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfic #help i am a mess for sibling relationships #hws uk bros #hws brit bros #aph brit bros

96 notes · View notes

something-tofightfor · 4 years ago

Text

Magnetic: Introduction - It’s All Very Complicated

Pairing: None, yet.

Word count: 3,565

Rating: None, really. Yet. Some mentions of sex, general angst. This is truly an introduction.

Summary: Welcome to the Academy, where trained and capable Jedi work to teach the Force-sensitive how to best manage and utilize their abilities. Though you live there, you’re no longer training, and one of your main responsibilities is providing companionship and understanding to the newest Padawan: Grogu. You’ve got a past, sure ... but is that past going to shape your future?

Author’s note:

This is the “sequel” to T’ad nac or’atu (Two No More) - and takes place about a year after Grogu left with Luke, featuring a female reader insert. There will be spoilers from seasons 1 and two of The Mandalorian throughout. If you didn’t watch the show, this won’t make much sense to you.

I’m terrified to post this, I’m gonna be honest. Even though this is a general introduction to this series, and I’m well into writing it ... it’s still scary. I’m very thankful to the people that have provided me with feedback, honesty, support and have offered to read parts of this for me.

This is going to be the shortest part by far, but I didn’t think that an 8,000 word introduction was the right call.

I hope you enjoy it. Feedback - both positive and critical - is always welcome.

(banner made by the absolutely talented @malionnes)

Before your eyes had even opened, and even though you were still half asleep, you sensed that someone was in the room with you. Again? Blinking, you let out a slow breath, giving your eyes time to adjust to the dim glow from the panel next to the door as the dream you’d been having slipped away, dark brown eyes and a cautious smile the only things you could remember. The room was silent, aside from the low hiss of cooled air through the vent, but then after a few seconds, you heard a quiet thud at the foot of your bed followed by a nearly inaudible whine. Again. “C’mere, Gr - kid.”

The blankets shifted with the added weight as he tugged on them, and you clutched the top edge to keep them from slipping off of you entirely while he climbed. Too cold for that. In the low light, you saw the curved top of his head and his sloping ears appear first, quiet coos accompanying them. Hey kid.

It didn’t happen every night, but at least three times a week, the little guy found his way into your room and into your bed, nesting right next to your upper body, your arm curled loosely around him as you both nodded off. “Couldn’t sleep again?” He moved more swiftly over the blankets, and it didn’t take long for his face to pop up right next to yours, mouth opened slightly, his massive eyes focused on you. No.

Lifting the corner of the blanket with one hand and groaning at the slight chill of air it allowed to enter the previously covered space, you paused as the kid dove beneath it, letting the material fall again as you felt him lay down next to you, more babbling noises a sign that while you were still on the edge of sleep, he was wide awake. “You could just knock, bud. It would be…” No knock. Too loud. “Fine.” You weren’t annoyed with him - not really - and despite the numerous ongoing middle of the night intrusions, you knew you’d never tell him to stop coming into your room. Keeping me from being lonely, little guy. Hope I’m doing the same for you.

It had been happening since shortly after the youngling arrived at the Academy and you were introduced. The first few times, you’d been quick to scoop him up, carrying him back to his room and tucking him into his bed before telling him that he had to stay put. While you didn’t have all the details about Grogu’s past, you knew that it had been a lot more unconventional than that of the other students and Masters, and that he wasn’t used to such a routine - or being alone at night. None of us were before we got here.��

But he’d been subjected to more difficult times than you could imagine, and although you got glimpses of them through his thoughts, much of it was still hazy - as if he was trying to keep his early years a secret, hidden from everyone - even himself, but especially you and the other adults at the Academy. And you’re gonna make sure it stays that way, aren’t you. Absently, you stroked the back of his head, feeling the wrinkled skin beneath your fingers, along with the soft edge of the top of his sleeping robe.

He’d come back with Master Skywalker, straight from a dangerous confrontation with Imperial remnants on a light cruiser, and you’d quickly learned first hand that he was powerful with the Force - although uneducated and undisciplined in the ways of the Jedi. Prior to his rescue, a Mandalorian bounty hunter was responsible for his care, and that had been the case for almost a year, which added to the child’s lack of control and discipline. But it’s not his fault, it had to be that way.

The Mandalorian had done his best, keeping the kid as safe and as secure as possible for as long as possible. But the Empire finally caught up with them, leading to the kid’s current situation - separated from the people he’d spent a great deal of time with and studying under capable and trained Jedi. It had to be… hard. Yes. You glanced down, but could only see the side of Grogu’s face, his ear folded against the pillow beneath his large head. It is.

At the unusually candid response to your thoughts of his previous life, your tired mind turned back to the Mandalorian, eyes drooping shut. You’d also caught glimpses of him through Grogu’s thoughts; a tall and broad-shouldered man, covered nearly head to toe in gleaming beskar and a flowing cape, a sizeable helmet perched atop his shoulders and obscuring his features completely. Through Grogu’s eyes, you saw the man as imposing and to be feared, dangerous, though Grogu himself hadn’t ever been afraid, even in the beginning. You saw the weapons he carried; a huge rifle, a weighty blaster, even a flamethrower attached to his wrist along with a sleek, shining spear made of the same material as his armor. Not only could you see them in your mind, you felt the same sense of pride that Grogu felt when he watched the man wield them in the memories. He was the right person to protect you, kid.

You’d never met a Mandalorian before, but had researched them in the Jedi texts and other history books, learning of their ferocity and belief systems, which differed depending on their specific clans and Tribes. “It’s all very complicated, hmm?” You whispered the words, a smile on your lips as you pressed them gently to the back of the child’s head. He cooed again in response, but you felt that his mind was beginning to settle, his three-fingered grip on your forearm loosening. “It had to be a lot for you to understand, right kid?” The Way.

You felt the weight of the words from his thoughts, another slow, heavy breath leaving you, but the sadness Grogu knew when thinking of the man quickly changed into a happier emotion, and you closed your eyes, too, concentrating on his shifting thoughts. He was nearly twice your age, but Grogu was - for lack of a better description - still a child, and although he’d grown much stronger in the months he’d spent training at the Academy, his emotions were still much more volatile than the Masters would have liked. But it happens differently for everyone.

That volatility made it easier to read him even when he wasn’t focused on communicating with you, and while you knew that some of the other students seemed to fear the little green creature and the strength he radiated, you’d never felt the same, even though you knew that he knew when you were prodding at his thoughts - and he was more than capable of making you stop.

It wasn’t because you were prying; in fact, it was the exact opposite, and you’d spent countless nights like this one before, connecting with the kid as a way to calm him, giving him a chance to remember and share his earlier life with someone that was willing to listen. You helped him drift off to sleep by sharing space in your own mind with him, despite the fact that even the most untrained Padawans could tell that Grogu’s mind was often troubled - and that he’d seen and been a part of things that most of them couldn’t begin to imagine. “Sleep well, kid.” You murmured the words, feeling Grogu’s fingers tighten once more before they relaxed almost completely.

He fell asleep before you, and the last thought that you had before you followed him into sleep was of yellow-gloved fingers curled around a smooth silver ball, one of Grogu’s small hands outstretched toward it.

---

He was gone when you woke up the following morning, and despite the middle of the night interruption, you felt refreshed and awake as soon as you opened your eyes. I usually do after he’s here.

It was a strange relationship you had with the kid, but it worked, and you knew that along with being good for Grogu, it helped others focus elsewhere, so you were happy to continue. At least until his training’s done, and he rises in the ranks. Or… until I leave.

You blinked into the mirror, brushing your teeth. Him becoming a Knight was a looming possibility; every Padawan’s training lasted a different amount of time, and one of the other things that you knew about Grogu was that he’d had prior training - meaning that even with his lack of constant focus, he was far more capable of using the Force than most of the others within the Academy at his classification level. He was strong and smart - but still learning to control himself. Just a kid.

That didn’t mean that he was good at it all the time, or that it didn’t tire him out immensely when he overdid things, but the Masters spoke of him as though they already knew that when he became a Master himself, he’d be a formidable adversary when and if it became necessary. We’re still a while off from that, though. He’s still little, he’s … Spitting your tooth gel out, you straightened up, adjusting your shirt over your shoulders and glancing back at the door of your room as a new set of thoughts made themselves known to you. Bari’s coming.

You couldn’t help it sometimes, finding yourself unable to block out the thoughts around you - especially when emotions ran high, and it was the reason that your training had been halted. One of them, anyway. Rubbing a hand over your face, you turned away from the mirror and slipped your shoes on, striding to the door and opening it before the young man had a chance to knock. “Morning, Bari.” He looked shocked at your greeting but quickly recovered, nodding his head and greeting you by name, lips curving upward into a large smile. He’s happy to see me… as always.

“Hey. Can I walk you to breakfast?” Nodding in agreement, you stepped into the hallway and stayed next to the man, turning toward the dining hall. “You look like you slept well.”

“Yeah, I did.” You nodded in greeting as you passed others in the hall, taking a deep breath. “The kid ended up in my room again, and once he was there, I was out.”

“Grogu? Isn’t he a little old to -” Stiffening, you glanced over, watching as Bari eyed you. “I mean he’s been here for a year, he should have let go of -”

“They… his kind age different, Bari. And since there’s no record of what he is, we don’t know …” You bit your lip. “He’s a kid that had to leave his dad, and it’s only been a year. He might be fifty human years old, but who knows what that equals out to in his species.” You swallowed as you reached the dining hall, eyes sweeping over the room as you looked for Grogu. I bet he’s not here. I bet he’s with … “Besides, it’s not like he’s interrupting anything, so if it makes him feel better to sleep in a room with someone?” You reached for a tray, once again looking at the man next to you. “It’s fine with me.”

He was silent for a few minutes as the two of you loaded up your trays with food, and you could tell that he was conflicted. Say it, whatever it is. “What if there was someone else in your room? Would he -”

“I think he’d understand, Bari.” You slid into a seat at an empty table, reaching for a piece of fruit. “He’s not stupid, just … young.” You chewed thoughtfully, feeling as Bari’s emotions raced. He’s going to do it again. Ask me … “Why, who do you think that he’s going to -”

“You know that since you’re no longer training that the rules technically don’t apply to you, right?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “You’re allowed to… I could … we could.”

“Bari.” You closed your eyes. “I know that you …” You glanced up. “It was my decision to stop training, and the Masters were generous enough to let me stay here anyway because they thought I could help.” You knew that it was rare, but also knew that any sensitivity toward the Force was looked at as an asset post-Empire, and turning you away wasn’t anyone’s first option. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything to -”

“I know, I know.” You felt the frustration from him, and understood it. Bari had befriended you almost immediately upon your arrival to the Academy years earlier before it was even a shadow of its current self. You’d met him in the town a few miles away from the building, the young man providing a friendly face when you felt lonely at first, and then someone to talk to during breaks and on days off after you officially began your education. He was simply employed within the building, and despite it being unconventional for Padawans to closely befriend those not in the program, you were drawn to the boy, his honesty and openness welcome after separating from your family in the manner that you had. “But maybe just -”

“Bari, come on.” You shrugged, lifting your fork and using it to cut into a piece of your omelette. “We’ve talked about this. Us… It’s better to keep it the -” You felt it - for the first time in him, anger at your rebuff, but it quickly changed to forced nonchalance, and you were able to keep your expression even, too. That’s interesting.

“Someday, you’re going to leave the Academy. Even if it’s only to settle somewhere close by.” Bari leaned in, his eyes wide. “You won’t have to follow their rules all the time, and then you can … maybe you won’t still feel…” Not with you. Not … I’m sorry, Bari. We’ve talked about it. “You came here to make a life for yourself, and now that you’ve chosen not to follow the path of … their path? You’re free to follow your own, and that means…”

“Not until I decide to leave here.” You beamed at him, lips twitching upward as you glanced past him at the doorway. “And Bari? That’s not going to be for a while, especially with this little guy here.” He turned away from you after a few seconds and the two of you watched as Grogu floated through the room in a small pod, his head peeking up over the edge of it. Morning, kid. He looked in your direction as he passed by, eyes widening and mouth opening in greeting, one hand waving slowly. “Come on, Bari. How could I just leave him behind?”

“Yeah, I guess you couldn’t.” The man’s attention went back to his food, fingers holding his own fork loosely. “”I guess I just wonder …” His words trailed off and he raised his eyes to yours, forehead wrinkled. He wants me to see what he’s… His thoughts hit you full force and you couldn’t help the wince, looking away from the man across from you as he replayed in his mind the night the two of you - along with a few others from the nearby town - had spent an evening playing Sabacc and drinking too much Gizer ale and spice beer.

“Bari, come on.” You whispered the words, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.” But he kept thinking, the sadness in his gray eyes growing more pronounced. “We were barely old enough to drink, and we both agreed that things shouldn’t have gone that far that night.” And I meant it, even though you didn’t.

“But they did.” He shrugged. “You knew how I felt then, and how I …” He didn’t need to finish his sentence - he was right. You knew that the man liked you, that he hoped that after you’d chosen to stop training at the Academy, you wouldn’t go far - that you’d be free to be with him in every way. He said your name, giving you a small smile. “It’s not going to change. I’m sorry that I just threw all of those memories at you, but it … I think about it a lot. About you a lot.” You had too, for a while. It wasn’t the first time you’d fooled around with someone, and Bari knew it, but since leaving your home, he’d been the only one to even come close to getting you alone in a room with a bed.

You liked him - you really did - but you didn’t feel anything when you’d been with him - not anything that mattered anyway. Even after what had happened with your parents, their story was one that you admired; the spark between them, the defiance of both of their families to up and leave with only a small number of credits to their names, starting a family with little support. Because they believed in each other, in their future. Because they loved each other.

Bari had been the first regular person you’d met that wasn’t afraid of you after you’d realized that you were attuned to the Force, that you could do things that other people couldn’t, and his acceptance had been a large part of the reason you’d gotten so close to him in the first place. That was part of it. You sighed, looking down at your tray, suddenly much less hungry than you had been. Why we got close. It was nice to … He wasn’t attracted to you because of the Force, you knew that from his thoughts, and that was appealing to you, too, but as time had passed and you’d grown into true adulthood, the size and number of students in the Academy growing as well, it hadn’t been enough. It never was. It never would have been.

After that first and only night together - fumbling in the dark, hands moving over each other’s bodies and your thoughts mercifully blank for the first time in months - you’d made it a point to never let things go that far again; not with Bari and not with anyone else, either. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m setting an example. Not … As you thought, you closed your eyes again, seeing a flash of the deep brown from the dream the night before. “I’m sorry, Bari. That’s not what I want. That’s not why I’m still here.” Not to settle.

He grumbled in disappointment, but he didn’t have long to stew, as you heard a quiet mechanical whirring noise and Grogu’s levitating carriage pulled up next to you. Very hungry. You grinned at him and reached over, pulling the tray off the top of it and setting it onto the table before you turned toward him, holding out both hands. Happily cooing, he reached for you, ears perking up, and you lifted him from the nest of blankets, setting him on the table beside his plate. “Morning, Grogu.” Bari was making an attempt - for your sake - but you knew that the kid didn’t buy it for one second, only nodding once at the man before turning his focus back to his food. “Soup, again?”

“It’s easy for him to lift the bowl.” You raised an eyebrow, absently reaching over to straighten Grogu’s robe across the back of his neck. “Utensils are kinda hard with three fingers, right kid?” Right. You heard a quiet slurp as he raised the bowl to his mouth, turning your attention back to Bari and hoping that Grogu wasn’t listening - or thinking - too hard. “We can talk later, if you want.” You tried to smile, but it came out strained. “I have a full day today, and then tomorrow this little guy and I are …” You lifted your hands, miming covering Grogu’s ears as you mouthed the next sentence, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Leaving the Academy for a little while.”

It was meant to make him smile, but Bari only shrugged, eyes still on you. “If you want.” He stood, pushing away from the table, tray in his hands. “Doesn’t matter.” Before you could respond, Bari was walking away, his back the only thing you could see. Damn. You picked up your fork again, sighing as you returned to your breakfast. He’s mad.

“Nah, little guy.” You chewed on your eggs, glancing down. “You’ll understand when -” But you laughed as you saw him holding a spoon in one hand, leaning over a second bowl of food, the surface rippling as something moved within it. Yuck. But Grogu paid no mind to that thought, poking at the top of the liquid, his tiny body nearly vibrating in anticipation. “C’mon, kid. Don’t play with your food.” At that, he froze for a second before turning his head toward you, ears lowered and eyes wide, his emotion changing swiftly to sadness. “No, I wasn’t… I’m not mad, but it…” What did I say?

He blinked slowly and you saw his grip on the spoon tighten, another flash of his thoughts filling your head briefly. But this time it wasn’t a man’s eyes - it was the Mandalorian, hunched over and staring in your direction from the middle of a dimly lit room.

---

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saturatedboy · 3 years ago

Note

Can I pretty please get some angst with Donna confessing her feelings for Reader but Reader declines, saying she doesn’t return her feelings and also has feelings for someone else (preferably Alcina or even Heisenberg)

Donna Beneviento x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, possessive language

Words: 4K

Requests: open

The outside had turned the mud ground into a blanket of white snow. How long has it truly been since you went outside? A week, maybe 3 weeks at tops. You missed the cold air, running through the forest playing 'hide and seek' with some unexpected visitors. Gosh you hate to admit it but you missed going to the family meetings at the church where Mother Miranda would talk about her plan.

You were just a journalist from Britain, looking for an adventure but somehow your so-called-holiday in Romania came to a sudden stop wen you were taken by Mother Miranda and had a Cadou paced in you. You had slight PTSD of the pain you had gone through but you were deemed to be an 'undesirable' vessel for something you were never given further information upon. So you were thrown to the side for Donna take take home and for Angie to have a 'playmate'. However, what Mother Miranda didn't suspect was that the Cadou had in fact affected all your sense so you could hear, see, taste, feel and smell much more than an average human. Of course when Donna found out about this, seeing you see perfectly in a pitch dark room during you and Angie's game, she grew here suspicions and kept it a secret.

It was only after she saw that, that she had decided to keep you inside away from any of the other Lords and Ladies. Donna had thought that if any of them found out about this that they would want you for their own personal reasons. So what was better than to keep you locked inside away from any of them. If only she saw the incoming feelings that she would gain just by being in close contact with a human for a long period of time.

Breathing hot breath onto the glass window, you drew a bunny sniffing a carrot with some strange looking trees in the background. Leaning back feeling proud of your drawing, you ran a hand through your hair and straightened it out. "Having fun?~" A voice came from behind. Twirling your head around you were face to face with none of than Angie the doll. She smiled and crooked her head to the side, admiring your small drawing, floating closer to see it clearer.

"I suppose, it's just boring staying in here all day without seeing anyone else." You sighed and looked down, letting your body rest with your back against the window sill and your legs dangling off the window sill. Angie looked at you then back at the bunny. She knew how badly you had wanted to go out, and she was more than sure it wasn't healthy for a human to stay inside for long periods of time. Tapping a finger against her mouth, she gasped in surprise and pulled against your hand, wrapping her small hands around three of your fingers.

"Come come! hoho, I have an idea~" She sang out, pulling harshly on your fingers making you slightly wince.

"Okay okay I'm coming, just keep your voice down. You're getting louder each day." You had jumped off the window ledge and landed perfectly on your feet. Using your other free hand, you had patted down your grey dress and straightened the veil on your head, only to be dragged into various rooms by Angie and her excited giggles, making the bottom of your dress become crinkled from the quick movements.

"If I remember correctly, if you can't go out then we'll just invite people to come see you hm?~" The doll had purred out once she dragged you into the office room on the first floor. Her voice held a slight tone of mischief making you think about backing away from her and going to go back to sit and wait for Lady Beneveinto to come back from the meeting. But if you did that, you may just loose a chance of seeing someone else other than Angie and the other puppets. You followed her reluctantly near where the large oak desk was with a black leather chair occupying the floor behind it. "Yes yes, that's it! Now just sit down there and take some of the paper from the filing cabinet underneath that desk! oooo this is going to be o fun!"

Following the orders, you had taken hold of the seat and leaned down, searching for the filing cabinet under. Just in the far left there it was, 2 drawers with silver handles. Pulling the first one, there in the drawers was paper. Grabbing three pieces of paper, you pulled yourself back up and shut the drawer with your foot. Moving around a little on the chair, you got yourself comfy and waited for Angie's next words. "Wow, no wonder she really likes you! You're so obedient-anyway~"

"Wait Angie, who do you mean by 'she'?" Angie was swaying across the room, laughing softly as she heard your question. She had her back turned to face you so you couldn't see the growing smirk playing at her mouth. She wouldn't ruin who liked you because it wasn't her position to-However if she didn't confess to you sooner or later, Angie will have no choice but to in fact tell you herself. Just the thought of you both together had her internally screaming in merriment, the way her owner would stare at you when you were sleeping on the couch or even when Donna would create you clothing perfect to your size to see you wear them. Angie knew Donna was so much more merry with you around, her heart had practically been in love with you since you first ever came. Getting back on task, Angie flew over to the coffee table behind the green couch and grabbed a pen that was sitting above some recent sketches of Donnas plants. Grabbing it within her grasp, Angie had swiftly floated back to you and waved the pen in front of your face, your eyes following its movement.

"Now, use this to write letters to the other lords and Lady! We could throw a party~ OOO and you can meet everyone more! Great time to meet people right~" Liking the idea and forgetting about your past question, you had plucked the pen from Angie's grasp and started to write in formal writing to the other Lords and Lady.

"Angie," You asked her as you had finished writing to the other rulers. Angie hummed as she was sat with folded knees on the desk and was picking at some splinters in her wood arms. "What about Mother Miranda...shouldn't I be thrown into the death pile by now?"

"Ah ah," you placed the pen back down, passing the letters to Angie who had called some other puppets to walk in with envelopes in their arms. "You were suppose to die but it appears you survived the Cadou. Mother Miranda doesn't care much about the failed experiments, such as you, so she gave you to us~ Aren't we just a happy family~"

You stayed silent, watching the doll place the letters into the envelopes and signing the back of them, most likely applying the other Lords and lady addresses. She gave them back to the puppets and signalled them to go off, their feet scurrying away as quick as they could to deliver said letters. Clicking her gears about, the doll had stretched her arms up and stood on the table waving her hands about. "C'mon lets go get ready. I made a few adjustments to your writing and they should arrive hopefully around 6 sharp. Hoho lets get you spiced up!" As soon as she said those words, she flew out of the room in what you could only think to be to go to your room you were staying in. Sighing out, you brushed away any lose strands of hair and stood up. Smiling to yourself, you strode out of the office room and made your way to your room, lifting your grey dress up when it came to walking up the rickety stairs.

When you followed down the few hallways, you arrived to your destination. Turning the silver knob, you pushed over the heavy door to reveal Angie throwing clothing all over your room. "Angie could you at least try keep my room clean," You spoke as you wandered over to your bed where most of the discarded clothing were. Picking them up of your sheets, you cradled them all in one arm and placed them onto a rocking chair that was seated in the far corner of your room.

A groan came from inside your wardrobe, followed by the appearance of the wedding doll slamming shut your wardrobe door. Huffing, she crossed her arms. "There is nothing here! Nothing good. hmmm, Argh! What are we gonna do?" Silence filled the space between you both. You hadn't got a clue what was wrong with the clothing you had, Lady Beneviento made them all for you. You were grateful for the beautiful clothing you had been gifted with, treasuring each one making sure to never tear any of the fibres in any of them.

Soon however the silence was broken with the noise of the manor door opening and the soft sound of wind from outside. "Ooo~ Looks like Donna is back eeee! Lets go say hiiii~" The doll had hovered near the door, waiting for you to follow. Making an 'o' with your mouth, you followed the doll out of your room and down the steps where you were greeted with Lady Beneviento waiting for the both of you. She was mid-way in putting her veil behind her head when she spotted you at the top of the stairs. Smiling sweetly, she held her hand out inviting you to join her.

Plucking the front of your dress you, you walked down the steps being careful not to fall as Angie had glided past you into Donna's arms giving her a hug chanting her name over and over. "Donna! Donna! Donna you're back! Now lets play, No wait lets eat! Ahh, no. Lets get ready for the party- wait no!" Donna raised an eyebrow. party? Now that was news to her.

"What party?" She asked, holding Angie out as she saw you walking in the background towards her.

"Well, hehe. We decided to host a party~ You know, meet...the others...heh?" Angie squirmed out of the holding of Donna and turned to the side to allow you to greet Donna. Curtseying, you showed respect to the Lady of the Manor. Her hand moved to be under your chin. After she moved your chin up so she could see your face showing worry.

"You are holding party without my permission?" She asked softly, brushing your jawline with her thumb watching your every move. You gulped, feeling much smaller than Donna in the current position and feeling the pressure of guilt seeking into your heart.

"I'm so sorry milady-It's just I haven't been able to go out or see anyone else in a long time. I didn't want to go against you in anyway! I swear," You panicked, feeling Donna's hand become slightly tighter until she released you and brought you close in by snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into her chest, only to snake the other around and give you a hug. She rested her head on your shoulder and inhaled deeply smelling your shampoo from the morning shower you had before she left for her meeting.

"I'm not mad dear, just tell me next time. However I wish you to not make any agreements with any of my siblings." She pulled away from the hug, still having her arms wrapped around you, and raised an arm up to cradle your cheek. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt by any of them," Her whisper had been tense, like a warning. She gave your temple a kiss, pulling away and smiling once again. "Well if I know Angie, I'm sure the party is being today. Come, I'll fetch some clothing for you to wear for tonight." She stepped out of arms length and began to walk, her shoes clicking against the wood on the floor. You watched her go, only to get nudged by Angie to go follow her. You hastily ran after her, following her to her quarters of the manor. You hoped nothing bad would happen tonight.

Donna had sat waiting patiently for you on a stool. It took 3 hours to create the most elegant dress she could, having the top a little tight with a flowy bottom. In silver hand stitches, were roses crawling up from the bottom of the skirt to the top. Gibeon gemstones were decorating the sweetheart neckline with a sheer of black fabric attached to the top going down to the bottom of your wrists. Donna decided to let you keep the opaque veil, finding it completing the look of your dress. "Do you need any help at all?" Donna asked, sitting waiting for you with hands on her knees.

"No worries, I am....done!" You exclaimed, stepping out behind the folding screens. Your appearance made Donna stand up. You couldn't see her reaction behind her veil but you knew from her movements as she paced herself towards you she was proud of her handy work. Once she was stood in front of you she clasped her hands tightly together.

"Now don't you just look like the perfect doll, all dressed up...for me,"

You tilted your head to the side. "What was that last part Lady Beneviento?" You asked like a lost puppy. She giggled lightly and took hold of your arm, slowly dropping her hand down to take hold of your hand.

"Do not worry about it, now I think it's time for you to meet my siblings. They are downstairs at the moment already." You nodded and smiled softly. Finally you were going to meet other people! Or monsters...from what Angie has told you and Lady Beneviento from the past. Letting Donna walk in front of you, her hand still in yours, you followed behind her as she lead the way. You could hear many voices from below as well as Angie's screaming and two people arguing. A pit in your stomach had been created. Were you really ready for this?

You had reached the stairs, hiding behind Donna's height. This was it, all voices had became quiet. More likely staring up at Donna. Donna had coughed, clearing her voice. "I'd like you all to meet someone close to me. Be respectful for any foul behaviour towards her I will attend to by using either force or a violent way to manage you." You lightly gasped, you knew Donna to never be someone to ever be violent so her proposing words had left you slightly on edge. Without any warning, Donna had stepped to the side and used her hand to guide you to stand next to her.

You looked below to see three young girls, all dressed in black. A fish like monster with a hunched back and a crown made from bones. A very tall woman flashing a motherly smile at you with a large black hat on her head. And lastly a man that held a hammer that you were sure to be maye just slightly smaller than your own height over his shoulder. Gulping, you waved at them all which resulted in the three girls squealing with Angie. "Oh wow she's just like a doll all dressed up!" One with blonde hair had spoke.

"I know right hehe~ Lady Donna had dressed her up perfectly~" Angie spoke, being just as excited as the rest to see your appearance. Donna gently pulled you closer to her and then walked down the steps. You trailed behind her seeing the three girls go back to their conversation with Angie whilst the fish man went to go towards the office room. Once at the bottom of the steps, both the tall woman and male walked over to you with smiles of their own. Donna had let go of your hand and stood beside you staring behind her veil at the approaching people. She was seething with unseen anger.

"Hello there dearie~" The tall woman spoke, her red lips highlighting the fact she had pearly white teeth. You blushed as she said 'dear'. Her voice to you was very attractive. The male beside her had playfully bowed to you, reaching for your hand with his gloved one and lightly kissed your knuckles.

"Now now Donna, why do you keep this beauty of a fine woman away from us all?" He asked, letting his lips linger on your knuckles as he spoke, only pulling away when the woman in white had hit him on the head.

"I'm sure Lady Beneviento had her reason you man thing. Now give the lady some space and keep your dirty paws off her." She harshly flicked him on the head and turned her attention back towards you. "My name is Lady Dimitrescu, and what might the alluring dazzling girls name be here?" You shyly looked away, rubbing your hand up and down your arm feeling the material below scratch slightly at your skin leaving a tingly feeling.

You bowed your head and spoke with a smile, hiding all your nerves. "My name is (Y/n), its an absolute pleasure to meet you all." Absolutely loving your manners, Lady Dimitrescu had gently stroked your hair.

"Such lovely manners~" She purred out, staring deeply into your eyes that were almost hidden behind your veil.

"Yeah yeah and my name is Lord Heisenberg, but please doll call me Karl~" Heisenberg had spoke, letting his hammer drop to the floor next to him so he could lean against it. Hearing the rather loud noise, you turned your eye sight to stare at him. Seeing your head turn to look directly at him, he grinned and pushed he glasses to the end of his nose sending you a wink. You 'eeped' and looked the other way in embarrassment.

'Keep yourself together!' you shouted at yourself in your head as you huffed out harshly and took a breath in, turning back around to face everyone. Donna wasn't having any of this. How dare they all come into her home and flirt with what is hers. Her doll, her creation, her property.

"How about we go have lunch." She seethed out through closed teeth.

"Oh what a marvellous idea. Say (Y/n), why don't you sit next to me and we can talk more about your life. I'm sure we could also discuss days you could meet me and my daughter. Oh they'll love you, such a graceful woman as yourself is sure an eye-catcher." Lady Dimitrescu had spoke out, grabbing your hand and leading you astray with Lord Heisenberg following behind shouting out how you should instead come to his factory and explore the real world.

As Donna was left behind, she clenched her fist tightly. To see you walk away with her siblings sent shivers down her spine. You were a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about it so of course you were going to catch the eyes of at least one of her siblings. But she didn't expect you to just...just follow them like that. "Is this jealousy I can smell?~" Dona turned to look at Angie.

"I have no clue what you're talking about. She doesn't like them, she's only just met them all." She denied, taking a stroll to meet everyone in the dining room.

"Just remember you fell for her when you first saw her~" Angie called from behind making Donna stop in her tracks. She was right, she did indeed fall for you after she set her sight on you. You were so beautiful, everything you had ever done lead her to believe that there was a connection between the two of you. You had spent most time with her, surely you had fallen in love with her. She'll just make sure to claim you before any of the others do. Better to tell the truth then later. And so tonight, she had told herself she would confess to you, confess her feelings and get you to become her other half.

You were stood outside on the porch. Lady Beneveinto had asked you to meet her here after the lunch you had with the other lords and ladies. You felt happy to be within the presence of others instead of just you and Donna being the only functioning people with blood and skin. The weather had became slightly warmer and left with a full moon in the sky. You had your veil pulled back after Heisenberg had asked to see your eye colour. You blushed slightly as the thought of him, however your blushed increased when yo thought of Lady Dimitrescu. How could two people have such strong effects on you. Gosh you felt like you were about to faint in there with their teasing about your height as well bout your manners, though Lady Dimitrescu did say they were perfect.

The door behind you opened and out came Lady Beneviento. You glanced at her and nodded in acknowledgement. "Evening Lady Beneviento." You said, seeing her stand by your side.

"What do you think about them all?" She asked suddenly catching you off guard. You raised an eyebrow and took a moment to think.

"They are...different from you. I know that for sure. However I do believe that each have their own personality which makes them fun in a way. Not to mention they were all really kind towards me tonight and I felt honoured to be within their presence." You finished with a beaming smile. Donna hummed, looking at the forest in front of her manor. Inside she could hear her siblings fight and Angie chanting cheering them on.

"What do you think about me?" She turned her full attention to you, taking your hands in hers and looking up at you. You couldn't see her facial expression because of her veil but nonetheless, you thought.

"You are someone who takes control when needed. Although quiet, you bring a comforting atmosphere with you everywhere you go. You're really sweet a well and thoughtful, which is why I treasure every dress you give me." Donna listened carefully to your words. She was extremely happy you liked the dresses she makes you, and to also be told that you loved her being around too. She bit her lip in anticipation, maybe this is the right time to say what she is needing to say. Inhaling deeply, she cleared her throat and stepped closer to you, placing her hands on your hips.

"I need to say this because it's been playing on my mind ever since you got here and was given to me. From a playmate, you have made your way past that and became much more to me. What I’m trying to say is that- I love you.”

You stayed in silence, a soft wind brushing through your hair as you looked at Donna.

“Lady Beneviento I- I don’t know what to say.” Your face had turned a slight red, feeling a weird feeling in your stomach- like you were about to faint. Donna held your hands tighter, your knuckles turning white from loss of blood.

“Just say you love me back! Easy right?” Again you had stayed silent, looking away from her to look at the manor door instead. You felt her grip loosen however, you could move your fingers about. “Right?” She pressed on, her voice quivering a little.

“I can’t love you,” you placed her hands to rest in her chest. Slowly you took your hands away from hers and left her standing in shock- not that you could see. “I love someone else, I’m sorry Lady Beneviento. I’m sure someone will love you as much as you love them one day.”moving yourself away from the awkward conversation, you had left Donna standing alone on the porch, going back inside only to be greeted by both Heisenberg and Dimitrescu.

Dropping her hands to the side, Donna had gripped the side of her dress. Her shoulda slowly shook up and down growing rapidly in speed. A single breathy laugh left her throat. “If you don’t love me-

I’ll make you love me.”

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #angie the doll #donna beneviento #oneshot #writing #Donna x reader #lady donna beneviento #house beneviento #lady beneviento

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

reunion

ch. 3 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 2: “gentle things”

next-ch. 4: “songbird”

rating: mature

8k words

warnings: alcohol, drug use mentioned, jealous/protective mando, animal cruelty, descriptions of gore

summary: the luxurious rot of Canto Bight is enough to put anyone on edge. Mando is forced to ask for your help in finding a high profile quarry.

Mando leaves the fighting ring before the caterwauling nexu is able to deal the killing blow.

He can still hear the sound of the gore spraying against the floor as he climbs the stairs towards the exit, the roaring jeer of the crowd obliterating the speakers inside his helmet. The inevitable outcome of the fight was clear from its onset given the state of the nexu’s opponent, some kind of sand-bear, who was already injured upon entering the cage-like structure.

This wasn’t the Outer-Rim fighting rings he was used to. This place has carpets and a fucking chandelier suspended right above the blood clotted, dirt floor of the pit. It has pipe smoke and dark liquor, the low rumble of voices that only rise in tandem with the progression of the fight. There’s a strange reserve among this crowd that Mando has never seen before, not in this context at least.

The patrons still had that starved look in their eyes though—bloodlust, pure and simple. Somehow, all the tuxedos and hair gel makes it far more sinister than it normally would be.

Karga sent him here to gather information about the quarry, but after an entire day spent searching along with the past hour he’d spent floating around the fight hall where the informant was rumored to be, he knew to give it up before he wasted any more time.

Mando exits the underground arena, stepping into the late afternoon heat just as it begins its gradual descent towards an oncoming chill. Upon arriving at Canto Bight, he had learned very quickly to avoid the main streets. There were too many eyes and whispers for a bounty as high profile as this one for him to be spotted on his own like this, obviously searching for something.

There’s something about this city that makes him absolutely revolted. It’s not the strongest testament to his resolve or his character, but, at the same time, it’s not something he can necessarily help.

Mando still has absolutely no clue what Karga was thinking, but here he is, regardless if it made any sense or not.

He returns to the Crest, deflated after a second unsuccessful day of trying to gather information about the quarry’s whereabouts. He is desperate for a lead, two of three informants proving to be completely useless and his patience growing thinner every second he has to stay on this forsaken planet.

Closing the ramp behind him, Mando heads straight for the cockpit, needing a moment to regather his thoughts. To brainstorm a better plan of action before it becomes too late to rendezvous with Karga’s third, and last, possible informant.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to get into the racetracks on his own. Getting into the fighting pit—which was considered “seedy” by Canto standards--was already a total hassle, costing him far too many credits and straining what limited negotiation skills he had.

The second problem was that he’d rather take a blaster to the leg than involve you in one of his missions. But now that was kind of his only option.

Mando rubs a hand over the forehead of his helm as he paces. When that doesn’t work, he settles himself in his pilot’s seat, hunching over slightly against the weight of the beskar against his bones. Maker, he is fucking tired.

Swiveling his head to the side, he notices a pile of something on the console that he can’t exactly make out until he leans over it.

Resting on the command board is a leather string, a few palm-sized pieces of stained glass already fashioned to hang from it by smaller loops of the same material in varied lengths. It looks like you were in the middle of working on it when something else distracted you, several more discs of glass piled onto one another to the right of the unfinished project, and a few loose scraps of leather in a pile on the copilot’s chair.

Mando allows himself to admire it for a moment, rubbing his gloved thumb over the glass’s surface. By the time he glances up through the windows of the cockpit, looking at all the people milling about outside, his breathing has somewhat evened. It’s easier to think straight, at least.

He stands and climbs back into the hull, rounding the corner to peer into the space you’ve made for yourself.

It takes him a moment to see you over the pile of blankets you’ve kicked off your mattress. You’re asleep. Under the table. The kid taking a nap with you. Of course that’s where he expected you to be if you weren’t in the cockpit but—but.

You’re on your belly, head buried in your folded arms. You have one, bare leg hitched up over pillow. The length of your calf spills over onto the floor, socked foot delicately pointed. That’s not really what stops him in his tracks. Well, it is in part.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts.

It must have just been a mistake, he knows that. He’s seen you in one of your own that’s the same general color and cut, but he knows this one is his because of the hole in the elbow where it had caught on an exposed screw and torn a few days previous. He’d been too busy to mend it.

Mando tries to wake you before his thoughts could go anywhere else. He says your name quietly, then a little louder. It wakes the kid, who yawns and blinks up at Mando, making happy sounds up at him from where he’s snuggled into your side.

When that doesn’t work, Mando nudges your calf with the tip of his boot. You startle awake, a protective hand shooting out to automatically bring the child against your chest, blinking rapidly up at him.

“Oh,” you wince slightly at the light coming into the cabin but otherwise doesn’t visibly react when you realize it’s him. Your arm loosens from where it had wrapped around the kid. “You’re back. I thought you’d be gone a while longer.”

“I need your help with something,” Mando crosses his arms in front of his chest. It gives him something to do with his hands and how awkward they feel just hanging at his sides as you prop yourself up into a sitting position to listen to him, the loose material of his shirt pulling up to reveal little glimpses of your lower back and belly as you do. “I have to have a companion with me, to go into the racetrack. They won’t let me in if they think I’m looking for a quarry.”

You nod, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm, voice croaking and still hazy with sleep. “Yeah, yeah sure. I wanted to check it out anyway. Just lemme get changed and we can head out.”

You pick the kid up and place him back on the floor of the hull. He toddles over to Mando, nearly falling—your hands automatically reach out to hover over his sides--but he manages to catch himself on Mando’s pantleg, tugging the fabric in a determined up, now.

Your brow furrows. “What’re we gonna—”

“There’s a nursery. Karga cleared it,” Mando reaches down and scoops up the kid.

“Gotcha,” your voice already sounds clearer. You reach out a hand for Mando to pull you up, he obliges. The blankets fall from where they’ve pooled around your lap as you do.

You pad down the length of the hull towards the fresher, your hips sway with the movement as you lift an arm to continue rubbing the sleep from your face. The shorts you’re wearing are a few sizes too big, you have them rolled twice at the waistband to keep them up. Mando looks away sharply once he notices.

“Alright womp rat, how does some dinner sound?” Mando smiles to himself when the kid gives an impatient squeak. “Yeah, yeah okay alright. I’m the worst caregiver in the galaxy, I know.” The child keeps giggling as Mando makes his way into the cockpit.

Mando is running through some of the Crest’s vitals on the command board when he hears you climbing up the ladder.

“Do you think this would be okay, for the racetrack?” There’s a certain timid quality to your voice he doesn’t think he’s heard before. You have also literally never asked him for approval on something, so he’s already a bit surprised before he turns to look at you.

The clothes you chose were simple, a fitted long sleeve and a pair of loose-fitting pants long enough to at least partially conceal your work boots. It shouldn’t have felt like much of a departure from your usual roster of outfits because it really wasn’t, but for some reason there’s something different about it that he can’t put his finger on.

You have your hair piled on top of your head in a bun. With it pulled back like that, all attention is drawn to the canvas of your neck, your delicate throat that gently eases into the soft planes of your face. There’s a nonchalant beauty to you that sucks all previous thoughts straight from his head.

“You might want to bring something warmer, a jacket or something.” He turns back to the command board, desperate to look busy and hide how long he looked for. “Temperatures drop on Cantonica as soon as the sun starts setting.”

“Oops—yep. Desert planet. I forgot,” you sigh. He hears the sound of your boots scaling the ladder back down.

He purposefully doesn’t look up when you enter the cockpit again, when you announce you’re ready he nods curtly, making brief but direct eye contact with you before setting a quick pace out of the Crest and into the streets of Canto Bight.

The nursery is tucked away, out of reach and notice, protection guaranteed. He leads you through a series back-street passages to get there, too nervous about the attention the three of you would get with the kid and the main roads. You carry him against your hip most of the way, occasionally adjusting the little hood you’ve fashioned to cover his most distinguishable features with every person you pass.

The door is nondescript, positioned in the alleyway behind a semi-busy restaurant. Mando can sense your apprehension the second he steps up to press the buzzer. Within seconds, there’s the sound of a series of bolts unlocking.

A warm faced woman opened the door, wearing the clean white uniform of a nurse. “When Karga called in I hardly believed it,” her voice is light, but there’s a grating, nervous squeak to it that makes Mando scowl. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but just about anything was able to set him off.

Mando and the nurse exchange a few blunt words about pricing and care. He winces, slightly, at the cost, but it’s not anything either of you could notice. Right as Mando is about to turn to take the kid from your arms, you speak up.

“Is this… safe?” You ask again, holding the kid a little tighter to your chest. He realizes that it’s the first time since you’ve joined them that you’re separating from the kid, Mando thinks his anxiety is partially feeding off of yours.

“Karga gave me his word. It’ll only be for a few hours.” Mando glances at the nurse, who was giving the two of you her very best customer service smile. “C’mon pal,” Mando nods towards the nurse. The child’s big eyes stare apprehensively up at you, then at Mando. One of his small hands unfixes itself from your shirt to reach out towards the bounty hunter. The nurse clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips.

“Someone seems like he’s already gonna miss his daddy.”

His stomach drops without warning. “I’m not his father.” The correction is biting in a way he doesn’t intend it to be. He’s vividly aware of your sharp inhale at his words. The nurse looks startled for a half second before blinking her eyes and retaining composure.

“Yes, yes of course,” she stretches out a hand as an offering of assurance towards the child, who has resumed clinging to the fabric of your shirt. “Hey little guy, c’mon. I’ve got a lot of friends for you to play with, and some snacks. You like the sound of that?”

Mando catches your smile at the child’s ears flicking with interest, despite the fact that his hands are still firmly attached to you. Mando mutters something under his breath before taking the child from you, handing him off to the nurse and trying to push down the terrible feeling it gives him hearing the kid give a small whimper as the two of you walk away.

The racetrack is down a major boulevard, towering sandstone buildings line either side, their circular doors illuminated by bands of glowing yellow neon. The streets are a different kind of polished stone that makes Mando’s skin absolutely crawl for not discernible reason.

He thinks you’ve caught on to his worsening mood because you try to keep the conversation warm and light in a way he’s never seen you do before. Your eyes are fixed to a constant arcing movement, taking in as much of it as you can, but your mouth keeps moving about anything but Canto Bight. You avoidance just draws more focus towards the situation at hand, but he appreciates the effort.

When the two of you reach the racetrack, you stop talking completely as you scale the stands. You and Mando settle on two chairs pulled up to a tiny table, overlooking the standing room crowd below. Mando faces the crowds more than the track itself, however you angle your chair so that you can look at the racing fathiers with ease. Eventually you turn away, grimacing.

“What is it?” He asks, out of curiosity as well as a desire to fill the silence.

“They’re so beautiful,” you cast one more glance over the track as the group rumbles past to the sharp roar of the crowd. “But they look so sad.” You keep looking at the beasts for a beat longer before fixing your gaze to your hands clasped in your lap.

Mando finds his words slowly. “This planet… this amount of abundance. There is always a cost. They always make someone else pay.”

You wince, shifting your body so you’re only facing Mando and the expanse of the crowd that’s over his shoulder. You don’t look at the track for a while after that, purposefully keeping your body turned to keep your gaze away.

Mando finds fleeting solace in the fact that he was at least able to keep you away from the fighting ring, which is quickly replaced by guilt in exposing you to a similar cruelty in a less bloody form. He does his best to remind himself that you mentioned wanting to see the races previously, that the indecipherable emotion on your face was not entirely his fault.

The wait spans an hour. The tension in Mando’s shoulders grows with each passing minute.

“He isn’t coming,” Mando eventually grits out. “It’s… Maker I—”

Jobs have started off way worse than this, he’s not sure why he’s allowing all of it to get under his skin. It’s this damn city, something about it makes him feel like there is a knifepoint digging between his ribs.

You tap his hand lightly. Twice, with your index and middle fingers. It happens so quickly he’s almost able to believe he’s imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still adjusting your hands in your lap after your hand had retreated. As if you didn’t know what possessed you to do that, either.

“Hey. It’s fine. It’ll work itself out, yeah?” You maneuver your head to stare directly into his visor. For some reason that alone is infinitely more intimate than your brief touch. “We can just stay here for a bit longer in case the informant shows up, then pick up the kid, grab something to eat and hunker down in the Crest. Tomorrow’s a new day, or whatever.”

Mando looks you over, then nods.

The sun is setting on the horizon, the tracks illuminated by the last vestiges of its light. This is the beginning of most everyone’s day, yet the drinks are already flowing, and have been for quite some time.

There are far too many extravagant outfits, ridiculous little hats barely teetering on large skulls. The roar of the crowd grows with their drunkenness, the races becoming crueler the more the stands fill. Mando will never understand the value in any of this and he’s genuinely not sure what’s worse—the icy coolness of the fighting rink or whatever all this is.

“Who’s the quarry?” You blink up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Tyreus Cavill. Some filthy rich kid who doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s taunting the Gild to the point of insult,” Mando rubs his hand over the brow of his helm. “It’s been confirmed that he’s supposed to be at some kind of party tonight. That was just about the only information I could get.”

“Was that why Karga mentioned deep cover?”

Mando nods. “He said it would be my most viable option, which doesn’t make any kind of sense. Especially with no pre-existing contacts that could get me any intel on where he’s hiding.”

You speak up after a while. Mando isn’t sure how long, too comfortable in the silence as is.

“You know my mother worked for the Alderaanian court?” You say it softly, quickly looking at the racetrack to avoid drawing attention to your words. You’re kneading the hem of your sweater, a nervous tick of yours he couldn’t help but notice. “I still remember all the things she had to teach me when we went to dinners at the homes of the survivors, the etiquette and everything. I’m positive it’s much of the same, here. All this,” you twirl your index finger in the air, gesturing to the whole of the track and presumably what lay beyond. “Seems very familiar. I could help, if you need it.”

“Your mother?”

“She was the court singer--or, well, one of them,” your voice is tense. “My father was a professor. I don’t remember a lot, just that they loved me very much.” Your eyes are searching the crowd in some desperate search for something, he’s not sure what. Probably for any kind of distraction, or any reason to keep your eyes away from his. He waits in silence, patiently. “They moved to a different planet to have me, a few years before the annihilation, there were a few other survivors who were off planet when it happened. I remember my parents hosting them, and they us, on a few occasions. It was always a multi-day affair of trying to remind me what proper manners were.” You wrinkle your nose. “It’s all very stupid, if you ask me. But,” you turn your head finally and look at him evenly. “I can—”

Mando watches as your gaze floats to a space just above his left shoulder. Your entire body visibly tenses, lips parted in what he can only think is total shock. Your hands drop the edge of your shirt and hover in your lap, as if you don’t know what to do with them.

Before Mando can ask what is wrong, you’re getting up from the table and pushing through the crowd. It takes him a beat to register what has just happened before he is up and following after you, making considerably better time in catching up given the fact that the crowd seems to naturally part for him. He almost reaches out to touch you, but instead settles for aiding your pursuit by keeping pace and staying at your side, clearing a path for you with his body and an outstretched arm to motion people to the side.

“What is it?” He tries to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard, his head in a constant survey of the crowds before you. You shake your head and keep pushing forward, higher into the stands, swerving around servers with platters stacked high with strange looking drinks. “Hey—if we go any further we’d need clearance—" the higher in the stands, the richer the patrons get. They wouldn’t let either of you in without identification after the eighth flight, which you’d just swiftly pushed past. Mando checks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a server is murmuring something to a guard droid, pointing up at you.

You’re so far up by that time that you have at least a minute until the droid catches up with the two of you. You climb onto one of the raised platforms dotted with various aristocratic parties, dining over bright white table cloths, centerpieces of bizarre orange flowers bursting through the tables. You make a beeline for the centermost table, where a Twi’lek woman is dining with an Abednedo and a human male.

You approach the Twi’lek in three swift strides, grabbing her shoulder. “Febhana.”

When the woman turns, standing, there’s a kind of wide-eyed shock of absolute wonder that immediately turns into pure joy. The two of you leap into one another’s arms in a cacophony of ecstatic, indistinguishable sounds. One of some long awaited reunion.

The Twi’lek woman, Febhana, holds your face in her hands, yours slide over hers. There are tears in her eyes as the two of your chatter over one another in breathless delight.

“I thought you—”

“I had no idea that—”

“I’ve tried to find—”

You both cut each other off, staring into one another’s eyes before laughing again and embracing tightly.

From over your shoulder, Febhana gives Mando one of the quickest, scathing once-overs he’s ever received. He can’t help but automatically have a little bit of respect for it, especially compared to the terrified, diverted eyes of her companions.

“Who is this?” She asks, pulling away from your embrace slightly. You open your mouth to respond but she’s already babbling over your warmly. “Oh! No. Don’t tell me. Not yet. Let’s do this over drinks at mine—please. Please indulge me. Maker, look at you.”

You let loose a laugh Mando doesn’t think he’s heard before. A certain tonal quality of complete release, familiarity. You nod as Febhana clasps your face between her hands again, in marvel. Mando doesn’t blame her, with that look of utter joy on your face he’d—

Well.

“Do excuse us,” Febhana swiftly addresses her dinner mates, they nod and mutter forgiveness, eyes still fixed to the ground. Mando knows for a fact that at least one of them has a fob on them by the tight anxiety exchanged in their brief glances towards one another. He ignores it for the sake of maintaining the moment between you and your friend.

Mando trails behind the two of you by a few paces. As Febhana guides you through the crowds, she waves off the guard droid with an elegantly manicured hand.

Febhana’s apartment could be considered a house twice over by Mando’s book. She leads you and him through so many tall-ceilinged hallways and rooms to get to the… lounge, he guesses would be a proper term for it… that he genuinely can’t remember where the entrance is.

The room contains a bar stocked better than any cantina on Nevarro, a few odd pieces of furniture, and a large fireplace. Heavy, dark blue curtains hang from windows so tall he has to crane his head upwards to see the top. He guesses the luxury is communicated through the refusal to occupy the space with much else, despite the fact that it could be considered a small banquet hall.

Febhana makes you and her drinks while you settle on one of the sloping, white couches, scanning the room in the same way Mando has been, with a little more plain wonder in your eyes.

Mando hovers on the periphery, unsure of where to place himself until you motion him over to sit on one of the opposing chairs, equally abstract as the rest of the furniture. Febhana settles across from you on the couch, handing you your drink before leaning back and kicking off her heels.

The two of you are in a constant chatter that has so many names and dates and overlapping speech that Mando has a difficult time keeping up. What he does catch is limited and mostly inferred: the two of you escaped from the same warlord at different times, Febhana was able to scale the social ranks of Canto Bight with ease and an inherited wallet--most importantly, the two of your missed each other very much.

It’s been at least an hour since the three of you sat down when Febhana directly addresses Mando for the first time.

“And what are you doing here, Mandalorian?”

Mando feels your eyes on him, burning, as you take a sip of your cocktail.

“She saved my life,” he manages as a straightforward reply. “I’ve hired her as a medic.”

“Febhana,” you say. When you’re slightly tipsy like this, you have a breathless wonder in the way you go about describing things. “It’s… it’s been so good. I’ve been practicing all these languages and… Maker, all the places I’ve been. It’s just like you described, when we would tell each other stories to go to sleep. Everything’s so big and there are so many people.”

Febhana throws back her head in a laugh, nodding. “Well I know that, darling. Oh, stars, it’s so good to look at you again.”

You and Febhana go back and forth a while longer still, Mando happily settles into the rhythm of it. There’s the warm, familiar way women get so engrossed in one another that he finds completely novel, if not enviable. It softens something in him to see you so relaxed as you prompt Febhana to detail her exploits, the excited yip you make when she flashes you the wedding band strung on a series of thin gold chains looped around her neck.

Then again, the way the two of you seem so physically intimate occasionally makes something in his chest constrict uncomfortably. He isn’t sure where it comes from, all the little touches you give each other seem to come from a place of purely platonic joy in reunion. But there’s a little jolt in his stomach whenever he sees it happen. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it as jealousy, but… she gets to feel you. So unabashedly.

At some point there’s a lull in the conversation. You take this moment to stretch your arm across the couch, clasping Febhana’s hands in your own. “We’re actually here for a specific reason,” you say. “And I’m only asking you out of genuine, pure desperation—Mando… has a job, here. That’s gotten a little tricky. The bounty is on the head of Tyreus Cavill.” Febhana’s eyes widen considerably, but other than that she maintains composure. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He needs to find him, Febhana—there’s intel that he’s supposed to be at some kind of event. Possibly tonight.” You glance up at Mando to check if you’re getting the details right, he gives you brief nod of assurance when you do. “Do you know anything about it?”

Febhana scoffs, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from yours to grab her drink resting on the low glass table in front of you. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, it would be the Gathering of Rams, one of the most exclusive events hosted on Canto. I’d imagine that’s why he’d dare show his face, even with the price on his head. Unless you already have an in, you’re fucked, Mandalorian. That place is more fortified than a warship.”

You visibly deflate. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old, and I mean old, money tradition. A dinner for just about every despicable person in the galaxy. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on, definitely some serious cult-y type shit, oaths, rituals, the like.” She chews on a nail as she thinks. Something in her eyes lights up. “Wait. I think I… yes! Yes, I got the announcement a few weeks ago. Stars I think—” she looks down at the device on the inside of her wrist, tapping on it until—“Christ you two are the luckiest couple of bounty hunters in the galaxy, you know that? The Tagges are hosting the afterparty, tonight. The most eligible of all of Canto Bight will be there, and then some. I was invited a few weeks ago, I’d completely forgotten. With any luck he’ll be dumb and drunk enough after the Gathering to go.”

“The Tagges?” Your voice is filled with apprehension. You glance to Mando, then quickly back to your friend. “Febhana, there’s no way he can get in.”

“Hm, I’d think so too but there could be a chance…” Her eyes narrow, her face breaking into a toothy grin. “No, I’m a complete idiot. Maker, this is gonna be perfect--most of the ladies in waiting here dress their guard droids as glorified curtains. It’s a new thing if you get what I’m saying. If we go in together and disguise the Mandalorian as even more of a hunk of metal than he already is—” Mando grunts at the slight jab—“all one of us would have to do is get the target by himself with a little eye-batting and it would be a done deal.”

You and Mando speak in unison.

“I am not going to be a honeypot.”

“She will not.”

Febhana raises a brow, one side of her mouth pulling up in poorly concealed amusement.

“Oh I suggested no such thing, I’d happily volunteer. But I do need a wing-woman, for appearance’s sake. I am taken, you know,” she flashes the wedding band again, pulling the collar of her dress down a fraction to do so. “Would be unbecoming to go on the prowl in public like that without pretending like I was just assisting.”

Mando glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction to her proposal before he came off as to overbearing. He didn’t have the right to, he knows that. But there’s some raw part of him that winces at the very thought of you and your safety getting involved in one of his jobs. Maker if you got hurt in any way—

Febhana’s voice breaks his thought before it can be fully formed. “Oh, this is going to be excellent.” She practically purrs, jumping off the couch and extending her hand towards you to help you up. You comply, giving Mando a raised-brow glance of well, let’s see where this goes.

As Febhana begins leading you across the room, Mando stands.

“Should I contact the nursery to let them know to keep the child overnight?”

“The child?” Febhana’s eyes flick between you and Mando quickly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You curse under your breath, pressing your hand against your forehead. “A kid we’re looking after,” you clarify for Febhana. “I’m so sorry Mando, I got excited so it completely slipped my mind. I…” you bite your lip. “If you feel like it would be safe doing that I… guess that should be fine.”

“My wife could also look after it,” Febhana regards Mando evenly for a moment. “If you’re worried about safety. Would that be sufficient?”

Your eyes brighten slightly, glancing at Mando, tilting your head in question.

Mando nods, addressing Febhana directly. “If she trusts you, I do. I can travel back and get him while the two of you get ready.”

“I’ll send a car for you,” Febhana throws the remark over her shoulder, already busying herself by flinging the double doors that lead into the hallway back open.

You inhale sharply as if remembering something, tapping your friend on the shoulder before she begins to walk down the hall. “Wait, Febhana—the car, is there maybe a taxi service you could call? With an actual driver? He… we don’t really ‘do’ droids, if possible.”

“I have an ‘actual’ driver, darling,” Febhana playfully chides. Her eyes flick towards Mando. “I’ll ring him, he’ll be downstairs in a moment. You remember where the entrance is, right?”

Your delicate rephrasing, that “we,” rings in Mando’s ears for the entire trip back to the nursery.

Mando quickly returns with the child, slightly weirded out by the enclosed landspeeder Febhana sent for him. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before, more like a carriage than any hover-craft he’d ever set foot in. There’s a dividing curtain between the passenger cabin and the driver’s seat, which he has pushed away to make sure the silent man at the wheel doesn’t try anything.

The driver has a stony demeanor that seems very similar to Febhana’s—she clearly wasn’t one to suffer fools, and the people she surrounded herself with seemed to reflect that. Thinking back to the way you initially interacted with Mando, he could potentially see how your shared history with Febhana could have informed that. The characteristic briskness, the unflinching resolve.

The child spends most of the returning trip chattering in relief, little hands reaching out to touch Mando’s beskar in a continuous greeting.

“Right here, kid. Always right here,” he affectionately rubs the corner of the child’s ear. There’s a heavy guilt that had settled itself in the bottom of Mando’s stomach since dropping him off.

He wants to apologize in some way, to blame it on his mood or the mounting anxiety surrounding the job, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete jackass. So he settles for bowing his helm to bump foreheads with the kid in a small display of reassurance. It seems to settle something in both him and the child almost immediately.

Mando glances up sharply, nearly forgetting the parted dividing curtain. The man, a wiry looking human male, glances back at the two of them through the thin pane of the rearview mirror, then returns to chain smoking while wildly maneuvering his way through traffic.

The hover-car’s abrupt stop breaks him from his thoughts. He glances out the window, recognizing Febhana’s apartment building. The entire block is in a similar style as the boulevard you both had walked down earlier, circular doors outlined by bands of glowing yellow light. The only difference were the towering, wrought iron gates in front of each building and a set of tall stairs made of the same sandstone leading up to each house. The driver gets out and opens the landspeeder’s door for Mando and the kid, then steps forward and unlocks the gate, holding it open for the two of them.

“Sir.” The driver’s voice is more of a growl. If it weren’t for the enhanced settings of Mando’s visor, it would be too dark to see the mass of scar tissue that formed a jagged line across the man’s throat. The old wound is only partially concealed by the lapel of his coat pulled up against the drizzling rain. He’s abnormally tall, so thin that it looks as if his skull is actively attempting to escape his face. “Febhana’s apartment is the third buzzer. The service droid will let you in. She told me you should follow it.” The cigarette balancing against his lip bobs as he speaks, his heavy drawl disrupted only in part by his eviscerated voice box.

Mando’s lip curls slightly but he nods, thanking the driver, ducking out of the hover-car and climbing the steps leading to the apartment’s door.

Just as the driver said, the front door of Febhana’s apartment is opened by a droid. Mando stiffens despite the fact that the thing just barely reaches his knee. It gives off a series of little sounds before turning away and maneuvering down the front hall. Muttering something unsavory about Canto Bight under his breath, Mando follows it inside.

When he arrives at the threshold of Febhana’s dressing room, she’s only just started pulling out dresses for you to try on. He deflates slightly, really hoping that the two of you would have gotten this part over with so he could begin scoping out the Tagge mansion as soon as possible.

Mando accepts his fate and seats himself for the time being, placing the kid on the ground to let him toddle over to you. You lean down immediately and scoop him up, lifting him in the air with a happy: “Hey, stinky!” The child giggles as you snuggle him to your chest, pressing kisses all over his face in reunion.

You keep gently playing with the kid as you and Febhana resume your conversation: wiggling your fingers over his face for him to grab, tickling his tummy, gently pinching his socked feet. It’s something you sink into so naturally Mando can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It calms something in him, to see both of you like that. He pushes the implications of that feeling away for the time being, as he always does.

Febhana gives the kid a bit of a once-over but looks overall disinterested, turning her attention back to rummage through her closet. “So it’s supposed to be a formal dance, but if it’s anything like the similar things I’ve gone to, that shit quickly disintegrates. But it’s still weirdly important for them to keep up the illusion of appearances, even though most rooms with closeable doors are occupied by people railing lines or fucking. Or both. Usually both.” The Twi’lek woman plucks out some kind of red, silken shift, holding it in the air then shaking her head and returning to her hunt. “I’ve been to enough Tagge parties to be a familiar face, we can play you off as an old friend of mine, some kind of lady-in-waiting thing or whatever. Crowds like these don’t tend to prod too deeply into personal histories, and with tits like yours I don’t think they’ll be interested in asking too many questions.”

Mando clenches his jaw so hard something starts hurting. You give a bit of an embarrassed laugh, quickly diverting the conversation. “So how do we get introduced to Cavill?”

“Honestly? The easiest thing to do would be getting you to snuggled up with one of his friends. He runs around with a group of bachelors who are not… pleasant company by any standards. Snotty rich kids,” she makes a face. “But if that’s not an option I could try to push some of my contacts there to get us into their circle. Seriously, darling, with men like this involved it is probably going to be one of the easiest bounties he’s ever going to collect.”

The strain being placed on every cell in Mando’s body in response to this conversation alone says the exact opposite.

Febhana continues pulling out dresses, layering some over a bench and discarding others all together.

“Febhana, will they know?” You ask it suddenly, your tone—not tense, necessarily, but definitely controlled, as if you were expecting an answer you didn’t want to hear but were willing to take regardless.

“It’s the Tagge family, so of course they know what happened to that fucker, but I don’t think they would care,” she waves off your fearful tone with a shake of her head. “Just as long as we make a bit of an effort to conceal your identity, for formality’s sake, it’ll be fine.”

“What happened to who?” Mando asks. Once he does, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room.

After an extended moment. “You didn’t tell him?” Febhana’s head cocks, you visibly swallow.

“I um…” your nostrils flare with the sharp inhale you take as you search for the right words. “When I escaped…”

Febhana interrupts. “She stabbed the shit out of the warlord who owned us. All his wife found was pulp. Didn’t take it well, the cunt. Nearly catatonic. The rest of us were able to practically waltz out of there because of this one. Owe this gorgeous bitch my life. All of us do.”

You smile at Febhana, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She winks at you, covering it with her own before turning to go rifle back through her closet. You keep your gaze to your hands when she does, lips pressed together. Mando doesn’t remove his eyes from you as Febhana continues.

“So it might be a little difficult getting her in there, but to be honest the Tagges hated him anyway. Rival business type stuff, though, not the whole holding women captive or worker’s rights violations and debt bondage thing,” her voice drips with a kind of contempt that Mando prays he’ll never have directed his way. He notices your hands tighten slightly from where they lay in your lap, your arms loosely looped around the kid who now sits upright in your lap. “I know someone who can forge some papers well enough to present to the guards, he owes me some favors anyway,” Febhana continues. “They’ll be ready by the time we have to leave. Doll you up enough and I’m sure it’ll be fine—ah!” It is only then that Mando looks back over to the Twi’lek woman. Her eyes are lit up, fanged mouth pulled upwards in a triumphant smile. The dress in her hand is a deep plum color, fabric so thin he cannot make out what it actually looks like without a form to fill it. You reach out to it, rubbing the dress between your thumb and index finger.

“Perfect.” You and Febhana say it in unison, your widest smile of the night parted up at her. There’s a delighted, mischievous tilt to your mouth he’s never seen before.

Mando swallows, despite the sudden tightness in his throat.

He waits outside while the two of you change, sitting on a strange tufted seat pushed against the hallway’s bay window. It’s piled with an obnoxious amount of silken pillows—it seems the longer you’ve been with him, the more surfaces his beskar encounters that it never would have otherwise. A part of him is able to find the humor of that, despite the discomfort of feeling wildly out of place in your friend’s luxurious home. He settles with his legs slightly spread, back hunched to brace his elbows against the tops of his beskar-clad thighs.

After about thirty minutes, a woman comes down the hall, absentmindedly cleaning a pair of large-framed glasses with the corner of her sweater, a thick, leather-bound book tucked under one arm. She looks as out of place in this hallway as he does—more like a Galactic librarian than a resident of an apartment like this. She puts her glasses back on and stops in her tracks once she sees him.

“Who are you?”

Mando clears his throat. “A friend of Febhana’s.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am--well. A friend of a friend.”

Her eyes narrow quizzically. “I’ve been married to that woman for five years now. I think I would know if she had a Mandalorian as a ‘friend of a friend.’”

As if on cue, Febhana emerges from the beaded curtain suspended over the entrance of her dressing room, barefoot and wearing a blue gown. She pads over to the woman, something bulky tucked under one arm, the other carrying the child in a sleeping bundle. Febhana places him in her wife’s arms delicately. “Lovely, we’re just getting ready for the party. Don’t mind her play-thing,” she tilts her head towards Mando without directly looking at him. “He’s just here for decoration.”

Mando physically bites his tongue.

Febhana’s wife glances at Mando, before leaning up to gently kiss Febhana. “Alright, I’ll be in the study. Wake me when you get back.”

Febhana cups her wife’s face gently. It’s such an intimate gesture that Mando looks away, feeling as though his presence alone is an interruption. The couple talks quietly for a moment, then her wife exits through the same door she came in from.

“Here is the guard’s uniform. The measurements should be right,” Febhana stands in front of Mando, handing him folded pieces of dark fabric, and then a helm. It’s two halves of a black metal shell meant to fit and tighten over the face of a droid. There’s a thick pane of darkened glass cutting through the middle of the mask, presumably to not disrupt a droid’s sensors but it will render Mando’s absolutely useless. This night just keeps getting better and better.

The whole thing is not something Mando has ever seen before, though he was never one to frequent circles like Febhana’s. The only distinguishable features are symmetrical dips cutting severe cheekbones into the object’s silhouette. Two fixed pieces of gilded metal form a swooping triangle that hovers just over where his nose will be under the helmet’s featureless surface. Looping, thin chains dripping from the decorative structure to partially conceal the mask’s lower half. When he holds it up in the low light of the hallway, their movement creates glinting waves of light.

All of it is purely flare, for the most part. At least the tailor made plenty room for armor beneath the--as Febhana put it--glorified curtains usually meant to conceal a droid. He heaves a sigh, taking the uniform from her. “This is the only option?”

Febhana shrugs. “Unless you want me and your girl going in by ourselves and trying to lure him out to you--which is certainly an option--yes.”

“She isn’t ‘my girl.’”

“Oh, trust me,” her smile is biting. “I know that.” She tilts her head towards the dressing room. “C’mon, the pretty one is almost done. You can use my room to change.”

When he enters, you’re seated at Febhana’s vanity. All the air is sucked out of his lungs.

The dress is really nothing more than a series of gauze-like drapes that spill from your body and pool onto the floor. The expanse of your back is completely exposed, the dress only resuming to cover you right above the base of your spine. One long piece of fabric serves as the illusion of sleeves, cinched at the swooping neckline by delicate, medallion-like embellishments that rest at the dip of both shoulders. The sleeves’ near-transparent fabric are fixed to ovular gold rings you have on the middle fingers of both hands.

Mando watches the fabric shift over the bend of your arm as you use said finger to swipe a little pigment on your lips. It glistens in the mirror he looks at you through. In that initial moment of deep focus, you have the severe look of a high official’s wife. Utterly untouchable. The most beautiful creature he’s ever witnessed.

His entrance breaks your concentration, you smile up at him, warmly, through the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” your voice breaks him from his stupor. Your other hand dips a small brush into a pot of powder. You dab it under your eyes and then stand, going to a crystalline bar cart and spraying some kind of perfume on your neck.

Febhana steps into the room behind him. After a moment Mando finds his voice.

“And you said she isn’t supposed to be the honeypot?” It’s hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he says it. At this point it’s like the two of you are actively trying to kill him.

Febhana laughs, and the smile you give him is expansive yet strangely private at the same time. As if you and him were in on some secret, some inside joke. You cross the room and pat him lightly on the shoulder twice, before moving him aside in order to link arms with Febhana.

The two of you leave the room, picking up whatever conversation you were having before Febhana left to give Mando his things. He stands there until his heartbeat steadies, then moves behind the wooden room partition to put the uniform on.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n: mando, babes, u don’t even know the half of it

jokes aside i am so excited for the next chapter you guys have no idea how much fun this is to write !! love a good ol’ fancy party w a bunch of degenerates.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.3 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

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BTS Reaction || You’re a Member of Blackpinks Sister [Request]

Seokjin:

Jennie had always been the overprotective sister, even when you were kids she was always there to help guide you in the right direction or rather what she thought was the right direction for you and not changed when you got older.

"You've seen him before-"

"At award shows, this is different. You're dating him, I have to meet him." You stared at your sister in the mirror as she smiled at you, you looked back down at your phone. Jin was going to show up any minute to pick you up and Jennie knew that which was why she was stalling for time. She was hoping to meet him before you went out on yet another date. It was the fifth one this month and she knew it was getting serious. You hadn't stopped smiling at your phone and you'd done nothing but talk about him to your mum all week.

"If you meet him do you promise to at least try and act like you're not going to scare him?" You knew fighting her on this topic was useless and she would win, she won every fight you guys ever had.

"I make no promises." You folded your arms over your chest trying to think of something to say when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" You sang in unison trying to get up and out of the room before Jennie but she was faster than you and down the stairs before you even got out of the bedroom door.

"Jin! Come in," You stared at him apologetically from the staircase and he smiled at you, he knew this had been coming for a long time and he'd been trying to prepare himself for it.

"Y/n go finish getting ready me and Jin will talk." The pair walked through to the living room and she saw across from him on the other sofa, just staring at him in silence.

"Jennie-"

"I know you'll treat her right." He was shocked by the statement, he assumed she was going to take over the role your father would have been doing but she had a smile on her face.

"Look, we don't know each other well but I know you'll look out for her...You're smart enough to know how to take care of a relationship...This is more to scare her into telling me how tonight goes." He laughed along with Jennie as she sat back in the chair and relaxed a little.

"That being said if you ever hurt her I will find you and I will torture you, slowly. She's my sister and I'll break legs if I have to." Though she was only small she looked intimidating enough and Jin knew not to mess with her.

"I won't, I really like y/n, she's one of the sweetest girls I've ever met and I don't ever want to hurt her or do anything to upset her." She nodded along with what he was saying and then she heard you coming down the stairs,

"She's going to try and eavesdrop as though I can't hear the creaking stairs, I want her home by 10." You stared at her from the doorway,

"Fine 10:30." You stared at her some more and she rolled her eyes at your folding her arms across her chest and holding her gaze on you. Both of you staring down the other until one of you would cave in.

"11:30 take it or leave it." She offered and you smiled taking Jin's hand and walked out of the house, shouting goodbye to your sister as you slammed the door shut behind you.

Yoongi:

Your sobs could be heard from Lisa's dorm room and everyone in the Blackpink dorm knew something was wrong. You'd shown up on your sister's doorstep asking for help and she gladly let you inside and allowed you to stay the night without asking for an explanation. Jisoo knew that if you wanted to talk to her about it you would go to her but it was getting harder to hear you cry without her knowing what was wrong.

"I think she and Yoongi had a fight, he's been calling her phone all morning," Rose said as she spotted your phone sitting on the coffee table. It was true, you and Yoongi had recently moved in together and last night you'd had one of the worst fights you'd ever had. Normally you weren't the type to fight about something if you didn't agree on anything you'd talk it out but last night was different. The doorbell rang and Jisoo got up to go and answer it when she heard you sniffle from the doorway,

"If it's him tell him to go away." You whispered, Lisa rushed over to you and ushered you back to Jisoo's room, they'd all been like your sisters since Jisoo had introduced you to them. As soon as you were locked away Jisoo opened the front door to see a dishevelled looking Yoongi standing there, he was wearing a suit jacket but his tie was undone and hanging down around his neck, the buttons on the shirt were open and he looked like he hadn't slept.

"Is she here?" He pushed his way inside calling out your name so Jisoo slammed the front door, she wasn't about to let him get away with doing whatever it was that he had done to you.

"She is. Do you want to tell me why she spent the entire night crying into my arms? She won't talk about it." He looked at Jisoo who was normally the sweetest person in the world but this time she looked beyond pissed off, she had her arms folded over her chest and was shifting her weight from one foot to the other to show just how annoyed she was.

"It was a stupid mistake and I regretted it the moment I said it-"

"Said what?" She asked through gritted teeth, neither of them had noticed you were standing there with a blanket draped over your shoulders and Lisa was behind you.

"He accused me of cheating on him with Jungkook." Everyone stared at Yoongi blankly wanting some kind of explanation as to why he thought that but you beat him to it.

"I'd asked Jungkook to take me shopping for Yoongi's birthday, he saw us alone together and assumed I was sleeping with him." By now your sister was livid and was ready to go all crazy sister on him when he spoke up,

"I realised I was wrong the moment I said it, I know how much Y/n loves me and how much I love her I just...I panicked when I saw her with Jungkook. I didn't want to lose her." The blanket slipped from your shoulders and you walked over to him taking his hand in yours,

"You could never lose me Yoongi..." You kissed his cheek, you were quick to forgive him but it was going to take more than that for Jisoo to forgive him for making you cry the way you had been doing the night before.

"I can't set a curfew but you owe me for making her cry...I'll call you when I figure out what it is." You smiled softly at your sister and gave her a hug, quickly apologising to them all for bringing unneeded drama into the house but they told you it was fine and that you were always welcome there.

Hoseok:

You were standing backstage while you waited for Lisa to come back and meet you, you were at some show with her and she promised not to leave you alone and yet here you were. Alone. Backstage where you knew nobody except the rest of Blackpink who weren't around with you. Jisoo was on stage with Rose talking into a camera while Jennie was off practising somewhere, you didn't want to freak out because you knew she would be back soon but you were starting to get scared.

"Everything alright?" A warm voice asked you turned around to see Hoseok from BTS standing there, he looked concerned since he'd walked past you and heard your breathing sounding a little jagged.

"I've lost my sister," He put his hand on your arm and lead you over to some chairs near a mini-fridge, he reached inside and took out a bottle of water for you to take. He studied the way you hands were shaking when you took the water from him,

"Who's your sister? Maybe I can find her for you." He offered, he knelt down in front of you to try and maintain eye contact but you felt your cheeks heat up so you looked away from him instantly.

"Lisa, she's in-"

"Blackpink, oh yeah! I remember you, gosh she showed me a picture but you're far more beautiful in person." His hand clapped over his mouth as he realised he'd said that out loud instead of in his head like he had intended and you giggled softly at him.

"You think I'm beautiful?" You stuttered out and he nodded blushing as he looked at you, you were no longer shaking and your breathing was back to normal.

"Do you sing or dance like your sister?" You shook your head and looked at him,

"I dance at home but nothing like Lisa, she's crazy good." You laughed tucking some of your hair behind your ear. Lisa was standing watching you and Hoseok talk, her plan was working. She knew you'd had a big crush on him since they debuted and you'd been dying to meet him, she also knew that if she was around you'd never talk to him and he'd never go up to you so she left you alone for a little while. Just so she could see if you would talk to one another and it was working.

"What are we doing?" Jennie whispered to Lisa looking in the direction Lisa was and smirked,

"Oh I see," They giggled and walked away with one another leaving you and Hoseok to continue talking about whatever it was you were talking about.

"I don't see you around much, is this your first show?" You nodded and stood up from the chair, he was offering to take you on a small tour of the backstage area since you would be spending most of the day there.

"Lisa didn't think to do this earlier," You laughed softly,

"I would have been wandering around aimlessly later so thank you for this," He shook his head and stared at you as you walked side by side.

"Anything for you, can't have you getting lost on me now." You smiled at him and continued walking around. Your hands would occasionally brush one another until he took your hand in his and continued walking as though this was a normal thing for you both, as though you both weren't screaming on the inside that your crush was holding your hand.

Namjoon:

You and Namjoon had been keeping your relationship a secret from Rosé for a reason, she was always the overprotective sister and wanted to make sure whoever you were dating knew about her but it was getting harder and harder to hide it from her. Your relationship was getting harder to hard now that comeback season was coming and you were seeing Namjoon at award shows, he'd stare at you when he thought your sister wasn't looking and you would run off together whenever you thought she hadn't noticed but she had and she'd noticed tonight. She'd watch you text Namjoon and then make some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom, then she watched Namjoon walk after you and she smirked at Lisa knowing exactly what you were both doing and she wanted to catch you both.

"Namjoon," You whined as he kissed down your neck, he had you pushed against the door of a supply closet, you'd only told him you wanted to talk about telling Rosé everything but he was now kissing you and telling you how much he missed you. You hadn't seen one another in over a month so it was to be expected but you were out in the open, not even in the supply closet while he was doing all of this,

"What if Rosé sees-

"What if Rosé already knows," She folded her arms over her chest and Namjoon sprang back away from you looking at Rosé and doing a bow,

"Rosé we were just-"

"I know what you were doing, I've known for a while you were dating but I hoped you'd come to me sooner or later," Namjoon glanced at you and then to your sister who was standing with her arms on her hips. She didn't look happy about this at all which only made him more nervous about everything,

"It was my idea to hide it, Y/n wanted to tell you from the start-"

"Don't lie for my Joonie, it's fine. Go and sit down." You kissed him and Rosé watched him as he walked away. As soon as he was gone her frown faded and was replaced by a giant smile as she giggled with you,

"How long?! Because by the look of that kiss you've been dating for a while. You've been holding out on me and I want all of the details...Actually not all of them that would be gross." You groaned at how she was acting and wished she'd never seen anything in the first place, you preferred her being the cold sister that was trying to scare Namjoon instead of the close sisters you were that shared details of your life life.

"You're going to miss the songs," You said trying to change the subject to anything except you and Namjoon but you knew that once you made it back to your seats it was only going to get worse when she told the rest of the girls what she knew to be true.

Jimin:

Last night was the first time Jimin had spent the night at your apartment and you'd woken up to your sister, Jennie, pounding on your front door demanding to know details about the date. Jimin and you hadn't been going out that long but you really liked him, liked him enough to let him stay the night and cook him breakfast. You were standing in the kitchen making breakfast for him with Jennie sitting on the kitchen counter asking question after question about everything that had happened while you were out together on your date.

"We went for a walk around the Han River and had smores," You laughed at her and she rolled her eyes knowing that wasn't all you had done but she didn't need those kinds of details from you. You cracked an egg into the frying pan you were holding,

"Scrambled or sunny side up?" She hummed as she thought about it,

"Scrambled." She jumped down from the counter and walked into the bathroom which was just at one end of the kitchen. You started humming along to 'Stay' by your sister when Jimin came in and wrapped his arms around your waist,

"Morning baby," He whispered in your ear kissing down your neck, you smiled softly as you felt him, bring you closer. That was when you noticed he was in nothing but his boxer shorts.

"Erm Jimin, you might want to get changed."

"Why baby?" He cooed kissing your neck again,

"Cause her sister is around," He jumped a little as he heard Jennie coming from the bathroom, you took off your bright pink dressing down and he wrapped it around himself before leaving the room quickly.

"He's shy, how cute." She teased you and you laughed at her plating up the food and setting it down on the kitchen table, you both went back to talking about your date until Jimin came back down in some proper clothes this time.

"Fluffy pink is a good look on you Jimin, maybe you should submit it for your next concept." Your sister teased making you roll your eyes and move over so Jimin could sit down beside you.

"You won't mention it to the girls," You told her as you got up to wash up your own plate,

"I make no promises-"

"If you tell them about Jimin and his robe I will tell them about you and a certain someone making out in the Blackpink changing room-" She screamed at you to stop and you smirked at her and then at Jimin who was thanking you for saving him from the embarrassment of being caught in your robe.

Taehyung:

"What do you think she meant by it?" Taehyung questioned, you groaned rolling over to face him in the bed.

"What?" You looked at him and then at the small digital clock on the bedside cabinet,

"What do you think Jisoo meant by she knew where I lived? Was it a threat of some kind?" You stared at him and closed your eyes. Too tired at 4 in the morning to have this conversation with him. You'd been up most of the night together and now he was thinking about your sister, in fairness though before he took you out that night she had threatened him over text.

"I mean...does she want to come and kill me in my sleep? Is she going to stop us seeing one another." You sat up in the bed and scraped your bed hair back into a messy bun and stared tiredly at him, you knew he wasn't going to go to sleep until he talked the whole thing out with you.

"She's just being protective of me." You mumbled to him still trying to wake up from your sleep-like state, but Taehyung was wide awake and his brain was running 10x the normal speed it should have been running on.

"Do you think she would though?"

"Do I think she would what?" You questioned shifting closer to him and forcing his head down onto your shoulder, you running your fingertips up and down his bare arms to try and get him sleepy and it was working. He yawned and closed his eyes,

"Do you think she would kill me in my sleep?" You giggled softly at him and he shook his head at you, he was seriously scared of her. He never wanted to hurt you anyway but now there was an even bigger risk at hand if he did.

"No, she just wants to make sure you're worth my time. Just wait until she asks to have dinner with us." He sat up straight and hit his head on your chin making you cry out in pain.

"Shit! No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to I was just-" He stopped rambling when he realised you were laughing while holding your chin, he had such a hard head that it had hurt but him rambling made it all so much funnier.

"I was joking, she'll just probably try and catch you when you're next at an award show." You said as he came closer and grabbed your face, he was turning it around in the air trying to see if he'd hurt you but you giggled and pushed his hand away from you.

"Can we go to sleep now, I'm tired." You whispered looking at him and he nodded frantically, laying you down on the bed and spooning you from behind but you knew he wasn't trying to sleep.

"If you don't try to sleep I'll tell her your headbutted me." You lied and he groaned snuggling his head down into your neck and kissing your skin,

"I love you," You smiled at him and closed your eyes.

"Love you too Taehyung."

Jungkook:

You laid on your bed staring at the countless amounts of photos there were of Lisa and Jungkook edited together, then to the tweets about you, Jungkook and Lisa and it all made you feel worse than you already did. Your relationship had just come out to everyone thanks to some paparazzi who had decided to snap photographs of you and Jungkook by a river together. They were harmless photos, just you and him on your date, holding hands and kissing but everyone was making it into a huge deal about how he was ''supposed'' to be with Lisa and not you.

"Fuck." You whispered when you heard Lisa let Jungkook into your apartment, she'd come around to spend time with you and you lied telling her you were sick. The truth was you couldn't stand to be around her right now, not when everyone was comparing you both to one another and saying things about her and Jungkook. You loved your sister and Jungkook very much but it was hard to deal with right now. Your bedroom door opened and Jungkook walked into the room with something in a takeaway tub,

"Jin-Hyung said to buy some soup for you, Lisa said you're not feeling well." You smiled softly at him, trying not to break down into tears as he walked into the room.

"You don't look sick," You sat up in the bed and he ran his hand over your forehead trying to feel for temperature but you felt fine to him, mostly because you felt fine anyway.

"What's wrong? You always get like this when you have a test coming up or something's bothering you." Normally you loved the fact that he could read you like a book but not tonight, tonight of all nights you wanted to tell him you were fine and have him believe you just once.

"I'm fine-"

"Lies. What is it?" You knew fighting would get you nowhere so you handed him your phone for him to see it all,

"Y/n you know-"

"I know...I just don't understand why me? Lisa is, she's Lisa! She's better than me at everything, she can dance, sing, rap, she's skinnier than me more pretty-" He cut you off by kissing you on the lips, your eyes widened but closed as soon as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"She isn't you, you're stunning, you make me laugh, you can cheer me up whenever I'm having a bad day and trust me, baby," He pushed the hair from your face and looked deep into your eyes,

"You're breathtaking to me. Nothing against Lisa but she isn't you...I fell in love with you." You felt your cheeks heat up as he stared into your eyes for this long, sure you'd been dating a long time but he could always make your stomach flip and your head spin with just one look.

"I wouldn't change you for the world and the sooner people realise that I love you the better," He whispered to you before kissing you again and pulling away,

"But just to check...you aren't actually sick right? Cause I don't wanna catch-" You kissed him again and he chuckled against your lips laying you down against the pillows.

tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @lynnthevirgo @snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @fan-ati--c @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @supresoo

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Tell You My Sins (So You Can Sharpen Your Knife)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst! A lot! (ends in fluff tho), canon typical violence, briefly mentioned and very vaguely descried torture, blackmailing.

Word Count: eight fucking thousand words what the fuck

Summary: Reader hides important information about her past from both Steve and Bucky, causing serious damage to their relationships with her. When Bucky’s severely (likely fatally) hurt, the Reader tries to finally do what’s right.

Beta: @walkingaline and I genuinely couldn’t have done it without her. She’s the sweetest fuckin person.

A/N: I’ve dedicated my life to this for two weeks, and it’s positively the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. I’m rather proud of how it turned out, and the feelings I got to explore. Would really love to know what you think!

It’s- vines, climbing up her organs, endless, crawling, and overflowing, thorns stuck inside her skin, digging in, and the breaths come shorter, clipped, chest weighted. There’s no alleviating this pressure, this overwhelming whirlwind of emotions, chaotic, heavy and filthy, slimy and awful.

The rumble of her engine, a loud interruption to her vicious thoughts, digging their claws inside her eyes, filling them with tears. The world is blurry, but the vibration- it's a welcome distraction. Familiar and strong, her motorcycle drives her at this point, muscle memory leading to the Compound, tears flying off her face by the whipping wind.

She’s booking it. Time barely registers. It’s somewhere between lashing thoughts and trembling fingers that the off-white building rises between the trees, overwhelming and tall, glinting lights always on, no matter the time of night. Somewhere between gasping, fast breaths and stuttering heartbeats that she throws the bike to park and runs, fast passes every lock with her ID and forgoes the elevator, knowing full well that the adrenaline thrumming in her veins will carry her up the stairs faster.

Shoes as if weighed by rocks, she feels slow, stuck in mud almost, liquid cement, sinking, drowning in quicksand as she rounds the corner and- Steve’s there, arms crossed over his chest, busted bottom lip pursed with his top one, a deep sigh swelling his chest. His hair is longer than the last time she saw him, he looks battered and bruised, and she’s known him for years- she can read his face clear as day. And as situations like this always have him, she knows, in the clench of his jaw, the statue-still set of his eyebrows, in his stony posture; he’s as worried as he is determined.

The phone call had been rushed.

She shouldn’t have heard it, about to jump in her shower, had she not forgotten her towel on her bed. Naked, feet padding on her plush rug, she digs in her bedside table for her usually silent device. It’s Steve, and she hasn’t heard from him in nearly a month and a half. Instantly she knows something isn’t right.

There’s only so many seconds it takes for the words to sink in, words like “mission went wrong”, and “hurt”, and “won’t make it”, and “Bucky”. Soon she’s pulling on clothes at lightning speed like the universe depends on it, shower be damned. Keys, jacket, helmet forgone, tears stream down her face as if she’s already lost him, bike kick-started because what else is there to do but be there.

And now? She’s here. And she feels foreign and bizarre, stepping in a space that she barely belongs in anymore. It’s sorta how she imagines entering an old house that’s now inhabited by new residents feels like- it feels the same, but in the same way it feels all too different, strange and foreign; revisiting an old life that’s been made into a new one for someone else.

It really doesn’t matter though, does it? Because she’s not here for herself- not for Fury, not Steve, not for the Avengers, or the missions. She’s here- she’s here for him.

Steps even slower now, approaching the Captain himself, very much aware of her knotted shoulders, her shaking hands. It’s evident, suddenly, in his posture that he knows she’s there. His shoulders stiffen just this bit more, and with a breath with which his chin raises a notch, he turns to see her. One foot behind the other, and he moves out the way, letting her in his spot in front of the window of the room Bucky is in-

A gasp.

Time finally stops.

Unrecognizable. Buried under wounds and bruises, endless tubes- her lost boy, James, Bucky. Tears fall at a new speed, and she allows this moment of vulnerability in front of Steve, allows herself to cover her mouth, her expression crumples, her tears flow freely, and- despite being mad at her, despite having patches to mend (if they can even be mended anymore), Steve is there, solid as always, with a hand on her shoulder, urging her in his arms. Old friendships die slowly, she thinks bitterly, and sinks in the comfort, eyes unable to be torn from the sight before her.

It takes some time, a good chunk of it, to compose herself, to part from Steve’s warmth and wipe the wetness off her cheeks. She wraps her arms around her front and shakes.

“We got ambushed,” he murmurs, and the statement is heavy. There’s guilt, sorrow, she’s sure it’s not fun to recall. “My fault. Didn’t know they were that many, must’ve had false info. Barely got to get him out of there.” She shudders. The image is loud and clear in her mind; Steve limping with the leg he’s currently not leaning on, busted and bleeding, carrying an unconscious Bucky, blood dripping from his mouth. She flinches.

“Can I-“ hesitation. A deep breath, shoulders squaring, remembering she no longer asks, she states. “I want to go in.” Steve stares for a second, calculating, thinking, looks back at Bucky, limp on the bed. He nods.

“Go.”

Before she knows it, the door shuts behind her slowly, an industrial, metal click, signifying a sealed door, nearly impenetrable if it was locked. She tries to be calm, but there’s no way, no reason to look composed either, so she flings herself to Bucky’s side, fingers twitching, hands hovering over him, afraid to touch him in case he frails like a burnt paper, in case he turns to dust and disappears before her very eyes.

Tears, once again, fall freely on her cheeks, tracing paths already carved by the previous breakdown, and the prospect of never seeing his wonderful crystal eyes, blue and loving, tears her apart. Worse so, the idea that the last time she saw them, they were red, hateful, betrayed, staring at her as if she was a monster, nothing more than the true scum of the earth, and he was right, and she will likely never be able to make everything right again.

It feels like claws are tearing at her chest like it’s low quality linen, destroying every tiny piece of her into infinitesimal other pieces and then tearing those too. There she is, now, nothing but rubble and ash, on the floor, limp and bleeding. Heart far too heavy for her chest, breaking again and again, her temples feel like they’re about to burst from the pressure.

Sitting on the chair next to his hospital bed, her fingers tremble, carefully sliding under Bucky’s still ones, holding his hand between hers gently, like a lifeline, leaning her forehead on it. She sits there, folded, crumpled, and she cries.

Y/n’s palms are red and kind of stingy, but she pulls her sleeves over them and keeps holding the scalding cup of coffee between her hands anyways. Eyes closed, she lets the steam warm her nose, lets the scent comfort her, and she imagines, with her headphones plugged in her ears, that she is elsewhere, in her apartment with Bucky, on the fire escape, watching the sun descend beneath the skyline of New York City. She imagines his arms around her waist, sitting between his legs with her own dangling off the metal landing and over the street. His voice, vibrating through his chest, onto her back, murmuring teasingly in her ear, nose buried in her hair and his warmth all around her. It’s peaceful, it’s soft and warm and everything she has ever wanted.

When her eyes open, she’s met with sky blue ones, not the ones she was just dreaming of, and she flinches, suddenly very happy her coffee cup has a lid over it.

Steve.

With a sigh, she takes a calming breath, and pulls her headphones out of her ears, tugged by the wire pinched between her fingers. She places them gently on the table in the cafeteria for guests and low-level agents in the compound. It’s nighttime, and the lights in the cafe make Steve’s hair look golden and glimmering.

“How’re you holding up?” She’s not sure how much he means that, and she knows he’s still very much mad at her for everything that’s happened between them. She knows, however, he’s also the one that called her to let her know about Bucky. She feels heavy.

“I can’t stop fuckin’ crying, if that’s what you’re asking,” she tells him, no care to maintain a strong persona, not in front of the person she used to consider her best friend until not so long ago. She flicks the edge of the lid of her beverage with the tip of her nail and looks up at him. Steve looks better than she does for sure. Not because he cares less, or because he’s slept at all, but because the serum gives him more stamina than her. He’s not as tired as she is, despite the hours he’s been awake for. Still, despite his enhanced powers, there’s purple bags under his eyes. “You?”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with a small shake of his head, sighing deeply. She takes that as her answer. Despite wanting to fiddle with something, a way to prevent her hands from shaking, a nervous habit, she pushes her coffee cup towards him, a peace offering, something to hopefully bring him the comfort it brings her. Steve doesn’t touch it. She fiddles with her sleeves instead.

The cafeteria, despite being open twenty-four seven, is quiet. A blanket of silence falls over them and Y/n crosses one leg under the other just to have something to do, something instead of opening her mouth and ruining the temporary civility between them. The words bubble, climb over one another like beasts, up her throat, and threaten to spill- and there’s just so much of them. So many apologies to make, so many explanations to offer, so many please let’s just go back to how we were ’s, so many this is killing me ’s, so many I can’t bear the thought of losing him without at least saying I’m sorry one last time. I don’t want that to happen with you too ’s. It’s all clogging the back of her throat like a spoonful of thick syrup that just won’t go down.

The idea that this might happen with Steve one day too overwhelms her. Two of the people she had found family in now hate her. She can’t let this happen with him, can’t lose him without telling him all of it. The realization; it’s the drop that makes the glass overflow. What if- what if tomorrow, or a month from now it’s Steve on that bed, Steve dying, what if she doesn’t get to tell him all of it? Never gets to apologize? How will she ever forgive herself for the things she didn’t say?

Her eyes well again. Her tongue feels like lead. It’s time.

“I…” She can’t bear to look at him. “Steve, I’m…” a shiver runs violently through her spine. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not Bucky, Y/n.” It’s like a kick in the stomach. She hears what he’s saying. I can’t forgive you for both of us. It almost sounds like your apology is useless.

“Well it’s not just Bucky I need to apologize to.” She looks up at him, and she wills the tears to be held at bay, matching his intensity with her gaze. She clenches her fists, fingernails digging in her skin just to distract part of her brain, to feel less numb. “Do you want to hear the truth?” Steve watches her. His irises bounce between hers, they do a once over of her stance, and she knows how small she looks in her seat, in contrast to him, who, despite his frame of mind, always makes a room smaller just by being in it.

His expression is grim, as he nods seriously. She takes a deep breath.

“This is the truth.”

The older she grows, Y/n keeps thinking that she’s experienced everything there is to. But it truly feels to her like she’s never experienced this kind of cold before. And it’s not- it’s not just external temperature. It’s icicles, lodged under her skin, brutally freezing, causing her to endlessly shudder, tremble like a leaf out in the winter, causing her jaw to lock, her limbs to knot up.

She walks and walks, a woman with a purpose, head held high, as high as a prisoner can hold it and- something really isn’t right with this morning. Something isn’t right, and she can tell because this morning she- she felt something she hasn’t felt in years, something she thought she’d never again feel, a bubble of emotion she truly believed they had snuffed out in her. But it becomes an itch, an itch she can’t seem to scratch, something she can’t exactly put words to, can’t name.

The more she walks, the more the feeling of dread climbs up her throat. This she’s familiar with; fear. Cold and fear, clouding her senses, paralyzing her, as Müller’s door raises in front of her, and she struggles to remind herself to keep walking, keep breathing, one foot in front of the other, inhale, exhale, calm down. There’s no way to escape this anyways.

Director Müller was as tall as his voice was shrill and loud. His features were sharp, glass-cutting cheekbones and dimples that showed far too often. His hair was strawberry blonde and his eyes sunken, as if he was seventy years old with one foot in his grave. His skin looked taught over his bones. Always sharply dressed and always hiding about a dozen knives and pistols somewhere in his office. He liked Japanese jazz, had an affinity for yelling, and drank his whiskey straight. The only affection he’d ever had was reserved for his two small birds, Friedrich and Brigitta, whose singing he adored and who roamed in his office freely.

When he’d first kidnapped her and her older brother, Y/n sat doe eyed and watched as they beat her only sibling, her last relative left alive, to a pulp right in front of her. They didn’t know she had things to offer then. They did it for fun, a show of their capabilities, power play. They did it to break her into submission. When they found out, though, about her knowledge of science, her love for technology… That’s when her life truly ended.

She walks, now, down the freezing corridors, and knocks on Müller’s door three times. Status report straight to me every four days, he’d muttered in sharp German way back when he’d first assigned her missions, back in the beginning, and true to his word, every four days, Y/n was forced to see the skin around his bony face tighten and stretch with another chilling smile.

“Come in,” he yells, and his awful voice bounces in the empty, concrete walls of the corridor. She hears his birds. The door creaks open loudly, metal as it is, and she quickly closes it behind her so that Friedrich and Brigitta won’t escape, something she’s learned to do over the years, after one particular incident no one likes to remember, never mind speak of. He calls her last name with lewd, slimy confidence, supposedly happy to see her, his rotten dimples making an appearance. She sits on one of his chairs, upon his prompting “How’s your assignment progressing?”

“Nicely, sir. I’ve reprogrammed the Chair and fixed previous faults.”

“See, Y/n…” He sits on the plush leather chair behind his desk, hands wringing together and as he says her name, he sits up, elbows on the arm rests. His long lashes and abyssal brown eyes examine her. “I think you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Uh…” Stance maintained, but lips pursed and hands just slightly trembling, she keeps his gaze. She can’t displease him. There’s no room for her failure. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir. There’s… surely ways to improve, b-but the chair- it works well.”

“Ah, but that is not what I hear.” Müller stands up dramatically, rounds his desk with slow steps, and Friedrich starts chirping consistently, sensing the sudden tension in the room, loud, high pitch hurting her ears. She dares not flinch. The cold returns fiercely, heart climbing up to her throat, choking her. This won’t end well. “As a matter of fact,” he leans, rests on his desk, right in front of her, loving his height difference and accentuating it by standing while she sits, a reminder to both of them that he’s superior. Y/n wants to melt into a puddle on the floor, never to be seen again. “I hear that Smith, your test subject… he has almost already recovered.”

Referring, of course, to the poor boy whom they snatched and have provided her as a sick guinea pig, a way for her to test the torture chair they have forced her to make. It’s a requirement, of course, that she tests it on him herself.

“Sir, I don’t think-“

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” In the flash of a blink, he’s pulled a knife from his belt and he’s pushing her back in her seat, by pressing his blade on her throat. “You know what HAPPENS,” a tilt of his head, “when you LIE.” Friedrich is joined by Brigitta, as well as the echo of Müller’s voice, and Y/n’s heartbeat accelerates, her breath is caught in her throat. She feels like her ears are about to burst.

“He was unconscious when-“

“What did I just say?” Lips purse, scared of making any sound that’ll piss him off further. “Seems to me like you’ve forgotten,” he murmurs, flicking his knife shut and narrowing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, straightens up and she doesn’t dare to move an inch, but it feels like her heart has plummeted to the center of the earth, and she wishes it could drag her too, as far away from this as possible. She’s well aware of what’s to come.

A chilling half hour later she finds herself sucking up tears that’ll only make her situation worse if someone were to see them. The cold, plastic, remote controller is in her hands, and it’s heavy as it’s ever been. She deems herself desensitized of the emotional toll forcefully inflicting torture on innocent people used to take. However, nothing, nothing, could possibly prepare her for what it feels like watching two HYDRA soldiers dragging her bleeding, thrashing brother from his armpits, and forcefully shoving him into the chair Y/n’s made. Director Müller watches her press the appropriate buttons with a sickly smile on his face.

She begs. For the first time in years, she begs God, the universe, something, to save her, to make her disappear. When this doesn’t work, when pleading for somebody to take mercy goes unheard, when the remote feels like the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted, her eyes draw to Müller, who’s watching her intently, waiting for her to carry on with her new assignment.

The millimeters her thumb has to cross feel endless. The process takes eons. The button is nearly unmoving.

Y/n will never forget her brother’s screams.

In the hours that follow, she’s trapped inside her chamber, a tiny room of blank four walls with a hard bed and an open toilet, looking more like a prison cell than anything, the only difference being that in the daytime she’s allowed to come and go as she pleases within the unrestricted areas.

Tears streak her cheeks for yet another night, and the despair has never felt like this before. She thought she’d escape it one day, the guilt, the weight, but it seems she’s trapped, like an ant under a boot, seconds before she bursts to pieces, with the pressure of the entire world on her chest.

The itch grows louder. It’s right there, in the bottom of her heart, something to pay attention to, in her state of absolute isolation and despair. She’s alone, has been alone for so many years, and she wonders, still, why she hasn’t killed herself yet, but the idea that if she does, they’ll probably also kill her brother comes and slaps her in the face. However, what else is there to do? How much torture can she make her brother go through because of her mistakes, how much guilt can she shoulder?

She sits on the bed, counts the bolts that are screwing the vent door on the ceiling, listens to footsteps pass by every so often, and ponders. Silent tears crawl down the curves of her face. She’s lost so much. She hasn’t spoken her native language in years, and sometimes she wonders if she’s forgotten how to.

A pair of heavy duty boots leisurely walk down the hallway, and she recognizes the voices of two guards. Conversation easily flows between them, and Y/n has no choice but to listen.

“Did you hear about the new chair the American has made?” one of them says. Her ears perk.

“The American? No, what about it?”

“They say it’s one of the most painful things they’ve ever used in HYDRA.” Y/n winces.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s what I heard. Wouldn’t wanna find out myself.” The soldiers share a chuckle. “Müller made the American do it on her brother. I hear he died about twenty minutes later.”

Y/n’s heart drops.

He- he’s- he’s dead?

“No kidding. The bastard survived six years. ‘S a wonder he’s lived this long” And as the soldiers pass by, Y/n’s left in her chamber. The silence grows deafening, but the echo of her heart splitting and falling apart, shattering on the hard concrete floor is ear-splittingly loud. All that she’s done, all the sacrifices, all the sheer, iron will she’s had to muster to maintain her sanity, all the awful things she’s done, the blood on her hands, the guilt, the pain she’s caused and- and in the end… he died by her own hand.

Chaos and confusion, an ocean of lashing thoughts violently crashing and pulling her under. It feels like the crescendo of the longest song that’s ever been written, six years of constant playing, and the orchestra’s hands are bleeding on the strings and buttons, coating everything with their own pain, worked down to the bone, and this is it- the minutes before it’s finally over. The roof is about to be blown off its hinges.

The itch is no longer underlying. It consumes her, and she knows, finally. She recognizes it. Escapism. Revenge.

Steve’s silent. He hasn’t looked away from her, hasn’t changed stance, still with his arms crossed over his chest and bulging underneath his dark green sweater. He’s staring at her, patiently as ever, with a set to his jaw that she knows isn’t there out of anger, but because he, too, is overwhelmed with emotion. His shoulders are no longer stiff, and he now has a cup of coffee too, finished in front of him. The bags under both their eyes are darker.

“I didn’t get to kill Müller. But I managed to run away. Barely. I disappeared, travelled to the States. I found Fury and sold all the information I knew about HYDRA and the department I had been held in, in return for protection. Fury took me in.” It’s a lifeless shrug, weighted and tired, and it’s then that Steve glances at his feet, then back at her. “I trained, learned how to fight properly. Used my knowledge for good. Made it to the Avengers in a desperate attempt to make up for all that I had done. ‘S when I met you.”

Steve seems to remember. He recognizes himself entering the story. It’s almost like he’s reliving the time they first met, back on that Helicarrier. A good memory, all things considered.

“There’s little excuse for me lying to you. I know. But please, you have to understand. The burden of getting to know the best friend of the person you’d been forced to help torture for years… becoming close friends with you? How could I ever say anything about anything and have you actually trust me?” She shook her head.

“What do you mean…?”

“They forced me to make weapons, new torture methods, even tried to make me refine Zola’s formula. A way to get a better grip on Bucky’s mind. I didn’t know much about all of it, nor who it was for, wasn’t my field anyways, and Zola’s formula was successful as it was, there wasn’t much for me to add. They later left me to the torture part, not the brainwashing. Even if I had known, though, I wouldn’t really have had a choice in the matter. I did anything I had to do to protect the only family I had left.” He nods seriously.

“We grew closer and closer and I wanted to tell you, to share my guilt with someone finally, but… the prospect of losing you was… too much. I didn’t want to lose the person that had reminded me for the first time in decades what it was like to be cared for. You were-“ a gulp “are like a brother to me.” Steve looks down. “I couldn’t see the betrayal on your face. It- it paralyzed me.

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out, honestly, how was I supposed to know you’d find my file? But don’t think I never felt guilty. It was always there, like everything could crumble at any moment, like a cloud looming over my head, but… I guess I kind of learnt to ignore it. I had found a family, Steve. After years of pain, pain received and pain caused, after so much darkness, I had finally found people who understood what guilt felt like, what it meant to be composed on surface level. I found people that loved me for what I was then and there. The idea of losing that crushed me.

“I know I can’t take it back, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve stays tight-lipped, pondering, staring at the table, then at her, then at the table again. He’s carefully controlling his expressions, clearly analyzing the information he’s been given, and she holds her breath. Whatever his reaction is, she thinks, nothing compares to the breath of fresh air she can allow herself to take, free of this awful, lengthy story. Finally, clear honesty, a sort of vulnerability with her best friend that’s different and new. True, down to its core.

It’s the sigh that does it for her. Resigned. Her eyes snap up at him. “You should’ve told me” He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at her, and shaking his head. “I would’ve understood. Nothing would’ve changed.” He looks right at her, very much like a discouraged parent. “What am I gonna do with you?”

And it’s- it’s the way he says it, as if everything makes sense now, shoulders dropping all the way down. The way he just- like he says you absolute moron, but in their own, loving, sibling-like way. As if he can’t stay mad for too long. Looking at her with the tiniest sympathetic curl of his lip.

It’s relief, because it’s in that half a smile that she sees it all. She sees the forgiveness, the understanding. She sees the love. It’s as if he’s looking at her, saying family, am I right? Despite her situation, for the first time in years, so, so many years, she breathes deeply, breathes oxygen that feels nurturing to her lungs, that makes her think she’s floating, and smiles, apologetically, trying to telepathically communicate I’m sorry for being an idiot. Sorry for not trusting you. Sorry for fucking up this badly. I promise to be better.

She knows, he’ll always be there to give her another chance.

It’s moments, a handful of them, in which time and space seem to stop existing, to warp into something else entirely, a world that’s so confused, nobody knows how to put it back. It seems, in those moments, one forgets where they are, how they got there, their brain has not yet escaped from the liquefied dreamland it’s manifested, can’t seem to fit in the strict, square rigidness of reality.

Bucky finds himself in that place. His eyelids seem to weigh about twelve tons, barely feeling his fingertips. It takes a great deal of effort to have thoughts, to- to maintain them, and as his mind slowly starts running a little faster, he remembers faintly, cloudy memories barely registering, that the last thing he saw was three soldiers, that had sneaked up on him, he remembers the gun being aimed at him, instinctively moving and getting nailed in the stomach multiple times.

Wherever he is now, it’s quiet. He worries for a second that he’s been left for dead in the HYDRA base, worries that he’s either dying on the floor or a vague prison cell, resembling something he’s been in already, but he’s comforted by the fact that the surface he’s on seems soft, the lights behind his eyes bright. Whatever the case, he should wake up now, he might need to get up and defend himself.

And as his eyes open, heavy and tired, he meets another pair of gorgeous ones, familiar and soft, and he feels warm all over. He’s- he’s safe. He’s safe because she’s here, and he loves her, with all of his being he loves her, and she’s holding his right hand close to her chest, he feels everything, her warmth, and he knows it’ll all be okay, it’ll all fix itself. He doesn’t have to try.

There’s something lingering just beneath his skin though, a need to recoil. Like a small bucket of icy water thrown over him, because, yes, he loves her, but she betrayed him. She could be out to get him right now, could be working with HYDRA still, and he might be trapped somewhere, and his heartbeat accelerates, because he has to escape and he can’t trust her anymore- until he sees the tears. The tears streaking her cheeks, over old salty marks, and a smile, broken but whole. This isn’t the behavior of a captor, he decides, deems himself, if not safe, then entirely incapable of fighting back, should he need to anyways. Why worry now? Let his future self do the work.

His eyes move around the room, blue-ish gray walls vaguely familiar, and- there’s another figure, another pair of eyes- blue, happy. It’s Steve.

Bucky feels safe. He knows he’s alive. He knows he’s home.

Like any other free afternoon, Y/n finds herself on her couch, curled up as much as she can with a book in her lap. There’s a short lamp on the side table, and she leans on the armrest comfortably with her toes curled, flying through pages and pages of words. Her hair is down, she wears comfortable clothes, and has a blanket over her legs. The weather’s been getting colder lately.

A warm sound, four soft knocks on her wooden door, are enough to pull her out of her novel, enough to make her eyebrows stitch together. She’s not expecting anyone.

Her feet are bare and she’s well aware of how close her knives are to the front door, just in case she has to fling herself over and grab one. She presses her eye against the little peephole, but it’s old and foggy and the workers who had once repainted the building managed to cover part of it with small drops of paint and she hasn’t gotten around to trying cleaning it. Doorknob cold under her palm, she tilts and-

Oh.

The first thing she notices is his shirt, a maroon Henley, buried under two more layers of clothes, a brown hoodie and a darker brown leather winter jacket. The buttons on the collar of his Henley are open, giving her a cheeky peak of the skin of his chest. She loves this shirt on him. It feels like someone tugged at her heart from every direction. Longing.

The second thing she notices is that this- it’s Bucky. Bucky standing in front of her door with an expression she’s rarely, if ever, seen on his face before. Her favorite, gorgeous light blue eyes staring straight at her after briefly scanning her down, as if he, too, is making sure she’s actually there. She is. And so is he. Here. Now. In front of her. Looking at her. Her feet are on the floor, she’s not dreaming, the world is round and Bucky is here.

Oh God. He’s really at her door.

“James…”

He seems to shiver. A shake of his head, something she recognizes as him convincing himself this is happening, then eyes meeting hers again. He shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. She holds the door less tensely.

“I think…” squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, looking at the floor. “Steve said to talk to you.” A heavy breath. Shoulders awkwardly, tensely shrugging, sorta like a kid forced to apologize by their parent. She doesn’t know how, but her head manages a nod, gulping. She pulls away from the doorframe, makes way for him to pass.

“Come in.”

New York sounds as alive as it ever does, even at eleven at night, and Y/n wishes she was sitting, because her legs are unsteady. It makes tears well in her eyes, seeing him here again, in her kitchen, looking around absently. The world feels different, much like it did in the Compound when she’d gone to visit him, even if nothing has changed in it apart from them.

Despite the passing cars outside, and people yelling, heard through the open window, it feels quiet. As if they’re the only ones in the world, being here with him feels like a cosmic event. She remembers what it was like sitting here and being so overwhelmed by the love in her heart, remembers what it was like to be surrounded by his arms and held so impossibly close to his chest. She remembers what it was like to look in his eyes and see them so affectionately looking at her, as if she’s everything he could ever ask for, as if she’s the light in his world. The cold of the night and of the space between them feels very much like a slap in the face.

“I know you no longer work for them,” and it truly breaks her heart how part of that statement feels like he’s trying to convince himself, or as if it’s difficult for him to process. How awful, the shift between being someone’s favorite person and being someone who’s trustworthiness is little over questionable. The weight of being responsible for fucking up the most important relationships in her life suffocates her. “Steve told me.”

There’s nothing to do but nod numbly. She looks at him, watches the warm, glimmering lights of her kitchen fall on the curves and edges of his face, admires the yellow-ish hue outlining his features, making his eyes look iridescent.

She mustn’t cry.

“He told me everything, actually.”

She must not cry.

Bucky doesn’t say a lot of words, but they’re there, at the tip of his tongue, floating in the air like dust particles. In this, there’s a lingering question, a large Why. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you hide all this from me? Why did it have to be this way?

Y/n looks down. What to say, really?

“I just- I can’t believe-“ she jumps at his loud tone, Bucky never one to have vocal outbursts. She sees the tears in his eyes, gaze lingering away from her, towards the living room for a second before looking up at the ceiling momentarily, then straight at her. His hands are shaking, and she sees it all then. The betrayal, the hurt, despair, the- the loss. There’s no alleviating this pain that overwhelms both of them. She hates herself for this, can’t believe she caused all of it.

“I- I did what I thought would be best for us-“

“No, don’t pull that shit with me.” He glares now and points at her, and she never, ever wanted to be in the receiving end of such an intimidating look. Venom is laced in his tone, harsh and biting, and it feels like the temperature in the room dropped below zero, her spine rigid. “You did what you thought was best for you,” said as calmly as the tears that slowly leak from the corners of his eyes and over the apples of his cheeks are. “In fact, I doubt you thought at all”

That’s not true though. The amount of times she’d sit in her bed, with his arms around her while he slept, weighed down by the lies and the guilt; the guilt of all the terrible things she’d done, and the guilt of hiding them from the most important people in her life. She’d scale the pros and cons of confessing everything, for hours she’d make lists in her head, extensively long, but the cons were always destructively larger and would always win. She’d choose to stay as she was, with them oblivious and happy, until they would finally see her for what she truly was, and she’d convince herself, it would all be worth it for the time spent with them.

“I couldn’t tell you- I couldn’t face the idea of losing you I-“

“So you’d rather lie to me? You’d rather hide your past from me? I trusted you, Y/n.” He hasn’t called her by her first name in so long, and it feels like he just took one of her knives on her kitchen counter and stabbed her straight in her chest with it. “I gave you all of me, I told you every single little thing about myself, everything I hated, everything I’ve done, and I trusted you to have it and- and you couldn’t even trust me to listen to you? To- to understand you?”

She deserves this, she does, but she can’t- can’t deal with him yelling at her and, reflexively, she lashes out- “I was scared, Buck,” –and it’s a pitiful excuse, she knows, but it’s the bitter truth and the reason behind everything. “You have to understand- this isn’t some black and white situation, I thought you’d hate me for everything, I didn’t wanna lose you, or Steve!”

“Scared?” he seethes, walking towards her with angry steps, and she starts stepping back too, entering the living room. She realizes how large he looks, how his anger fills every corner of the room. “You were scared?!” She can practically taste the condescension on her tongue. “And you think I wasn’t?! You think I wasn’t paralyzed you’d run away after everything I’d done? You think I wasn’t terrified of my feelings for you and how fast they came to be?” She wishes she could answer that, but part of her is terrified to know what he used to feel for her and how much of it she actually ruined.

“But I’m a fucking adult, and I dealt with it. You… you lied about everything. Did you even give a shit about how badly you were gonna fuck me over, if I ever found out?”

“Does it look like I fucking like it? You know how sorry I am, how much I hate myself for everything I’ve done to ruin both yours and Steve’s trust in me!”

“I don’t know shit,” her legs bump on the back of her navy couch. “You hurt me- hurt us. We gave you everything, I put my heart on the line for you, and you couldn’t even have a little faith in me to believe in you, and what you truly are.” A monster rings in Y/n’s brain. Nothing but a monster.

“Please, stop.” Submission. That’s all she has left, by now, because his words ring nothing but true. Because she can’t bear to hear everything she feels about herself being told back to her in his voice, it would literally be a nightmare come true. Everything drains in her body, and it all comes down to this. She just wants all of this to stop, the pain in both of them to stop.

“No,” he hisses, and she can’t really blame him. He’s close to her, about two feet away, and she’s trapped between him and the couch. “I’m not gonna stop just because things got uncomfortable for you, just because you had to come back because I was dying in a gurney. You barely tried to make everything right before that. Do you even care?”

“Don’t you see that I did everything because I love you?!”

Silence. Bucky nearly staggers back, as if the words that have never, before, been said came out and punched him in the face.

“Why the fuck do you think I didn’t tell you anything? Because I wanted to break your heart? No, you clueless asshole, I’m in fucking love with you!” His expression is stunned, eyes wide at her outburst, watching as she takes the steps she needs to close the gap between them. Her finger is jabbing at his chest, which is raising and falling with panted breaths. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, couldn’t take to watch your trust break, couldn’t bear the thought of you finally seeing I’m a monster!” And she breaks down, a sobbing mess now, the tears that once trailed down her face, now endless. She covers her mouth, face crumpled and red.

“I j-j-just wanted us t-to be okay, bec-cause I love you t-too much to fuck-king lose y-you”, As her eyes shut, crying relentlessly in her hand, throat feeling like it’s gonna burst, she feels so eternally cold, as if showered by a bucket of icy water. The idea that she might once again be left alone in the world while someone she loves is taken away, all because of her actions- it’s too much. It takes her back to the worst day of her life, brings back a kind of cold so furious, it knots her joints and sends shudders down her spine- her hands tremble at the thought. She can’t believe how colossally she’s managed to screw things up with him, how much he hates her and genuinely believes she did anything less than care about him. .

Like a tidal wave, the emotions overwhelm her, the self-hate like a boulder that smacked her in the face and threw her down a cliff and now everything hurts, and her stomach feels like it’s climbing up her throat. Her heart tears through her chest, painful and slow, and it’s all her fault, everything, and there’s nothing there to fix it all, to make it better- except, all of a sudden, warm, strong arms curl around her. She breaks down harder, curling in his chest because she fucking missed this, missed his affection, his protective embrace, his comforting smell.

Fists clutching his shirt, she sobs, acutely aware of her tears wetting the material of that maroon Henley she loves so much. The arms around her curl tighter, one hand dipping under her hair to hold the nape of her neck gingerly, keeping her against him, thumb rubbing gentle circles. And it’s then that she hears it, his own sniffling, his chest shaking. He’s crying too. The need to provide the comfort she seeks is overwhelming, and she lets his shirt go, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him together too. “I’m so sorry,” she cries, shoulders shaking, and Bucky shushes her, shaking his head slightly. His arms tighten briefly.

In her crying, she vaguely registers him moving them to the couch, both sitting down, and her curling up into him instinctively. For a while, until she calms down slightly, she lets herself be held and holds him back just as fiercely. It feels like she’s finally letting go, an outburst that frees her of part of the weight she’d been shouldering for years on end. It feels like release, a dam that broke and is spilling every last drop of water that’s been pushing at it for so long.

When she quiets down, when her sobs no longer hurt, no longer feel like they’ll split her ribcage to splinters, when her breathing sort of evens out, she pulls one of her hands to rest on Bucky’s chest, and pulls away to look at him. Bucky’s arms tighten to keep her close.

She’s well aware she must look like a mess, what with all the crying, but this is Bucky after all, her James, the love of her life. He’s seen her under all kinds of light now, and there’s no need to hide. Like he wants, if he is to care for her, after all this, he should care for her for all the things she is, not the things she pretends to be.

Bucky’s eyes are a little less bloodshot than hers. She cups his chin gently and watches his eyelashes flutter, his eyelids softly shut. With her thumb she gently strokes his cheek and notices the way he seems to lean into her palm, lips parting with heavy breaths. He missed her too.

He opens his eyes again to look at her and leans his forehead down to touch hers, holds her closely and brushes the tip of his nose on the bridge of hers so lightly she almost misses it. She sighs. “You have every right to be angry at me,” she whispers to him, pulling her hand back and tucking it in her chest. “I lied, and I didn’t trust you, and I acted the complete opposite way of how I should have. For all of that,” a breath sucked, almost clogged at the center of her chest, “for all of that, I’m sorry.”

Bucky, still infinitely close to her, shakes his head gently. He takes one arm from around her, and she thinks this is it; this is where he says goodbye-

But, gentle as always, he places his right hand on the side of her neck, softly nudges her head up to his and drops his lips on her own, a ghost of a kiss, short and unexpected, before he pulls back and looks at her. “I love you.” He whispers, breath hitting her lips, and her eyes well with tears once again, as she looks up at him. She never thought she’d hear those words, not after everything. Bucky kisses her single fallen tear away, noses at her temple.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, the same way you didn’t think I am one. You helped me heal, helped me learn that those things I did, they weren’t me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“B-but-“

“No, you listen to me.” He tells her, his grip around her body tightening, giving emphasis to his words. “You did what you had to do to protect your brother. What you did… The blood isn’t on your hands.” He has not let her gaze go for a second, and she’s transfixed, tears still overflowing- she wonders when she’ll finally run out of them. “I love you.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I love you more than I thought I was ever capable of. Thinking you betrayed me completely incapacitated me, but I understand you. I see you. I forgive you.”

She gasps, shudders, and in the spur of a single waking moment, lunges at him, kisses him fiercely, holds him tightly. Their lips mold together, and the last pieces of the universal puzzle of the cosmos click to place. Everything settles, mouths moving in sync, desperate, hungry, all the emotions tumbling out all at once, and it’s like the slingshot snapped, and the missile hit the target. She bites his bottom lip, and the groan he lets out comes from deep within his chest, tongues tangling together. His metal arm crushes her against him, hand buries in his hair, their noses smush together, breaths strangled, air shared, and…This- this feels like belonging. No- more like, this feels like coming home.

Inevitably, they part, trying to suck in much needed air, foreheads knocking together gently and chests heaving. It seems like they feed off each other’s personal space, like they hold each other in one piece, while also completing one another. To Y/n it feels like a breath of fresh air.

“This doesn’t mean we’re perfect yet,” Bucky utters gently, not in a menacing way, but as a soft clarification, a request even. “I- I’m gonna need some time.” She’s grateful he even chose to give her a chance at all. Y/n smiles up at him affectionately and nods.

“Of course, Buck. All the time you need.” She caresses the side of his face with gentle fingers, traces his features with a feather-light touch, then cups his jaw. “Thank you.” And it’s weighted, hangs low in the air. She looks at him intensely to make sure he knows she means it. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into her touch, then blinks them open, brilliant, sky blue irises staring right at her. “I love you so much.” He breathes out heavily.

“Say that again,” he whispers. She grins at him as if he’s all good things in the world, because he is.

“I love you, Sergeant Barnes.” A kiss pressed to his cheek. “I love you with all of my being.” A kiss gently tucked on each of his eyelids. “I love you for all that you are.” And she kisses him on his lips sweetly, and he responds like she’s made out of glass, like she’s fragile. He sighs out. They breathe close to each other for a while.

“I know you said you need some time. Do you… wanna go out with me? Coffee? At Michelle’s?” Bucky grins. Their spot. He nods.

“I’d really love that.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. An olive branch. The first step to gain his trust back. There’s nothing Y/n deems more important. With a deep breath, she knows. She’s ready to do anything, to work her hardest to earn a place in his life, the one he’s so graciously offered her. To get to build a future with him, on steady foundation this time.

Their life begins now. Y/n can’t wait to live it. With him.

A/N 2: please tell me what you thought!

#mcu #marvel #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x fem!reader #steve rogers #sebastian stan #chris evans #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #mcu fanfiction

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years ago

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Winter Dance - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO KOHEI HORIKOSHI

DAY TEN OF 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS - 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST

Starlight seemed to twinkle at every angle you gazed. It was incredible, really, how the staff was able to transform the cafeteria. Gone were the long lunch tables and potted plants - silk draped circle stands lined the perimeter and in the center was open for dancing.

“Wow, isn’t this incredible!” Mina gushed, clutching onto your arm. You laughed and nodded, still too much in awe to form words. However, the girl next to you was full of them. As energetic as ever, the pink haired girl flitted around, greeting everyone in her vicinity and you giving them a nod and a smile. You were glad to have Mina as a friend - she was able to break you out of your shell the moment she met you, giving you the confidence to be unapologetically yourself in all situations you were in. She also introduced you to Katsuki Bakugou. He couldn’t have been more different than most of the boys you usually pined after - a stubborn guy with even more stubborn hair and a person who seemed to always wear an annoyed expression. Something about him, however, just seemed to take hold of your heart and not let it budge.

“Hey Y/N! You look great!” A friendly voice stirred you from your thoughts. Kirishima was giving you a wide toothy grin. You beamed back at him and swished your dress a little, watching the material fold and fall over itself.

“Thanks Kiri - you as well! I like the tie.” You respond. He did look good, it was true - Mina thoroughly confirmed that notion by giving him a kiss on the cheek. They matched perfectly - your best friend was wearing a beautiful strapless dress that was light blue in color and made of tulle. Kirishima, ever the gentleman, matched his tie color and even the pattern, both of them having little flowers dotted all over. The three of you talked for a little while - small comments about the gorgeous decorations, fun anecdotes, and what they were planning on doing for Christmas. Just as your little group was about to grab some punch, a slow and sweet melody flooded the speakers, prompting couples to take to the middle of the dancefloor. You saw Mina and Kirishima look to each other and back at you, giving you an apologetic look. You gave them a silly look and pushed their backs toward the dance floor.

“You two didn’t come here to just hang out with me, go dance! I know you’ve been waiting all night.” You grin. They return your smile and Kirishima takes Mina’s hand, twirling her around once before they settle into a swaying rhythm. You watch them for a few minutes before you feel a sinking feeling in your heart. Yes, you’ve been talking to your friends all night, but you’ve also been keeping an eye out for the blonde-haired hero in training your heart was set on. Your vantage point finally allowed you to survey the entire room which proved the discouraging thought that lingered in your mind. He didn’t show up, you thought. Sighing you glance to one of the doors. This conjured a mental battle in your head. Do you leave? Is it even worth it? As much as you wanted to stay and have a good time, all you had to do was take a look at the center of the dance floor to make up your mind. Seeing happy couples spin, dance, and laugh made your heart ache - this wasn’t something that would be happening tonight.

“I just need some air,” you mumble, weaving through bystanders near the wall. You didn’t realize how stuffy it was in that room - you guessed all of those people plus dancing would fill the room’s atmosphere.

The large windows were something that had drawn you to UA. While it wasn’t the most practical thing to think of when applying to high school, you thought it was a nice touch. You could practically see for miles through them. Rubbing away the condensation, you saw the city in the distance. The colored lights from cars and skyscrapers lit up its surroundings, casting a wondrous glow to the streets and apartment buildings. Just beyond the campus you could spot the cherry blossoms covered in snow - the light pink blossoms blanketed by the heavy layer of white. And up close were the detailed patterns of the paths and foliage that accented UA so well. You could even make out the colors of the flowers. One blue, those two a light yellow, one red and- Bakugou? You rubbed your eyes to see that, yes, the blonde was really outside in the cold wearing a suit and tie. Without thinking, you ran down the steps to the door that opened up right next to him. With a shove, the door creaks and a rush of wind blows by you. Katsuki jumped a bit in surprise, his eyes widening as he saw you.

“What are you doing here?” He inquires, eyebrows narrowing. You brush a stray piece of hair away from your face and shoot him a confused look.

“I saw you from the window?” You said, pointing up to the glass pane. “I saw you out here and was wondering what you were up to.” He rolls his eyes and kicks some snow with his polished black dress shoe.

“No, seriously, what are you doing here.” He says flatly. “Why aren’t you at the dance thing.” He gestures to your floor length dress, the end of which was currently getting damp by the snow.

“I needed some air,” you say quickly, remembering that technically he was the reason you stepped out in the first place. “What about you?” Katsuki scoffs and tugs on the collar of his shirt.

“Like I’d go to a dance - they’re idiotic.” You frown at his wording but speak up anyways.

“Well, you’re certainly dressed for one - unless this is your usual Saturday night attire?” You ask, motioning to his suit and slacks. They even looked newly ironed. Realizing that you caught him, you grinned and stepped closer to him. “You can tell me Bakugou, you know I’m not one to judge.” He sighs and turns his back to you. Thinking that he was just going to ignore you, you exhale sadly and turn back towards the door, ready to go back into the warm building. However his voice, soft as velvet, found you.

“I dunno how to dance.” Stopping in your tracks, you twisted around to look at him, your dress swishing with you. “How was I supposed to ask you to dance if I can’t do it properly, dammit?” He confesses. It was as if Cupid himself had notched his arrow and aimed perfectly for the square in your back. You were ready to squeal and jump, but what Bakugou needed right now wasn’t you being giddy about his confession. He needed you to take charge of the situation.

“We can do it here.” You suggest, grabbing his hand. He finally turns back to face you, some red flashing on his cheeks. You knew if you commented on it he would blame it on the nippy weather, so you let it slide.

“In the snow? Are you serious?” He says, almost laughing at your suggestion. You simply nod, guiding one of his hands to your waist and the other into yours. You settle your right hand onto his shoulder and smile.

“Yeah, in the snow. Besides, the stars out here,” you say, looking up to the sky, “are much more realistic than the ones in there.” He nods stiffly and waits for you to make the first move. Stepping forward with your right foot he steps back. You lead him through a simple box step, and for someone who didn’t know how to dance, he caught on perfectly. Like everything that challenged him in life, he grew more confident in his motions. He surprised you with spins every now and again, always earning a laugh. Flurries began to fall as you danced but neither of you seemed to care.

“Bakugou,” You say softly as he spins you again.

“Katsuki,” he corrects, earning a shy smile from you.

“Katsuki,” you laugh, “the reason why I wasn’t at the dance and why I got some air was because you weren’t there.” The boy in front of your smirks and then dips you, your weight now fully supported by him. No words came from his lips, instead, they met your own. They’re softer than you would’ve imagined. It lasted for only a couple seconds but you couldn’t complain - it was perfect. No more words were spoken between you that night - you just danced and danced, your head now resting on his shoulders. Even when the event indoors came to an end you didn’t stop. It was just you and Katsuki and the snow, swirling and spinning in unison... and Mina and Kirishima, watching from the windows, thankful that their two friends finally got together.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 41)

I typed this chapter on mobile so it might have more typos than usual and I, a responsible fic writer, do not proof read.

Warmth. There is a sense of community in warmth and trying to stay in a state of it during the colder months. Wujing makes a celebration of doing so. And that is how she finds herself seated around the largest fire she has seen in the Earth Kingdom. She is their go to women to keep it lit until the festivities are over.

They seem to rather adore her fire and on nights like these she yearns to display a vivid blue. Perhaps one day. One day after she tells Hajime who she is. Though she isn't sure when she would tell everyone else. She hopes that everyone will take just as well to her fire when it burns blue. Perhaps if she is lucky, they will enjoy it more.

Until then she adds more orange to the blaze while Atsu shifts his weight in her arms. "My turn, Atsu!" Caihong declares.

"No-o." Atsu shakes his head, "she's my mama, go by yer dad!"

Despite the boy's protests, Azula lifts the blanket and let's Caihong crawl under it and next to Atsu. Hajime steps away from the fire and returns to her side. "I'd say that this is a promising way to start the winter."

"We've had a productive year. We have more than enough to get the Wujing through the winter." Seukhyun notes.

"No thanks to you, boy." Ojihara jests.

"I did most of the work ol' man!"

Listening to the father and son go back and forth is one more constant in her life. A thing that wouldn't feel right if absent.

Azula, to the best of her ability with to little beasts in her lap, moves closer to the fire. "Hey!" Atsu shouts, "I was com-fera-table!"

"I wasn't." Azula shrugs. Truth be told her legs are tingling from having held the same position for so long. "I need to stand up."

Neither of the children takes the cue so she tells them both to stand. She doesn't know why she expected to be met with anything other that a, "no, Rikka! We're cozy!" And an agreeing not from Atsu.

"Hajime, hold these things." She sets Atsu and then Caihong in his lap.

"These things are called children, Rikka." He laughs while Atsu folds his arms and pouts.

"They're more like chittering toad-squirrels if you ask me." She stretches her arms and then her back with a contented sigh. She makes her way even closer to the fire.

"Cider?" A man offers. She recognizes him from the market square, a clothes salesman she thinks. She can't quite recall his name but it could be Poying or maybe Poyang. The man is quite fond of telling everyone that he has a tinge of Air Nomad blood. Azula isn't the only person to take this with several grains of salt. But he is an honest man otherwise do she takes the glass with a thank you.

"Gimme'a sip, gimme'a sip!" Caihong makes a jump or two for Azula's cider.

Poyang chuckles, "aye, lil' one we got plenty more, ya don't have to snatch Rikka's."

"You don't have to take me." She repeats smugly, holding her glass just out of Caihong's reach. The girl sticks out her lower lip, folds her arms across her chest, and gives her foot a stomp--making sure to rumble the ground for good measure.

Hajime gives her a little nudge. "Aww don't tease Cai."

"She's gonna get her drink anyways." Seukhyun dismisses just as Poyang comes back with more cider.

"Poyang has the best stuff!" Atsu declares after his first sip.

"Cause his brother's the apple man!" Caihong declares enthusiastically.

"One day we'll have to visit his orchard together." Hajime offers.

"We have a lot of one days to get to." Azula points out. But she supposes that they will have a lifetime to do them.

"It's nice to have a lot to look forward to, isn't it?" He slings an around her waist and pulls her closer. Hot cider splashes onto her shirt. She crinkles her nose, "thanks, Hajime."

"You said that you were getting cold. I thought that I'd help you warm up."

"Won't be so warm when this cider freezes…"

"That's what you get for not sharing it!" Caihong declares smugly. That impish little earth gremlin…

That day she learns that there is a special bond, a sense of community, that comes with the seeking of warmth.

.oOo.

She hadn’t expected to outlast him, but her demise comes as a surprise all the same. And maybe it is because she had wrapped her topmost parka around him. Maybe it is because she had stripped off her remaining glove to keep a fire going for him. For the both of them.

But she is weak and grows weaker as the cold burrows into her wound and seeps deeper into her bones. She looks at the teeth marks with much hatred. Could those have been prevented?

“Azula?” Sokka murmurs. It is the first sound that he has made in a while. And she could cry. Maybe both of them will die, but at least she won’t have to watch another lover do it before she succumbs for herself. She is so terribly cold, she can’t imagine that it will be much longer now.

"Yeah?" She answers.

"What happened?" He slurs.

"First we got caught in a blizzard and then we we got attacked by wolves…"

"Where's dad?"

Azula grits her teeth. "We couldn't find him, remember." They might have fared better against the wolves if they had. As things were they had taken a good chunk out of her arm before being struck down by Sokka's boomerang. The man best appreciate her taking those teeth for him instead of focusing on her own fight. On the grander scheme of things she supposes that it doesn't matter at all. They had done more damage than even that in shredding Sokka's parka and stealing one of her gloves. If they hadn't, she might not have had to spare one if her own.

Agni, she isn't built for this weather. She isn't adapted to withstand it. And it hurts so terribly. Everything stings and tingles. Her face and toes especially. Her fingers had tingled it that has subsided to a more than alarming nothingness. She sniffles, if only to remind herself that she still has a nose. Her cheeks are so red and she feels as though they have been slapped repeatedly. In a sense, they have. The winter slaps them with a force that a human hand couldn't possibly manage.

She had never realized just how much the cold could burn. Very resentfully, she thinks that the cold might just be higher than even her fire.

She huddles closer to Sokka, rather she tries to do so oh to find that they are as close as they can possibly be. And there is nowhere near enough warmth between the two of them.

"Take your parka back, Azula." Sokka says.

She shakes her head.

"Azula, you need it more, you're not…"

She shakes her head, "no." She won't be the weak one here. She can't allow it. She can't allow it especially if it means watching another lover die. "No."

At least now she can say with conviction that she does love him. Very much. Just as much as she loved Hajime. And more than enough to let herself succumb to the cold to give him a chance.

He tries to remove his parka anyhow so she rolls atop him, he is too weak to shove her off. Which is good because she would have been too weak to resist if he had.

The bite marks on her arm flare. She closes her eyes and shudders as another pang passes through her. How long have they been out here like this? Long enough for the blizzard to pass.it occurs to her that she and Sokka are half buried. The realization come with a jolt of panic--a queasiness in her belly and a spinning in her head. She doesn't want to be buried in a coffin of snow. She doesn't want to be buried at all. The panic is fleeting when she recalls that she has already unburied herself in putting her body atop Sokka's. Though that isn't to say that more snow won't come to cover them up, she hopes to be hours dead by then.

"You know, I always thought that I would die in combat." She mumbles, pressing her ear to his chest so that she can hear his heartbeat. So that she can be sure that she isn't alone. "That would have been more glorious than this."

"You're not…"

But she isn't done lamenting, "but I also always thought that I would be alone when I died. So I guess that this is better." It's certainly better than dying alone and dehydrated in a grassland.

"We're not going to die."

"We're in the middle of nowhere and the rest of the village didn't expect us to venture this far out to the glacier. We've been out here for hours, my arm won't stop bleeding…"

"Yeah." Sokka's expressions darkness. "Looks pretty grim doesn't it." He is so cold that his breath no longer comes out in puffs. He is quiet for a very long while. "Katara, Aang, Toph, and I were once lost in a desert with ver little water. You made it out of several situations like this…"

"Yes, Sokka and it was mostly luck. How many times can I keep getting lucky?" She doesn't have the energy for shouting. For changing her tone and diction at all really.

She feels Sokka's hands patting her hair. "Hopefully every time."

.oOo.

There is no worse feeling than watching Azula go limp and mostly quiet. For the last several minutes, the oh sign of life was an occasional wimper. Her body is still trembling but not as violently as it had been. She is shutting down. And she still won't take his parka.

"I'm so cold, Sokka." She whispers, her voice sounding so pathetically small. But she is afraid. He can tell, if only because he is terrified too.

"Yeah, me too, Azula."

She rubs her face against his chest. She gets no warmth out of it because there is none left in him. He looks to the sky. To the glimmering cosmos above. Maybe he'll be reborn as one of them…

Azula clings to him with what can oy be the last very last ounces of her strength.

"It's okay, Sokka." She tries to smile though her face is too stiff with the cold. "I told you on the first day that I came back that I had more waiting for me in the Spirit World…"

"Don't say that." He squeezes her tighter.

"It's okay." She says again. "I think I that he wanted me to do a bit more exploring but he'll be happy to know that I got this far."

He wonders if she is thinking of Caihong at all. He wonders if that will do her any good anyways. He doesn't want to say it, especially not to her. But she is right, she is dying. He doesn't think that she will last the night even of he does force her back into her parka.

He hugs her as tight as he can. And then he rolls her onto her back. She murmurs some sort of protest, some sort of distress. But there is something that he wants her to see. Something that he needs her to see.

"Look up, Azula. Open your eyes." He gently slaps her cheeks and her eyes flutter open. They are unfocused and mostly vacant. He slaps her cheeks again until he has her at least a little more alert. “Look at the lights, Azula.”

He thinks that she might have smiled. "That's nice, Sokka." But her eyes close again and the moment is good.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't bargain or beg. She simply squints and, to the best of her ability with blackened, numb fingers and clumsy daze, touches his cheek. And then her hand falls and her eyes close once more. No amount of slapping gets them to open again.

In the distance he hears barking. Sprits, he prays that the wolves aren't back. He squeezes her hand if only to feel her slowing pulse.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years ago

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 8

Thomas X Reader

3744

Summary: Tensions grow between Grace and Reader when Grace is informed one of her co-workers is dead. Reader meets Ada.

by @adventuresintooblivion

Grace was due for a rendezvous yesterday, but she hadn’t a moment of free time until the Garrison Pub closed its doors two hours after it was supposed to. She had called into the station, but no one answered, which led to her practically sprinting to the nearest cabby who might take her to see Inspector Campbell.

After an all too expensive ride, Grace strode into Inspector Campbell’s office, clutching her purse between herself and the world. At first he didn’t even look up from his papers. It wasn’t until Grace cleared her throat that he spoke.

“You’re late.” He slowly looked up. Something about his posture had changed since last Grace saw him. While before he had stood tall and proper, now he held a tension in his movements.

Grace glanced down. “The Pub kept me working late yesterday. Everything was closed by the time I was free to contact you.”

Inspector Campbell grumbled, “You could’ve come over.”

She raised her eyebrow. “To your house Sir? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Not to mention wildly inappropriate?

The Inspector ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But your father would want me to look after you, so I can’t have you missing deadlines like this.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you send anyone now?”

It was his turn to break eye contact. “Something has happened. I’m not sure how big it is, so I didn’t want to endanger your cover just in case.”

“What happened?”

He grimaced, “We questioned that girl you gave us a picture of. We’d been keeping an eye on her, but when she contacted Thomas and stuck around we thought he might be trying to fence the guns through her.”

Grace felt blood rushing in her ears as the world dropped from underneath her. “W...Who did she turn out to be?”

Inspector Campbell shrugged, “Y/F/N. She was an old war buddy of his. Worked in his company as what they called a Runner. Distracted the Germans while they dug.”

“She joined the army and fought?”

The Inspector nodded but didn’t elaborate. He started shuffling through papers until finally he held one out for Grace. When she took it there was a list of names with Y/N’s picture next to it. Each name had a different occupation listed next to it along with locations.

Grace frowned, “Is this all her?”

He shrugged, “Supposedly, though she’s never done jail time for anything. I’m half convinced most of these she just made for fun.”

“So how did you get her to come in? I didn’t think she’d be the type to offer up information for free.” Grace folded the paper and tucked it away in her purse.

Inspector Campbell’s features darkened. “Oh, it wasn’t free. She gave us no choice, we had to corner her. When she tried to escape, she killed Matthew.”

She froze, “Matthew’s dead?”

He nodded. “The funeral is this weekend. Due to your current assignment, I can’t allow you to attend, but we are all pitching in to help his wife and son. At least until she can figure something out.”

Grace nodded and practically threw what little cash she had on hand at him. She’d always liked Matthew. They’d bonded during the late hours working to neutralize the IRA. When Inspector Campbell had offered to take them both to Birmingham, Grace had even helped him pack up his whole family. Now he was gone.

Something about the situation didn’t all she could think about was her friend’s tired smile. “Please tell me you at least got something.”

He paused for too long but Grace was desperate for an answer, “We have a possible location.”

She nodded. It was all she needed to keep going, to not run out of here right now and give Y/N a sound lashing.

〜

The next day Grace wiped her hands on her apron, her foul mood having settled in to stay. Her mind kept wandering back to images of Matthew. While Inspector Campbell hadn’t gone into details about his death, her imagination provided plenty of gory details for her to mull over.

She knew Y/N was upstairs. Hell, the topic of last night’s search party was all she heard about all day. Details were fuzzy at best but from what she could gather Tommy had roused half the Peaky Blinders in the late hours of the night to track her down.

Grace tried to strike up conversation multiple times with her patrons, but they were all dead on their feet. Several of them went so far as to nap next to the pints they’d been nursing moments before. Even Harry’s stern glares weren’t enough to keep them awake.

Yet Grace was determined. If she couldn’t get information from them, she’d get it from Thomas when he returned.

〜

It was late afternoon by the time Y/N awoke. For the first few moments she lay there perfectly still and enjoyed her last couple minutes of peace. Then she shifted and it was all over. Her muscles spasmed, causing her to lose her breath for the briefest moment.

“Well, damn, I was wondering when you’d join us.” Nearby a woman sat with a book splayed open on her lap.

Y/N slowly sat up, her arms shaky beneath her.

The woman stood suddenly. "Hey now, don't you think about getting up alright? Tommy gave me strict orders to keep you off your feet."

Y/N chuckled, "Thank you for the attention, Miss��?"

She waved away Y/N's feeble attempts to dismiss her, "The name is Ada Shelby."

A smile spread across Y/N's lips. "So you're Ada? I was wondering when I'd get to meet you."

She nodded proudly, "The one and only. Now listen here, missy. You'll not get out of this bed until you're healthy again. You hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Y/N tried to hide her growing smile.

Ada ruffled Y/N's hair. "Don't be cheeky with me. You're the one that got caught by a copper of all things. Now, what would you like to do today?"

Y/N shrugged. "Just grab me a couple books and I'll be fine. If you need to go do something I don't need to be babysat."

"Well, while that might be the case I'm not supposed to really be out and about either." Ada fidgeted with the ties on her dress.

Y/N raised her eyebrow. "I'd ask how come, but it doesn't look like you're comfortable sharing."

"I know I can trust you, otherwise you wouldn't be living above the Garrison right now. No it's just… I haven't said it aloud yet. Not to anyone except Aunt Pol."

Y/N shrugged, "I mean, I'm not really sure where I stand. So really, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Ada sat back, drawing her shawl closer around herself. After a moment Y/N noticed it was the same as Pol's just a different color. Wonder which one of them knits.

Then Ada spoke so softly Y/N almost missed it, "I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air allowing their weight to settle as the implications slowly became clear.

Y/N bit her lip, "And you've only told Pol. Yikes."

She glanced down, "Yeah, he's missing too. Do you think.. He’ll come back?"

"I'm not exactly the expert on that. “Y/N paused for a moment. “But I did also come back from the dead. That’s a weird case though, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask."

Ada smiled sadly at her. "You really came back for Tommy?"

Y/N blushed, "Don't say it too loudly. You're gonna make me sound like even more of an idiot."

She burst out laughing, the color returning to her cheeks. "Come on, let's get you some breakfast."

"I didn't get a chance to buy any groceries yet." Y/N bit her lip.

Ada bounced back up excitedly. "Don't you worry about that. I stopped by the market on the way here."

"I hope you're not hurting for money then, because I have absolutely no way to pay you back right now." Y/N felt a pit forming in her stomach. Or pay rent for that matter.

Ada turned towards the kitchenette, the room so small Y/N caught herself checking to make sure the blankets wouldn't get caught underfoot. She rifled through cupboards and moments later the smell of food filled the space between them.

Ada finally answered, "Don't worry about paying for anything, Y/N. Tommy would lose his head if anyone asked you for a dime."

Y/N shifted around until she was sitting at the foot of the bed, closer to Ada. "Yes, making a deal with the Devil is the perfect way to never worry about anything ever again."

Ada threateningly waved a wooden spoon at her, "You calling my brother the Devil? Cause you'd be right."

They burst into laughter, an easy chatter formed between them. Ada remained for a large part of the day. Eventually the sun began to set and the two women were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Thomas waited barely a moment before slowly poking his head in. “I hope everyone here is decent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It’s not gonna be the time you’ve seen me in my underwear, Thomas.”

Ada cast her a somewhat scandalized look but was quickly distracted by Thomas’ soft chuckle. “Yet you looked manlier than most the men you were changing next to.”

Y/N gasped dramatically as she clutched at her heart. Thomas’ chuckle rose into a full on laughter.

“What kind of sorcery is this? I haven’t seen you smile like that since you found out John tried to stick it in the wrong hole his first time.”

“John did what?” Y/N’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

Ada glanced between the two shrugging, “He said his reasoning was that ‘that’s how animals did it.’”

Thomas shook his head. “I still can’t fucking believe-”

Laughter filled the room, however the mood was dampened quickly as Y/N groaned. Thomas rushed forward, kneeling beside the bed while Ada stood nearby frozen as they waited.

Finally, after catching her breath, Y/N grimaced, “Oh stop your fussing. A good laugh is worth a few loose ribs.”

“You’re supposed to be healing,” Thomas growled.

She dismissed his concern with a small wave, “If I spend all my time healing I won’t have any left for living. Stop worrying so much about me Shelby, I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head before turning towards Ada, “Would you mind giving us some privacy? I have to talk to Y/N about a couple things.”

Ada huffed, but soon her steps could be heard receding down the stairs.

Thomas slowly turned back to Y/N. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N shrugged, glancing out the window into the abyss. When did it get so dark?

He took her hand in his, so gently she almost didn’t recognize his touch. “Y/N, don’t spare me the details. I can’t do my job if you don’t tell me how bad it is.”

“What exactly is your job when it comes to me?” Her voice was the barest whisper.

There was a long pause as the answer hung in the air, the one they needed to be said before either of them could move on. It was their last chance to escape from each other; if he pushed her away now, she would leave. Disappear. Once again becoming the ghost of his past.

Thomas bowed his head, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I’m going to look after you.”

Only the slightest tremor in her voice betrayed her, “You don’t owe me that, Thomas.”

“Not everything is about payment, Y/N?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Is this the same Birmingham that I left five years ago?”

He released an amused hum from somewhere deep in his throat, finally looking up at her. The dark circles had etched themselves deeper beneath his eyes. A tightness around the corners reminded Y/N of the darkest days in the trenches. Instinctively she reached up to cup his cheek and brush the worry away with her thumb.

“Rough day, Tommy?”

It was as if the whole room released a deep sigh, “It always is.”

Y/N gestured to the chair Ada had been using, “Wanna talk about it?”

Thomas ignored the chair and sat at the foot of her bed, his hip pressed against her leg and his elbows resting on his knees. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

He gathered his thoughts, but soon he was catching her up on a myriad of events. About the horse and the unfortunate turn of events that had taken place. The guns. Thomas’ meeting with Inspector Campbell and how close he had come to throttling the man. Danny’s head being payment for the death of a man he’d caused during an episode of shell shock.

For the most part Y/N listened, offering advice where it seemed to fit, until he brought up Danny, “They want you to kill him with witnesses?”

He nodded. “I’ve already taken care of that. A casing full of sheep brains.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that played across her lips. “This is why I love you. So do you have a good hiding place for the guns or are they still at the docks?”

Thomas’s mind went blank, then suddenly every thought he’d ever had felt like it was clashing together as he registered what Y/N had just said. His heart was pounding in his ears. The room was too hot and not warm enough all at once. It took every ounce of control he had left to control his breathing enough to speak.

“W...what did you just say?”

“Hmmm? I was asking if you had a good hiding spot for the guns yet.”

“No...Um, before that.”

Y/N furrowed her brow, “I was asking if they demanded witnesses.”

Thomas finally let himself look at her. There was no indication that she was messing with him. No tell tale smirk or signature twinkle in her eye. She just sat there confused on why he was asking her to repeat herself. He ran his fingers through his hair.

His voice was gruff when he finally answered, “No, I don’t have a place picked out for the guns yet.” He honestly already had several ideas, but he couldn’t conjure up a single one right now.

Y/N glanced around the room thinking for a moment. “Why don’t you put them in Danny’s grave?”

“He’s not actually dead. I thought I made that clear.”

“Yeah, but if he was dead you’d dig him a grave come hell or high water. So you’ll have to dig him one anyways so that no one gets suspicious. Plus, this won’t be related to any other contraband that the Peaky Blinders deal with so if someone snitches on you, it won’t be there.”

Thomas blinked slowly before he nodded. “That is actually quite brilliant. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t come up with that myself.”

Y/N shrugged, “One of my many random skills, hiding things.”

Thomas wasn’t exactly sure what to say about that, but he had one last thing to tell her. After her slip-up in the previous moment, the words felt like poison on his lips. “I’ve also asked Grace to the races.”

“Did you just need her for a plus one?” Y/N raised her eyebrow.

Just say yes.

“No, Billy Kimber owns the race tracks, and we’re expanding. Making legal money and all that.” He pressed his lips against his clasped hands, wishing he didn’t have to answer what came next.

Y/N frowned, confused. “And what does this have to do with Grace?”

Thomas sighed. “Mr. Kimber is known to enjoy sampling the pleasures of women. She asked to work for me, so I plan on offering her up to him as part of the bargain.”

“Did you ask her if she was ok with that?”

“No.”

She smacked his shoulder, a sharp sting exploding from his arm. “Tommy!”

“Hey, don’t hit me, Ms. Cracked Ribs.”

She shook her finger threateningly at him. “It’s Ms. Broken Ribs to you, and I’ll smack you as much as I damn well please. You can’t just go offering up a girl’s dignity like that.”

Thomas turned and grabbed her hands in his, preventing any further retaliation. “She asked to work for me, Y/N.”

Y/N growled, “She’s not from the underbelly of Birmingham. Or any other city for that matter. You can tell from a god damned mile away. Shit like this ruins women.”

He paused. “You may be right, but I don’t have anything else he wants.”

She let out a deep sigh. “What were you gonna offer him?”

He told her, and she nodded. They sat in silence for a while as they mulled over what to do about all this. At the end of the day they both knew if he brought Grace she would end up having to go with Kimber sooner or later. He expected it to say the least. And it wasn’t just Grace, any woman Thomas brought would be offered up as a bargaining chip.

Finally Y/N spoke, “She may have to go with him, but she doesn’t have to stay with him.”

“And break the deal?”

She shook her head, “Save Kimber. Like tell him she has something.”

He smirked at her. “So much for preserving dignity.”

Y/N shrugged. “At least she won’t have to sleep with him.”

Thomas glanced away, “Yeah.”

Y/N glanced down. Her hands were still in his, though his grip had loosened into something more casual. A small thrill went through her as she realized how much smaller her hands were compared to his.

She stammered as she spoke, “It’s getting late.”

Thomas took a deep breath broken out of his thoughts. “Yeah it is. I’ll head out and give you some peace. If you need anything, come get me.” He stood, letting Y/N’s hands slip from his grasp.

The air was cool on her skin compared to his touch. She found herself following him with her gaze.“Come get you? I thought you lived at the Shelby house?” she asked.

He paused. “I’m going to be staying in the room next door for a while, until you’re better at least.” And with that he was gone.

〜

Y/N awoke in the late hours of the night. Darkness had escaped it’s daily chains, exploded from every nook and cranny and coated the room in a thick film. It took her a moment to shake off the disorientation before she remembered where she was.

Then she heard what had woken her. Through the wall she heard a cry. She couldn’t tell at first what it was for, but then it came again. Thomas.

She stood slowly, pain shooting up her back with every step as she shuffled out of her room and down the hallway. When she finally reached the rickety door she pressed her ear against it.

“NO...Freddie!”

That was enough. Y/N pounded on the door. On a normal day with the noise of people, it would’ve been deep and resounding. But now it was so deafening she caught herself wincing as she hit the wood.

A bewildered voice answered, “Wha..Who’s there?”

“Thomas it’s me. Open up.”

A shuffling sound and rattle later the door opened slowly. Thomas blinked at her blearily with bloodshot eyes. Y/N waited patiently for him to come back to reality just enough.

He asked groggily, “Is everything ok?”

“You’re having nightmares.”

Thomas stiffened, glancing around as if the whole world might be listening. He was about to answer when Y/N stepped forward, gently placing her hand on his chest.

His skin was hot and damp, the sweat having left a small layer that made him glisten in the barest of light. The air inside the room was hot as it poured through the crack in the door, trying to escape.

He placed his hand over hers. “What’re you doing?”

She looked up at him, somehow finding his eyes in the darkness. “Let me in.”

“She says at the entrance of the Devil’s den.” A soft rumble rolled from deep within his chest, a sleepy laugh.

“If you think I’m not a devil myself then I really need to jog your memory.”

“Y/N.”

Every ounce of fight in him suddenly dissolved away. After so many years of nightmares. After so long in the darkness. After watching her die a thousand times in his dreams. He had no will left to say ‘No’.

Y/N pushed her way inside, careful not to bump into anything that could make her fall. The room was much smaller than hers, and the window wasn’t open even the slightest, accounting for the heat.

As she walked inside she let her hand fall from his chest to intertwine with his fingers. Thomas let her lead him back towards the bed. It was actually smaller than the one she had in the other room, but that didn’t stop her from laying down and pressing her back against the wall.

She waved for him to join her, “Come on, Thomas. Before the room becomes freezing again.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to process what was going on. “I don’t think this will help your ribs heal.”

“Just shut up and get in here.”

He crawled in slowly, careful not to jostle her. Thomas paused before laying his head down. Y/N finally got tired of waiting and slid back onto the bed proper and maneuvered him until his head rested on her stomach.

Her fingers ran through his hair as he mumbled, “This isn’t hurting you?”

“The broken ones are higher up. And while I’m pretty sure any doctor would be shitting themselves right now, I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” he protested.

“Hush now, and get some sleep.”

After a few moments he chuckled, “My feet are hanging off the edge a bit.”

She hummed as sleep reclaimed her, “We’ll just have to sleep in mine tomorrow.”

“The scandal.”

“Damn right.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #reader insert

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Thank God I found a still active BSD imagines blog 😭 So, I have quite a specific request if it's ok um can you please do a scenario where Ranpo has a smol female s/o and she's very child-like (in appearance & personality) similarly to him but in everyone's surprise, Ranpo becomes mature when it comes to her. Like, he takes care of her, looks out for her and maybe tell her off when she's misbehaving. My advance thanks to you!~also, do you do NSFW? asking for a friend ;) hehe

A/N : I DO BELIEVE THAT I FINISHED THE SECOND ASK BEFORE I FINISHED THE FIRST ONE. WELL EITHER WAY, HERE WE GO! DOUBLE RANPO REQUESTS COMING OUT! I stan lil snack boy, he is *MWAH*

Ranpo

When he first saw her in the candy shop he had to do a double take. She seemed almost too perfect. He was salivating, and it wasn't because he was surrounded by sugar filled rock candies and pastries, no, it was her. The way her her legs looked in those knee high socks, the way they traveled up underneath her short skirt, the cute little face she made, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as she reached on her tiptoes for a bag of candy on the highest shelf. She was precious, she looked delectable, and she put all the other candy in the store to shame. Of course he went over to help her, even though he wasn't much taller than she was himself, but what other way was he going to make her his if he didn't make his move.

He woke up to the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen followed by the sound of your soft voice mumbling to yourself. "Shoot, shoot shoot! Darn it! Oh man." He pulled the blankets off himself and got out of bed, not wanting you to cut yourself on any of the glass that you had broken. He was always so worried about you, you were pretty clumsy and you were prone to hurting yourself often, but that just gave him more reason to hover and be close to you.

He slipped his slippers on and made his way into the kitchen, finding you crouched on the floor sweeping the shards of glass into the dustpan. You looked up and saw him standing next to the counter, staring down at the glass on the floor. "You okay, cinnamon bun?" He asked, finally bending down to finish with the smaller shards that you might miss. "Hmm? Yeah! Sorry I woke you up. I was trying to make breakfast for you and the cup got in the way." You said, your voice always so cheerful, your smile never faltered. When he finished cleaning up the glass he checked you over, looking over your hands and knees to make sure that you didn't cut yourself or get any glass embedded in your skin. After he made sure you were okay he kissed along your knuckles before pressing a small kiss to your nose. "Please be more careful." He murmured, but that wasn't a parting statement, that was an honest plead. If anything happened to you it would destroy him completely.

He sat at the table, his feet propped up on the edge as he watched you turn on the burner to the stove. His heartbeat quickened, the thought of you and fire mixed together, it didn't seem good. It's not that you didn't know how to do things for yourself, it's just that sometimes you got distracted and that could be really bad for you and the apartment with the burner on. "Do you need my help with that?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could, hoping that you would say yes. He would much rather you sit at the table and let him take over the cooking, just so he knows you wouldn't get burnt. You gave him his favorite wind chime giggle as you turned to look at him. "Of course not! I'm like, the worlds greatest breakfast chef, like, ever!" You said, and he couldn't help but smile at how adorable you looked. You were wearing one of his shirts and his favorite knee high socks with an apron tied around yourself. He was torn between watching you move around the kitchen, his eyes glued to the way your body looked in the early morning sun, or getting up and helping you anyway.

The oil popped in the pan as the eggs sizzled, every pop made him jump especially when you let out a little squeal, he feared that the oil had landed on you and that your beautiful skin had been burnt. Then you would let out a breathy chuckle, he could tell that you were embarrassed. "Turn down the burner, pumpkin." He'd say, and you would slowly inch closer to the stove, your arm stretched as far as you could stretch it to turn the knob on the stove. When the bubbling and popping subsided you would smile proudly at him, your eyes squeezed shut and give him two thumbs up. "I did it!" He would hum with approval, letting himself relax knowing that you won't get hurt, hopefully, in the next five minutes at least.

Everyone at the Agency was shocked at how mature Ranpo had become over a matter of six months. He wasn't as childlike as he had been before, but now that he had someone else to worry about and look out for, he knew he had to do some growing up of his own, especially since you were very childlike yourself. He didn't mind it, as long as you were okay, that was his main concern, you were his top priority. You had helped him find a reason to grow up, to be a better version of himself, and you weren't even aware. From the start, he had begun the maturing process. The first date he went on with you, you had tripped up a set of stairs and skinned your knee. When he saw the small tear clinging to the edge of your eye he had almost cried himself. Then when you had been on the phone with him one night and he heard you slightly whimper in pain, the pained "Ow" that you had muttered into the receiver, he almost had a heart attack. He was about to run to your apartment to make sure that you were okay, that is until you reassured him that you had just burnt your finger on a pan by accident. God, did this man worry about you. It seemed like it took forever for him to convince you to move in with him, just so he could keep an eye on you constantly, but once he did it felt like some weight had been lifted.

You had finally finished making breakfast and he could finally take a deep breath. He watched you carefully as you walked over, placing the plate on the table before sitting on his lap, swinging your legs back and forth as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Did you make a plate for yourself, pumpkin?" He asked, trying to not think too hard about your lack of pants as you rocked back and forth on his lap. He could feel the blood flowing south, and he knew that if you felt it, the two of you would be locked in the bedroom for the next two hours. "Hmm? Oh, nope! Not hungry right now. I'll cook something when you go to work." You said, and his eyes went wide, the thought of you being home alone and cooking scared the hell out of him.

"How about I just bring you home something during my break?!" He said almost too forcefully, and you leaned back to look at him. He thought that he had hurt your feelings, and he was about to apologize until you flashed a big smile, pressing your lips to his. "I love when you visit me during your breaks! Thanks, honey bunny!" You slid off his lap, and ran to the bedroom. He heard the sound of something hitting the door frame and he leaned back in his chair to see you sitting on the floor, your hands wrapped around your ankle.

"What did you hit this time?"

"Funny bone..."

"I'll get the ice."

One thing he loves doing is taking you out on his days off. He'll take you out to eat or out to the movies or when the weather allows it, he'll take you for a stroll through the park. Anything that allows him to spend time with you and give you his undivided attention he loved doing it. He would have his arm wrapped around your waist while you held onto his coat. He thought it was precious how tight you gripped onto him, how close you pressed your body against his.

One time he taken you to CosmoWorld and you had begged him to get on the Ferris Wheel. It's not that he didn't like the Ferris Wheel, he thought it looked beautiful from a distance, especially at night when it was lit up, but the concept of you and him, especially you, being that high up with no harness or really anything to keep you from falling out, it didn't really sit well with him. He wasn't scared of heights, he was scared of you falling to your death.

"Let's just pick something else. I'll win you a prize from one of the games. Pick any prize, I'll get it for you." He had tried to coax you away from the Ferris Wheel, gently pulling you in a different direction. You yanked your hand away from his and folded your arms across your chest, pouting at him as you stomped your foot. "No. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel."

"I don't think the Ferris Wheel is a good idea, not after we've eaten." He didn't like you being mad at him, and he definitely didn't like saying no to you, but sometimes he wished that you would just take no as an answer and move on with it.

"If you won't take me on the Ferris Wheel, I'll find someone else to do it." You said, sticking your nose in the air and turning your back on him. You began walking away, but you didn't get very far before he was right behind you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to look at him.

"Y/N, stop it." He said sternly, his hands moving to grip onto your waist, holding you tightly to make sure you didn't try to turn away again. "Now look, I said I'd get you a prize, but if you want to act like this we can just go home."

Your lip jutted out and began trembling, he tried to not let it affect him, but he hated making you sad. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see how upset you looked, it helped him keep his composure, but once you started sniffling he broke. "Come on, don't cry."

"You didn't call me pumpkin... am I not your pumpkin?" You asked quietly and as silly as your question was, he knew that you were serious. At this point you had already forgotten about the Ferris Wheel dilemma, you were worried more about the fact that he had used your first name. It was a rarity, the only times you ever heard him say your name was in the bedroom or when he was irritated with you.

"Of course you're still my pumpkin. Don't be silly. How about we just go home, we can cuddle and watch your favorite movies." He'd quickly brush his thumbs across your cheeks, brushing away any stray tears that had managed to fall.

You were childish, and sure you worried him to death sometimes, and sure he sometimes had to be more serious than he liked to be to get you to behave, but he loved you. He loved everything about you. He fell in love with every aspect of you, and he wouldn't change you for a thing. You're perfect just the way you are, and if anyone even tried to say anything about how you acted he would gladly put them in their place. You were him pumpkin, and he was proud to be your honey bunny.

A/N : What!? Two posts in one night? TWO RANPO POSTS IN ONE NIGHT?! YOU HECKIN KNOW IT! This one is kind of short, but I hope you enjoy it. <3

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atmilliways · 4 years ago

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I was channeling exhausted Charles a little hard, because gd is moving tiring... I know I have some messages I should really get to answering, and I promise that will happen soon.

Anyway, happy belated birthday, @insomniac-pens!

Charles is couch surfing against his will; Emeto mention; Implied/Referenced Drug Use; Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism; Early klok

C'mon, Charlie, Stay

There was, for a brief period, a time when Charles was between apartments due to an unfortunate infestation problem that had allowed him to break his lease early. It allowed him to lease a much better place, closer to both his office and the new band he was managing, but with one catch: it wouldn’t be available for him to move in for another six weeks.

To his surprise, once the band found out about this they flat out refused to leave him alone until he agreed to crash on their couch. No amount of pointing out that he had the money to just stay in a hotel until his move-in date seemed to sway them. So, he dutifully shelled out his hotel money to pay for Dethklok’s apartment to be professionally cleaned and the couch reupholstered, and that was that.

Except, dear god, when did these men sleep.

Charles tried to think of them as men, but frankly it got harder the longer he stayed with them. Murderface had only recently turned twenty-one, and Nathan and Toki were still technically underage; that didn’t stop them or Skwisgaar or Pickles from constantly partying themselves stupid.

In the very living room (which they also used for band practices) where he was trying to sleep.

The last straw was when they gave Toki shrooms for the first time and he puked all over the coffee table, including the glasses that Charles had carefully folded and placed there before settling in for the night. Without a word of complaint or reprimand, he was simply up and packed and dressed enough to drive to the nearest hotel, because this was clearly not working.

“Dood dood dood, where’re ya going?” Pickles gabbled, dragging on the manager’s arm as he tried to head out of the front door.

“To get a hotel room, a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep,” Charles replied, although personally he felt that this should have been obvious.

“But you can do all that here!”

Charles sighed, resettling his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Thank you, Pickles, but we both know it’s, ah, only a matter of time before I get vomited on, and cleaning my glasses off was unpleasant enough.”

As if on cue, there were more retching sounds from further inside the apartment, followed by shouts and whoops of “He got the couch,” “That’sch twenty points,” and “Directs hits, everiesones does to takes the drink-shots!”

Pickles grimaced. “Okay, so maybe the kid wasn’t ready for caps. That’s my bad, I’m sahrry. But dood, you should still stay. . . .” He trailed off, looking around with a kind of urgent disappointment that Charles had only previously seen when the drummer was trying to find a misplaced stash. Then, with an uncertain grin, he added, “You can, uh, you can stay in my room if ya want.”

“Ah. . . .” Charles blinked. He was very, very tired, and not entirely sure he’d heard that correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s got a door’n everything,” Pickles continued, obviously warming to the idea as soon as he saw that Charles wasn’t rejecting it outright. “You can even have the bed, I can ride the floor. Which I can actually see again now, thanks again for hirin’ those cleaners, dood! And I think I can even find ya some clean sheets and stuff. C’mon, Charlie, stay.”

So, soon afterward, Charles found himself back in his pajamas. They were just the t-shirt and boxers that he’d thrown a jacket and slacks over to leave, really, which by his temporary housemates’ standards apparently made him a prude. He was also swaddled in clean sheets and blankets on Pickles’ bed, as promised, and Pickles had receded back out to the party with a vague, Sleep tight, dood. Despite the lumpiness of the mattress Charles was actually quite comfortable and, with the door closed and the lights off, fairly well insulated against the noise of the band’s continued revelry.

He was asleep within seconds.

Some time later Charles woke not to loud noise or something landing on him, but because he had to pee. Not bothering to find his glasses or slippers in the dark (though he was wearing socks; he wasn’t an animal), he slipped out of bed and shuffled towards the door—

His foot connected with something warm and soft, possibly a stomach, and someone groaned, “Oof.”

“Shit,” Charles muttered. He groped along the nearby wall for a light switch. “Ah . . . Pickles, is that you?”

The lights snapped on harsh and bright, and it was indeed Pickles curled up on the floor, red dreads spayed out like fireworks against the dingy carpet, without even a pillow or blanket. “Yeeeeeeah?” Pickles replied blearily, squinting up at him.

Charles sighed. The last thing they needed was Pickles unable to play gigs because he’d tweaked his back or neck sleeping on the floor—although, in the short time he’d known the man, Charles had seen him passed out in worse positions. Still, couldn’t be too careful while Dethklok was still starting out.

“Get in bed,” Charles told him.

“Nnnn.” Pickles rubbed clumsily at his eyes and swiped and the drool that had collected on his goatee. “You get the bed, couch’s fucked fer now. . . .”

It was only a twin-sized mattress. Charles squinted back at it, then gave a mental shrug. “We’ll share. Just get in, I’ll, ah, be right back.”

He stepped over Pickles and headed for the bathroom. Both the toilet and sink were splattered liberally with vomit, enough that he doubted it had all come out of Toki. He hadn’t smelled any on the man he’d just invited to bunk with him, which . . . was all Charles had the energy to care about, at the moment. He sighed again and just pissed in the bathtub, because fuck it, he was still half asleep.

When he returned, Pickles had already burrowed into the blankets in the dead center of the bed. Not in the mood to be deterred, Charles turned the light off and wedged himself into the available free space on the mattress.

“Mmmhey,” Pickles mumbled drowsily somewhere near his shoulder.

“Scoot over,” Charles grumbled back, and when he got no response gave another shove with his hip. That seemed to get the message across because Pickles did scoot, squirming over and turning into him, clinging to Charles’ arm.

“‘S cold over here,” Pickles offered in explanation. He was pressed close all along the other man’s side, mouth closer to his ear in the darkness; his breath smelled of whiskey, cigarettes, and reefer. “‘Mglad you stayed, Charlie. Hotels fuckin’ suck . . . this is better, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Charles hummed. All he really wanted to do was settle in and go back to sleep—although the warmth of a body next to his was nice. The hint of smoke was nice too, despite it having been years since he’d given it up himself. Lulling. Like a steady surf washing over him, pulling back, washing over him again. His eyes drifted closed and he felt himself relax, sinking into the mattress as far as the uneven springs would allow.

Then, a warm press of lips against his, so soft and tentative that at first he thought it was a dream—he often dreamed that way, slipping from real to unreal so quickly the change was imperceptible. And if it was a dream, why not kiss back? Charles let his lips part, turning into it, that warmth, placidly enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his own clean shaven face.

It was the arm suddenly draped over him that gave him pause. That felt real, a solid palm splayed as near to the small of his back as it could get while he still lay mostly flat. A body leaning flush into his, silently crying out for closeness. Pickles.

Pickles tasted like a shot of Fireball in a dim, crowded bar.

Charles blinked his eyes open, breaking the kiss with a hand on the man’s shoulder. A client. A boss, if the band ever made it as big as he was determined to ensure they would. This was a huge breach in his personal code of professionalism.

“Charlie?” Pickles whispered, and it sounded so much like a plea (I want you, I need you, please don’t stop) that Charles gave his shoulder what hopefully came across as a reassuring squeeze.

“Pickles,” he murmured gently, “you’re drunk. I’m, ah, not sure this is a good—”

“I’m always drunk,” Pickles interrupted, mumbling petulantly.

True enough. Charles just hoped the fame and fortune would kick in before lover failure, for all the guys. Boys, really, playing around with their music and drugs and anyone they could get into bed with them. . . . Case in point.

He just wished he wasn’t so damn tired. Or at least that he was awake enough to handle this situation with the delicacy it deserved, because he hesitated, and sensed instinctively that Pickles noticed.

Still, he said, “Regardless, I don’t, ah, think this is a good idea.”

“So? Make a bad decision fer once, gahd.” Then Pickles kissed him again, throwing a leg over his manager for good measure and crowding into him once more with an urgent but surprisingly slow rhythm.

Charles had only known Pickles for several months—personally, anyway, but he wasn’t about to admit to being a Snakes N Barrels fan back in the day now—and had seen his usual approach to getting into someone’s pants. It usually involved lots of smiling, suggestive looks, wandering hands, and friendly offers to share whatever drugs he had on hand at the time.

Not once had he turned those attempts at charm towards Charles. He’d been insistent, stubbornly helpful, and . . . nervous. Even now, there was a fluttery quality to his grip, as though he expected to be pushed away more than anything else. Charles wasn’t very good at reading this sort of thing, and was only catching up on all this in retrospect, but Pickles seemed to be acting as though this actually mattered or something.

And Charles was tired, and it felt nice. Warm and comfortable. Pickles was drunk; maybe he wouldn’t remember by morning.

He let himself kiss back, and by the time he fell asleep again it was with an uncharacteristic smile on his face.

#metalocalypse #pickles/charles #chuckles #chickles #my fanfiction #earlyklok #charles foster offdensen #pickles the drummer

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 4 years ago

Text

Emergency! Part 4

Part 4 – Treehouse

Summary: A boy with an inner ear condition can’t hear and is trapped in a treehouse. Cas has a fear of heights, thankfully someone knows sign language. Dean and the reader head out on their vacation, a camping trip. But their trip is cut short when a fire breaks out, they turn into victims really quick.

Warnings: Smut (p in v, unprotected (wrap it up boys), shower sex), language, suspense, scary situations, fluff.

Word Count: 3,776

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a/n: First time writing suspense, please let me know what you thought of this part. Feedback is much appreciated.

Dean was up before Y/N’s alarm gone off.

She always got up to her alarm despite being off work today.

Laying on his side, killing some time he played with her hair. His mind wondering.

Where would he be without her? Can he imagine his life with her?

He’d be lost without her; he can’t live a day of his life without her. Not since the day they met in the hospital.

She stirred awake.

“Morning handsome.” She says groggily as she tries to wake up.

“Morning beautiful.” He says with a soft smile on his face. His hand still playing with her hair.

He wishes he didn’t have to work; he wish he could just stay like this.

“What’s going on?” she asked when he stilled, his gaze absent as he stared off into space.

“Move in with me.”

“Okay.”

“Really?” he asks, shocked.

“Yeah, I was going to ask you at some point, but yes really. I want to live with you Dean.”

He smiles, leaning in to give her a loving kiss on her soft lips.

Their lips began to dance along with one another, slowly heating up.

“Dean, you got to get ready for work, I don’t want you late.”

“You’re right, why not come in with us? Wouldn’t hurt having a nurse with us on a call.”

“I don’t see why not. Gives me something to do today.” She says, getting up out of bed.

“Did you shower yet?” she asks.

“Nope, I got up early and just didn’t make it out of bed.”

“Let’s shower together, save water.”

“Or waste it.”

“Dean, I don’t think having sex in the shower would be safe.”

“You’d be safe with me.”

“Coming from someone who is in the hospital more than his own team.”

“Hey what can I say, I’m a hero.” He smirks.

“My hero.” She returns a smirk.

They head into the bathroom, undressing and stepping into the shower as the water warmed up. The cool water waking them up quickly.

Just as they finished washing their hair, Dean’s hands wondered her back as she stood in front of him beginning to wash her body.

Though the water was not too hot but hot enough, goosebumps formed on her shoulder and arms as his fingertips ghost across her back.

She turns to face him. Their lips meeting in a heated and needy kiss.

He lifts her up, she wraps her legs around his waist, feeling his growing hard cock between her folds.

“Better make it quick Dean, don’t want to be late.” She pants against his lips, pulling away slightly from their kiss.

“Quick is my middle name.” he says, adjusting her so he could use a free hand and guide his member through her wet folds.

His hips began a fast rhythm. Hitting all sorts of sweet spots within her.

Her head in the crook of his neck as a moan escaped her.

“Dean.” She whines.

“Almost baby, go for it.”

And a few more thrusts and her walls clamped down hard around him, throwing him through his high.

As his thrust began to slow to a stop, the water began to cool down, and they stared intently at each other.

“I love you baby girl.”

“I love you too baby.”

“Y/N, it’s good to see you, what brings you here to our lovely station 51?” John asked as Dean and Y/N walked in.

“A little separation anxiety.” She says in a joking tone. John chuckling rolling his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be surprised; Dean won’t shut up about you.” Gabe says with a coy smirk.

“Good, good to know I’ve made an impression him.” She says looking up at Dean with a smile.

Dean kissing her on the check. Gabe making a fake gagging noise.

“Need to get that image out of my head.” He jokes.

“You don’t want Aphrodite to find out about being a fuck buddy?” Dean asks with a dark smile.

“I’ll stop teasing you guys. I’ll tease Cas then.” Gab says walking toward the kitchen off next to the garage in another room.

“Thanks.” Cas says rolling his eyes.

“Just roll with it and he’ll get bored.” Dean suggests.

The alarm going off just as the sun breached the horizon.

“Squad 51 person trapped. 465 Courtly boulevard. Cross street Hartley Court.”

“Want to ride along?” Dean asks.

“If it’s alright with John.”

“It’s okay, you’re a nurse, could be of use to my boys on the call.”

“Then, I’m coming along.” She says with an excited smile.

“Then lets hit it babe.”

They arrived to the location, walking to the side door.

“Over here!” the lady waved out.

“You called?” Cas asked.

“I am, it’s my son Brad. He has a condition, Ménière's disease.”

“That’s a disease of the inner ear.” Y/N says.

“Yes, he ran away last night and heard him crying out.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

The mother looked up to the neighbors treehouse.

“Oh god.” The nurse gasped.

“He had to have had a drop attack, he’s has been quiet for some time now.”

“Dean, they also suffer from vertigo really bad and suffer hearing loss.” y/n warned.

“Oh, when Brad has a bad attack and can’t hear for some time, we’ve all learned sign language.” The mother pointed out.

“I know sign, Dean, I can go up with you to check on the boy.” Y/N says.

“Cas you want to go up with Y/N?” Dean asked.

“Um, no thanks man, you go ahead.”

“What, why?”

“Dude, I can’t do treehouses.”

“I’m not Michael, I’m not Gabe. No one is going to mess with you or hurt you.”

“Don’t care Dean, I just can’t bring myself to do that.”

“Dean, it’s okay. You and I can do it.”

“Alright, Cas, we’ll tell you his vitals, communicate it to Rampart okay.” Dean says.

“You got it.” Cas says, setting down the drug box.

“Dean we might need the station to get here with the stokes and some latter’s.”

“Call them for assistance.” Dean says.

Cas nods and gets on to the radio.

Y/N Grabbed a hanging rope to climb to a make-shift latter made on the tree leading up to the treehouse. Dean followed not far behind.

They emerged from the trap door entering the treehouse. She saw him laying on his stomach, knees curled into his chest.

He looked to be in his early teens.

“Hey, son, I’m Y/N, I’m a nurse. Are you okay?” she asks.

He didn’t respond.

She went to face him; she shook his shoulder gently. He looked up at her, his eyes wondering in a manor as if he just got done spinning.

That’s vertigo for ya. She thought.

She signed, spelling out. “Are you okay?”

He began to sign back to her.

“I can’t hear, and the world is spinning.”

“It’s vertigo, it’ll pass eventually. But my paramedic friend here, and I, we’re here to help you.”

“Please.”

“Don’t worry honey, we will. Keep your eyes closed, and lay on your side. We’ll help.” She signed.

“Dean, lets get him on his side.”

“Alright.” Dean helps moving the boys legs to allow him to lay in a fettle position.

Y/N checked his pupils response. “Pupils react naturally to light.” She notes.

Dean began to work on getting his blood pressure.

“How’s his BP?”

“Normal, 117 over 75.”

“Cas!” Y/N shouts down. “You got Rampart on?”

“I do!”

“Pupils react normal, BP 117 over 75. Currently experiencing vertigo and can’t hear.”

Cas gave the thumbs up and began to relay it to Rampart Hospital.

“Wonder why Cas won’t come up here despite being high up in other places?” Dean wondered.

“It’s childhood trauma. If something happened in a treehouse that traumatized Cas, he’s going to stay away from treehouses at all cost.”

“I almost want to throttle Michael and Gabe for whatever they did to Cas that scared him this bad.”

“There may be no getting better, best case scenario, we get him in a treehouse, have nothing happen to him during his time in it. Warm him up to it. Worst case, he keeps staying away from treehouses all together, not wanting to get better.”

Dean nodded as he heard the sirens of engine 51 approach the house.

“Dean!” John shouted.

“Yes sir!”

“We’re getting the stokes up to you now, catch the rope okay.”

“Got it!”

The threw one end of the rope up, working on lifting the stokes, a basket they can use to lower the patient in safely.

Y/N helped get the boy into the stokes, strapping him in, and covering him with a yellow tarp blanket.

“Okay, keep your hands in here, and keep your eyes closed.” y/n signed.

“Okay.” The boy says with a nod.

They carefully lowered the boy down and another station with an ambulance responded onto the scene to transport the boy to the hospital.

“I’ll go down first sweetheart; in case anything were to happen.”

“Oh, you worry wort. Come on, lets go.” She says with a sweet smile. Dean returning it as he climbed down.

“Sweetheart be careful, this handle got knocked lose somehow.” Dean warned.

“Gotchya.” She says as she continued to climb down.

Dean jumped the remaining way down, feet landing with a soft thud.

Her foot felt the handle Dean warned wobble under her weight. She slowly lowered herself to the next handle when she heard it creak.

And before she knew it her foot fell with the broken handle. Her hand not letting go of the other handle.

“Ow, god dang that hurt.” She grunted as her weight was caught by her hands, catching her from falling.

She tried to get her footing on the tree, but her feet kept slipping.

“Babe, just let go, I’ll get you.” Dean shouted.

She saw Dean stand below her and she took the chance and let go.

Sure enough, she felt his hands catch her from losing her balance as she landed.

“You okay?”

“Hurt my hands a bit, but I’ll live.” She says showing him her hands.

“You got some splinters in there, lets head to the squad and I’ll patch you up really quick.” Dean says.

At the back of the squad truck Dean pulled up the drug box, grabbing the tweezers and working on getting the splinters of wood out of the skin of her hand.

“Wood must have been rotten.” She says as Dean pulled out a sliver of wood.

One after another.

“It felt like it. They must get that fixed before anyone else goes climbing in that tree again.” Dean says.

She couldn’t help but admire Dean as he worked on her. Her gaze stayed fixated on Dean.

“I feel you staring.” He says with a smile.

“Good, you know that I’m admiring you.” She says with a loving smile.

He looked up to meet her gaze, giving her a chaste yet loving kiss. And worked on bandaging her hands up.

“You scraped up your hands pretty good, better be safe.” He says.

“Now where would I be with you Dean?”

“Lost.” He answers with a sweet smile, kissing her cheek.

“Seems to me we both would be lost without each other.”

“Damn right baby.”

“Dean go home, your shift’s over.” John ordered.

“I better help Y/N pack.”

“When are you two gonna be up at the cabin?”

“Hopefully by tomorrow afternoon. Is it just the deck you want me to work on?”

“Yeah, the stairs and rails are bad. I just need you to replace them.”

“Will do dad.”

“Keep your girl from walking on the deck. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“I’ll try dad. She’s pretty stubborn.”

“She’s just independent. That’s different. Drive safe you two and call me if you need anything.”

“Will do dad, see ya.”

Dean hurried to the Impala to hurry home to pack for he and Y/N’s first camping trip together.

Dean packed his duffle and supplies quickly before heading to Y/N’s apartment. Dean, letting himself in.

“Baby, you ready to go, we need to beat traffic.”

“Just about, I just want to make sure I have everything.”

“It’s almost that time of the month isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m due in a few days and I don’t want it sneaking on me.” She says, coming out with her duffle and bag of toiletries.

“How is it camping if we’re gonna be staying at your dad’s cabin?”

“Oh, there’s old style camping and there’s Winchester Style camping.” He says with a smirk.

“Oh, and I take it this is the Winchester Style?”

“You know it. Now lets hit it if we want to get there before sundown.”

“Right, I know. I’m ready, let’s go.”

They had arrived sooner than anticipated, allowing Dean to start working on the deck early.

Y/N finding everything in the kitchen, getting the gas on to be able to cook lunch. Keeping all the drinks in the cooler while the fridge started cooling off.

Dean had managed to get plenty of gas for the generator so they could have the basic necessities.

Y/N keeping it simple with hot roast beef sandwich melts. Dean having already dismantled a good portion of the deck.

“Dean, want to take a break and rehydrate?”

“I spy good food.” He says from his latter by the deck’s ledge.

“And its getting cold, come on. Eat up and you can finish.” She says placing the plate on the table.

Dean coming around the house entering from the front door.

“Working hard?”

“Think I’ll be done with the rails by tonight hopefully. And I can start the stairs tomorrow. Then our fun can really start.” Dean says with a smirk.

“Oh, we’ll scare so many animals out of this forest.” She giggles.

“It’s a promise, I want to play and see if I can’t make you scream.” Dean growls in her ear, kissing at the base of her ear. Sending shivers down her spine.

“I’ll hold you to it.” she says. Kissing Dean on the lips as he pulled away from her neck.

“Dean!” y/n shouted.

Dean looked around, didn’t see her anywhere around him.

Until he looked behind him. He saw her standing by a clearing. They could see the mountains in the far distance, and the rolling hills in combination. Even the dark ribbon of road that wound its way around the hills and into the mountains of the park.

“What is it?” he asks. Walked to her side.

“Look.” She says.

Dean followed her gaze. They can see what looked like smoke coming behind a mountain.

“We don’t exactly have cell service out here sweetheart, and I didn’t bring my radio. I wouldn’t worry. No one has come out here to tell us of any wildfires in the area. We should be fine.”

“You sure.”

Dean looked back out to the smoke. The wind was still. Dean tried to guess if the fire was even under control or not.

“No, but worrying never helps. We’ll worry once we cross that bridge.”

They went to bed that night, sound asleep, when a gust of wind gently began to pick up.

“Dean!” y/n shouted.

Her screams were faint. Dean shot out of bed with a jolt.

“Y/N!” He shouted trying to find her.

She was no where in sight in the cabin.

He found her in the same place as yesterday, staring of in the now smoky distance.

He rushed outside to find flames closer than yesterday.

“We need to leave.” He says urgency in his eyes and tone.

“Dean, the fire is crossing where we have to get back into town.”

“There are other ways into LA, but we need to get out of the path. Like now.”

“It wasn’t this bad yesterday.”

“My guess is the wind picked up last night. And a spark carried on this far. Could be a separate fire, I mean we are in a drought.”

“California is always in a drought when aren’t we in one.”

Dean shrugs. Good point.

“Yeah, well these things happen fast when the wind isn’t on your side. Now, pack back up and we leave. Now.” Dean ordered.

They ran inside, hearing sirens as they entered.

“It’s a deputy, pack and I’ll talk to him.”

Y/N ran fast to their room they slept in, packing quickly making sure not to leave anything behind.

“I radioed station 51, they’ve responded to the fire.” Dean says behind her.

“You have an escape route in mind?”

“I do, I just hope it’s far enough away from the fire.”

They rushed their items to Y/N’s car, Dean’s 67 Impala unable to handle the rugged terrain.

Dean getting in the driver seat and driving quickly but safely out of the park.

“Dean, there are flames here too.”

“I see that y/n, just stay calm.”

“I’m trying, kind of hard when Hell just rose.”

“Joys of being a firefighter.”

Dean tried to weave his way around traffic who were also trying to leave.

Traffic coming to a standstill.

“The flames are getting closer.” Dean mumbles to himself.

“What do we do?”

“Wait here, I’m gonna see what’s going on.”

Dean puts the car in park, putting the hazard lights on. Getting out to scout ahead to see what was stopping traffic.

He saw a woman in distress and panic.

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm, I’m a fireman and paramedic, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my daughter, she has asthma, and she’s having an asthma attack and we didn’t bring her inhaler. We forgot it in a panic.”

“It’s okay, my girlfriend is a nurse, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Dean hurries back to the car, getting to Y/N’s side.

“What is it?”

“A car stopped ahead, a mother just needing help. Her daughter has asthma, and is having an attack but no inhaler.”

Not saying anything she follows Dean to the distressed mother.

“We forgot her inhaler!” the mother cried as they approached.

“It’s okay,” Y/N assures.

She see’s the girl hunched, clutching her chest.

“’Kay, honey, I’m a nurse, I need you to sit up straight as straight as you possibly can.”

The girl tried her best.

“Take long deep breaths for me okay,”

The girl nods and tries her best attempt.

“Okay.” She tells the girl. Then turning to the mother.

“Dean, how much farther?”

“I need a radio to see where this fire ends.”

“I have a drone.” A teen boy, possibly early twenties.

“Get it out and fly it straight up give us a birds eye view.” Dean orders.

The drone being up in the air for a quick minute Dean could see this is going to be a never ending battle. They just need to get to the emergency vehicles.

“I can see where the fire trucks are. But its still a ways out. And with this wind the fire is going to be chasing us.” Dean says as the boy lowered his drone.

“Stay on this road, go straight. Don’t stop. We all need to get out of here.” Dean orders the woman.

The mother nodded, getting into their car and driving off.

“Dean, are we going to make it?”

“We need to hurry, then maybe we will.”

Everyone rushing to their cars, coughing at the increased smoke in the air as the fire neared them. Everyone speeding their way out of the flames as best as they could.

After a few miles around a bend.

“Dean!”

Dean slammed the breaks to a screeching halt.

“Rockslide.”

“Damn it,” Dean cursed. “Did you see any roads back there?”

“No, none.”

“Shit!” Dean cursed again, slamming a fist on the steering wheel.

“What if we go on foot? How far are we?”

“It’s not safe, all this smoke in the air. And the wind is not letting up.”

“Moving the rocks on our own?”

“Maybe the small ones, get it to a single lane.” Dean says, putting the car in park.

Y/N got out to help Dean move rocks off the side of the road, other drivers doing the same.

Everyone began to struggle with the smoke, even Y/N couldn’t stand up right with her coughing fits.

“Hang in there sweetheart, we almost got it clear.”

“I know,” she coughs.

Just as they saw the road open up from their hard work, the flames were a few feet away.

“Dean!”

“Get in the car! Drive don’t stop!”

“Hopefully there’s not another rockslide.” y/n mumbles, loud enough for Dean to hear.

Everyone hurries to their cars; Dean not even bother with a seatbelt he puts it in drive and presses hard on the accelerator. The tires screeching against the pavement. Y/N not paying any mind to it. Their lives were at stake.

“Cap, they’re saying that’s everyone.” Gabe says. After talking with the other stations and police deputies.

“No word from Dean? Or Y/N? They were up at cabin?”

“A deputy saw them leaving and that was an hour or so ago.”

Before he could worry more, he heard roaring car engines speeding past. One honking it’s horn.

John seeing his son and his girlfriend in the car. Coughing but alive.

“Dad!” Dean shouts getting out of the car, coughing.

“Dean, Y/N, you’re okay!” John says. “Get these two on oxygen now!” He ordered.

A paramedic from another station coming by with two tanks and masks. Giving them each one.

At the hospital, Dean and Y/N both having a room while under observation for slight smoke inhalation.

Y/N asleep at his side as they sat in Dean’s bed.

“Alright, you two are free to go.” Jack says coming in with their chart.

“Good, we’re exhausted.” Dean says. Y/N stirring awake.

“We good?” she asks with a yawn. Before letting out a cough.

“Yeah, you’re good. I think you can recover at home now. But if you don’t feel right, come back in.” Jack insisted.

“Will do, thanks Jack.” Dean says.

“Don’t scare us like that again Y/N, you’re one of my best RN’s, it’s be a catastrophe if we lost you.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Dean says.

“I’m sure you won’t. But you’re one of 51’s finest. Just be safe next time okay.”

They smiled with a nod.

“Go on and get home, and get some rest.”

They got up gathering their things.

“When do you want to move in?”

“I thought I already did?”

“You’re apartment still has furniture in it silly. I meant—”

“I know, I was messing with you. ASAP, I want to start living with my man.”

“Then once we’re 100 percent, we’ll get right on it.” Dean says holding her close.

And then maybe, they could work on forever.

A/N: How was it? Let me know, feedback is much appreciated. :)

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @evansrogerskitten, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @mlovesstories, @jayankles, @jeaniespiehs20, @akshi8278, @flamencodiva, @anotherspnfanfic, @megzdoodle, @lyarr24

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