#I'm in desperate need for a good healer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thaleleah · 6 months ago

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𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal (kinda? Idk if it's explicit explicit, but its a little more than just mentioned), Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Billy's passed out for most of this but I hope y'all like it anyway. Please know I'm posting this and then running away. Okay, byeeeeeeeeee

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

Por Dios - Oh my God

Que Dios te bendiga - May God bless you

Qué sorpresa! - What a surprise!

Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín - And he didn't want his mom to know. So he buried the meat in the garden

Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses - But the dog dug it up and she found out anyway. He had to wash the dishes by himself for two months

Ese niño - That kid/child

Parece que era un buen amigo - Seems like he was a good friend

Sí, él era - Yes, he was

De nada - You're welcome

Gracias, Hermana - Thanks, Sister

They say the devil can take on many forms.

He is a demon figure - with the face of a goat, horns, hooves, and a blade pointed tail.

He is a great dragon - large and terrifying, destructive and formidable in the power he holds.

He is a roaring lion - hungry and fierce as he stalks God’s children, waiting for them to fall into his trap before he attacks them like prey.

But the devil was once God’s favorite angel, amazingly beautiful and wise. The angel of light, God’s morning star - a traitor now, a trickster . . . evil.

The Lord teaches love for all, compassion and understanding despite another’s upbringing or current situation. All humans are God’s children, all made in His perfect image, brothers and sisters in unity under His loving and eternal care. You are thankful to know this, grateful that you can feel His presence coursing through your veins despite the horror that you’ve come to face daily while working at the clinic. His gift to you is your endless drive to help those in need, sitting by the bedsides of the sick and dying, applying a cool rag to their sweaty foreheads, or spoon feeding them soup to give them strength when they are too weak to do it themselves.

It is a taxing life, and the sorrow you feel when you cannot nurse someone back to health is ever present in your heart, but the Lord is clear in your life’s mission and you will be forever thankful for the lessons you learn in this lifetime.

He has made you a healer, using you as a vessel for His healing touch for all you come across - regardless of wealth, status, religious affiliation, or criminal record.

Which is why when he stumbles into the clinic during the late hours of the night, face pale and hand pressing hard to his side where blood is streaming through his fingers despite the pressure, you don’t hesitate to help him.

You think you should have - should have let him bleed to death on the clinic floor. Would God have abandoned you if you had?

“Sister Maria!” You cry instead, running to the injured man and looping his arm around your shoulders to help him lean against you. “We need fresh towels and water! And sutures! Hurry!”

Sister Maria runs in the room, bedsheets still cradled in her arms from where she had been turning over a recently discharged patient’s room. She gasps at the scene, dropping the linens on the floor as she rushes to the main utility closet. You guide the man to a bed, helping him drop onto the thin mattress with a tortured groan. One of your hands splays over his, helping to maintain pressure on the wound until Sister Maria can bring in the needed supplies. Your other hand lays gently on his sweaty forehead, thumb caressing the straight line of his nose trying to soothe him.

His baby blue eyes stare up at you through their pained haze.

“P-please, help,”

The devil can take on many forms and carry many names.

And yet, despite all you’ve heard about who he is and what he’s done, you never once considered Billy the Kid to be one of them.

Misguided and uncared for - sure, but never evil.

He’s so young. You can’t even imagine what horrors he must have had to go through to lead him to the path that he’s on now.

Perhaps it’s fate that you’ve been brought together, an opportunity for you to spread the healing power of your Lord’s love and mend not only his body but his bruised heart as well. You’ve seen too many times where hardships have hardened the minds and spirits of others, caging them off from God as they struggle with their wavering faith.

“Don’t you worry,” You say. “The Lord is here with us. He will see you through.”

Whether he groans from your words or the pain, you’re not sure.

Sister Maria is quick to grab the supplies, dumping them on the side table. She dunks a clean cloth in the water, wringing out the excess, but pauses when she sees his face.

“Is that— ”

“Nevermind that!” You hiss, pulling the cloth from her hand.

You lift his shirt, exposing the injury and the dirt dusted skin framing it. It looks horrible, blood seeping from the laceration in a steady flow and a part of you is thankful that the sight of blood doesn’t make you immediately drop to the floor like your cousin, Paul. He gasps when you touch the cloth to the wound, blood immediately seeping into the white of the cloth and marring the pure color.

His fingers dig into the fabric of his trousers, gripping it tight as he clenches his teeth against the pain. Your free hand rubs lightly against his forehead, trying to soothe him as best you can while you clean the wound.

You think it must be God’s mercy that he passes out before you can pull the bullet out. The pain of the forceps digging into his body as you pulled out the thick ball of lead and the shock that would have come with it would have surely dragged him under had blood loss not gotten to him first. It’s better this way - he’s safer cradled in sleep’s loving hold rather than crying and jerking about as you try to save his life.

Sister Maria holds a small bowl out in front of you with one hand while the other delicately holds his wrist, feeling his pulse between her dainty fingers.

The bullet comes out easy, your forceps finding the lead and guiding it out of the wound’s entrance with ease. It clanks as you drop it into the tiny bowl, and you send up prayers of thanks for allowing such a quick and simple removal. The grace of your Lord has certainly just saved this man’s life.

With quick fingers, you stitch him up, practiced movements securing the wound shut before covering it with a generous dressing of cloth to keep it clean from any dirt and debris.

His sleep isn’t restful, the pinch in his brow and the way his cheeks twitch in the flickering candlelight of the small room make that clear. Your own brows pinch as you reach a hand out to trace the furrowed skin, smoothing it out with a gentle thumb. You don’t like seeing people suffer, but it’s more often than not that the people you come into contact with while working in the clinic are in pain, or suffering, or at Heaven’s doorstep. You help who you can and pray for the souls of the ones you can’t so they may be guided to God’s kingdom where they can live in an eternal paradise by His side. It always hurts when you can’t heal someone, the feeling of failure is a stark reminder that ultimately it is the Lord who chooses to give us life, and he can choose to take it away just as quickly.

It feels different this time though, somehow more personal in a way you can’t understand. The young man before you still has his whole life ahead of him, still so much to do and so many lives to touch. The sins that he’s committed thus far can be forgiven, if only he lifts them up to Him and asks for forgiveness. You can feel it, deep in your bones, that you need to save this man. You can’t fail.

He’s alive, for now. And you can only do your best to make sure he stays that way.

“He cannot stay here,” Sister Maria says quietly, gathering the red stained water and rags. “They will find him.”

You nod, gathering the small bowl with the bullet remnant and the sutures kit. “We’ll keep him here tonight and move him to the back room in the morning after he’s rested a while,”

“No,” Sister Maria says. “He cannot stay here. Helping an outlaw is punishable by death. They will hang us,”

“God will not abandon us,” You say, firmly. “We are all His children, servants and outlaw alike. He wouldn’t want us to toss him out on the street to die.”

You look over your shoulder towards the sleeping man again. His brow is furrowed again, the sweat on his face glistening in the light. You sigh before turning back to Sister Maria. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll think of something,”

The pacifying words seem to offer Sister Maria no comfort, and her worried eyes snap upwards as she looks towards the ceiling, voice cracking as she breathes a pleading, “Por Dios,” up towards the roof.

The room is silent to her plea.

You don’t leave Billy’s side the entire night, sitting in the chair directly next to the bed, dabbing at his heated face and neck with a damp washcloth and changing his bandage when the first one had soiled through. He wakes a few times during the night, icy blue eyes fluttering open and locking on yours for the briefest second before slipping closed once again, a quiet sigh escaping through his slightly parted lips.

This is the hardest part - the waiting. Waiting to see if your hard work to heal someone was enough. You keep a close eye on him, looking for signs of pain or illness, keeping an eye on the injury site to try and prevent infection. You flushed it with alcohol during the dressing change, having found an extra bottle hiding in the supply closet while grabbing some fresh cloths. Supplies like alcohol for disinfecting, while needlessly abundant in saloons and brothels, are difficult to acquire for the clinic. You think it's foolish, wasting something that can be used for healing purposes on something as pointless as getting drunk. Your father had been a drunk, drinking away his cares and woes, his only goal was to make it to the bottom of a bottle.

You wish you would have found it sooner so you could have actually disinfected the entire wound instead of just the outside and stitches, but this is better than nothing, you suppose. The smell as you pour it over his wound makes your stomach turn, reminding you of all the times your father came home reeking of the stuff, belly full of poison and his mind, hazed with drink, still evil enough to find your mother and make her suffer as if she were the reason he deemed himself a failure in life. Billy lets out a pained moan in his sleep, body subconsciously tensing in pain as the alcohol flushes the stitched up skin, but thankfully he doesn’t wake. You don’t want him to be in pain, but there’s a part of you that selfishly thinks he’s sharing your own pain, the memory of your childhood trauma somehow seeping into his brain as you recover his wound.

You know it’s not true, but you’re thankful he’s there with you anyway.

When morning arrives, you’re beyond exhausted.

The night shift always takes more out of you than the day shift and your eyes have been threatening to close since the first rays of the sun started spreading across the dust covered floor of the clinic.

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine arrive before the sun does, the first rays of it only starting to spill over the New Mexico horizon line when their footsteps echo through the entryway. You lean forward in your seat at the sound of them, glancing over at Billy’s still sleeping frame as Sister Ann’s gentle humming of a nursery song her mother used to sing to her spreads throughout the clinic. Quick footsteps cut through the song, the humming stopping entirely as frantic whispers sound from the entryway. And then three sets of running feet are getting closer to the corner room.

“Oh, good heavens,” Sister Catherine breathes, eyes locked on the special patient taking up the small bed.

Sister Ann has a dainty hand clasped against her mouth in shock and Sister Maria nervously wrings her own together from behind them.

“He was hurt,” You say, immediately defensive of the injured man. “We couldn’t leave him to die. The Lord says–”

“You don’t need to preach to us, Sister y/n,” Sister Catherine interrupts. “It’s the right thing to do. The Lord is on our side.” She’s confident in her words, and it gives you comfort you didn’t know you needed to have your beliefs validated. But she pauses, eyes flickering once again to Billy before they meet yours - the fear in her brown orbs clear as day. “The law, on the other hand, will not be.”

“We need to move him,” You say.

“To where?” Sister Ann whispers frantically. “The sheriff and his deputies are sure to show up here. They know he’s been shot, it’s only a matter of time.”

“It is a blessing they have not come already,” Sister Maria adds.

They’re right. With Billy injured, they have to know he couldn’t have gotten far. Their only saving grace is that the Sheriff more than likely would have never believed Billy would have come to the clinic for medical attention if on the run from the law. Perhaps holed up in some abandoned alley, bleeding out while propped up against a wall. Or maybe they think he tried riding out of town, desperate to get as far away from the people hunting him as possible before inevitably succumbing to his injuries and falling off his horse in a nearby field.

You rise from the chair, leaning over the bed slightly to rest a gentle hand on Billy’s forehead. It’s still clammy against your palm and he shivers slightly in his sleep, subconsciously pressing his head a little harder against your hand looking for comfort in his pained state. He needs to get away from here, away from any prying eyes because if he’s found, his life on this Earth is over. He is in no position to run or fight for his life. The road to recovery for him is a long one if he hopes to heal well enough to regain his strength and usual mobility. The only thing he will have to look forward to if discovered before he can is a necklace of rope and a quick fall.

“Help me get him to the back room,” You say, sternly. In moments of uncertainty and panic, someone needs to be the guiding light. Your fellow Sisters are still as stones in their spots, all in various states of distress as they look at the man who, if discovered under their care, could very well be the catalyst that marks the end of their missions here on Earth. The Lord brought Billy to you - you need to protect him. “He can stay in the alcove until we can figure out where to take him.”

“He cannot stay in the clinic!” Sister Maria exclaims. “They will surely check every room searching for him!”

“Trust me,” You soothe. “Please, Sister. We need to move him before they come or we will all surely pay the price.”

There is a short pause, but to your frantic brain it feels like an eternity before Sister Catherine nods and gently nudges Sister Ann to the opposite side of the bed.

“Let’s hurry,” She says, reaching to pull away the thin blanket you threw over Billy’s shaking frame at some point during the night. “I fear we don’t have much time left.”

Together, the four of you lift Billy from the bed. It’s a struggle. Even for multiple women to carry a fully grown man, it's a task and a half just to get him from the small patient room to the back area of the clinic. He whines in his sleep, his wound jostling and stitches pulling from the regretfully poor stability you have on his body as you carry him. But, somehow, he doesn’t wake.

The back room is small, but comparatively large compared to the patient’s rooms. The entire width is the size of two patient rooms combined, but that’s not giving it much grace. It makes you sick sometimes, to see people with money spending it on lavish items, large houses and grand parties just to show off their wealth when there are people in need all around whose lives would change if they only had a fraction of the wealth the ones in good standing do. As it is, the back room of the clinic is despairingly bare - limited backstock of supplies, linens, and food are scattered among the wooden shelves lining the room. If only those wealthy men who think to only fill their pockets would hear the Lord’s call to give to the needy instead. It would make your heart happy to see these shelves filled just once.

There’s a small alcove in the back of the room that you and the other Sisters use when times prove most trying. On the days when things are difficult, emotions are too much for you to handle alone or a patient isn’t doing well and there’s nothing you can do other than wait and pray for their recovery, you visit the alcove. It's been adorned with simple yet revenant items, a small yet beautiful cross nailed to the center of the wall, a small ceramic dish holding a wooden beaded rosary placed on the floor below it, resting on a pleasantly fluffed up pillow - ready to help guide their prayer.

Resting against the side wall of the alcove is a folded up cot. It’s not uncommon that one of the Sisters might have to sleep at the clinic during their off shift. More often than not, they are able to return to their lodgings to sleep and reenergize for their next shift. But there are times when too many people are injured, too many of the townspeople have fallen ill to whatever flu or illness that’s crossing through the town and all hands are needed here. The foldable cot is their home away from home, and while it might not be the most comfortable, you are thankful the Lord was able to provide it lest you be made to sleep on the floor behind the extra blankets neatly folded on the shelves.

You all adjust your grips on the young man allowing for Sister Maria to release her hold and pull back the thick blanket shielding the entrance to the alcove. You grunt under the presence of the additional weight, the awkward grip you all have on him unhelpful in the way his limp body bears down on you all. Sister Maria is quick in tying back the privacy blanket so that it stays to one side, and works to wrangle open the finicky cot. Once it’s unrolled, you help in depositing Billy down onto the makeshift bed, quickly checking his wound to make sure no stitches accidentally ripped in the journey back here before turning to accept the fresh blanket Sister Ann hands you from the shelf.

Billy’s brow is furrowed again, breathing a little harsher probably from the pain of being jostled. You lay out the blanket over top of him and pull it up to his chin, your hand reaching out to smooth the wrinkled skin between his eyes again.

“What do we do now?” Sister Ann asks, and Sister Catherine pulls her hand away from where it was plucking nervously at the skin at the sides of her fingers.

“We wait,” She responds, cradling Sister Ann’s damaged hand delicately between her own. “We won’t be able to move him out of the clinic before the Sheriff arrives. We’ll have to keep him hidden here until then and pray they don’t find him.”

The thought of the Sheriff and his men finding Billy here makes your stomach churn. The undeniable fate that waits for you if he’s discovered is one that you’re willing to sacrifice. He’s come here for help, God has brought him here to you for your healing and protection and you can’t fail Him just because your humanity makes you fearful of your end. It’s supposed to be a beautiful thing - death. The moment when your soul on this Earth fulfills its mission here and your granted eternal life at the side of God in the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life, a life of peace and serenity that seems so out of reach here on the soil. Fear will not keep you from looking forward to it. But you’re not done here yet, you have many years left of helping others and spreading His love to those in need. This is not your end. But if it is, it’s worth the sacrifice to try to save Billy.

You’ll hang with him, if need be.

Your fellow Sisters though . . . the thought of them hanging for your own choice, regardless of if you think it was the right thing to do, makes you sick. Your decisions are your own, and they shouldn’t suffer for your choices.

Billy’s forehead unwrinkles under your gentle fingers, and you can feel your heart break as you look down at him. He’s so young still, a young man just at the beginning of his life. He has so many fine years ahead of him. He’s handsome, fit and strong - he would make a fine husband for some lucky lady, a dutiful father for his children. He’s not as evil as they say. You’ve learned to trust your instincts when it comes to people. Sometimes the most misunderstood people are the kindest, and you can’t help but think Billy is the most misunderstood of all. You can’t sense a single whisper of badness in him.

You stand up and pull the privacy blanket back in front of the alcove, hiding Billy from sight in the safety of God’s makeshift altar. Together, you and the other Sisters make your way out of the back room. A few rooms down a sickly man is coughing up a storm, and from how hard and continuous his coughs are, you know his throat is raw. Sister Ann shoots the rest of you a worried look, but turns to grab a water carafe off of a side table before rushing down the hall towards the coughing man and away from the current situation.

“You can head back, Sister Maria,” You say, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day and we’re going to need you for the night shift.”

You can tell she’s torn, both wanting to stay and help in any way she can but seeming to know that there’s nothing she can do. All there is to do is wait. After a few moments, she nods, her own hand coming up to rest on top of yours. “Que Dios te bendiga,”

You watch as she makes her way towards the front, pushing open the wooden door before jerking to a halt. “Sheriff Garrett! Qué sorpresa!”

Her words sent a spark of panic through you. It’s so soon! You knew it was coming, but it’s still so incredibly soon. You had hoped for at least a while longer to try to gather your thoughts and think of a plan of where you can take Billy, but it feels like time moves slowly as the Sheriff and two of his deputies step into the clinic.

“Sister,” Garrett responds, respectfully tipping his hat.

Even through your panic, you still feel a twinge of irritation. A gentleman would take off his hat, but you suppose it’s better than the two men standing behind him who do nothing but trail their eyes around the clinic's entrance suspiciously (and with a clear bout of judgment).

You know for a fact these men with gold lined pockets have never given so much as a dime to the clinic.

Sister Maria turns back to look at you and Sister Catherine, desperation clear in her eyes and you're glad that none of the men are looking at her anymore or you think her obvious distress might have given you all away.

“Have a good rest, Sister,” You say, urging Sister Maria away. Thankfully, she listens, nodding to you and then Garrett before scurrying out the door.

“How can we help you, Sheriff?” Sister Catherine asks.

Garrett takes a few leisurely steps along the entryway, observing the interior of the clinic with the aura of a man who thinks he can see everything. You suspect he sees nothing at all.

“I apologize for the interruption, Sisters. I know you’re hard at work," He says. “But we’re looking for an outlaw on the run.” He pauses, looking over at the two of you with pointed eyes. At your silence, he continues. “William H. Bonney, otherwise known as Billy the Kid,”

“Oh, dear,” Sister Catherine gasps.

You feign concern also, bringing your fingers to your mouth as a sign of shock. Garrett nods in agreement at your supposed horror.

“As you no doubt know he is a very dangerous, very unlawful, man,”

“So we’ve heard,” Sister Catherine says, nodding solemnly. “Is that what brings you in today?”

“Yes,” He says. “There was an altercation last night between him and I. I was able to shoot him so he is very hurt, but he got away before I could arrest him or finish the job.”

“Kinda stupid to come to a clinic when you’re a wanted outlaw, Pat,” One of the men behind Garrett grumbles. “We’re wasting our time here.”

You can’t help but agree, despite that being exactly what Billy did. But maybe that’s what makes it smart. You're hopeful that Garrett will listen to his friend, will assume that Billy couldn’t possibly be here and leave the clinic without investigating it.

The small spark of hope dies as Garrett laughs without mirth. “The Kid’s not stupid. But we’re covering all our bases,”

“Helloooooo,” A voice calls from another room opposite the patient still occasionally coughing up a lung. “Can someone please pay attention to the sick people around here? Hellooooooooooo?”

Sister Catherine smiles tightly. “Mr. Taylor,” She says by way of explanation. “A rather problematic patient here. He’s a good man, just impatient.”

Sister Ann’s voice can still be heard attempting to soothe her own charge, so Sister Catherine has no choice but to tend to Mr. Taylor. When she disappears from sight, you turn back to Garrett, trying your best to deter suspicion.

“I can assure you, Sheriff, that we haven’t seen any sign of Mr. Bonney around here,” The lie leaves your lips far too easily for it to feel like the sin that it is.

Garrett nods, and you can tell he believes you, but puts his hands on his hips all the same, one hand pushing aside his coat to rest freely on the hilt of his gun. “Mind if we have a look around?”

You force a smile on your face. “Not at all. As long as you don’t bother any of the patients. They need their rest,”

“Certainly,”

You lead him around the clinic allowing him and the deputies to search the rooms for their missing outlaw. When they get to Billy’s old room, the room they just vacated not minutes before the Sheriff arrived, you tell them that a patient was recently discharged and that you hadn’t had the time to turn over the room yet.

“Why is there blood on ‘em?” One of the deputies asks, nodding to the blood stains still covering the stark white of the sheets.

“A cooking accident,” You reply. “An incorrect knife hold can sometimes do that,”

Another lie. You feel this one a little more than the first.

Eventually their search comes to the back room. You can’t keep them out, that would be too suspicious, so you allow them to walk through the half filled shelves. It's more than clear that there’s no place to hide anyone here other than the alcove and you're naively hoping they won’t even realize it’s there.

It’s a large blanket hanging on the wall. Of course, they’re going to notice it.

And, sure enough, one of the deputy’s eyes cut to the blanket. He heads towards it with a gruff “What’s behind here?” but you intercept him, rushing over to stand between him and the alcove.

The Sheriff and his deputies have their eyes on you now, each one closing in closer to you and the alcove, much too close for comfort.

“Sister,” Garrett says, voice stern with authority. “What’s behind the blanket?”

“It’s our place of prayer here,” You say, voice calm despite your nervousness. “Our altar.” You can’t mess up now. If you show any sign that you’re being untruthful, both you and Billy as well as your fellow Sisters out front will be on a one way trip to the courthouse. You’ll all die hanging from its top banister. “When healing doesn’t seem to be enough, it helps to have a place dedicated to God to call upon his everlasting power to perform miracles.”

Garrett nods. “Mind if we take a look?”

“Yes, actually. I do,” Your quick denial clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows raising towards his hat. “Just as God bids us to modesty with our clothing, we must also show privacy and modesty in our places of worship. They’re sacred spaces. Surely you understand that, Sheriff,”

The words feel like poison on your tongue. Using worship and prayer to cover up a lie is the catalyst that makes bile feel like it's rising in your throat. It’s not a lie, you have to remind yourself. It is a makeshift altar, you do use it as a place of worship and prayer. Just . . . not right at this moment.

The reality of the situation is catching up with you, and you hide your slightly shaking hands by folding them together in front of you. You haven’t lied in years. You lied a lot as a child, a necessity of living with a father who’s anger could strike at a moment’s notice. You resented having to do it back then, forced to sin for the sake of trying to keep peace in the home. It’s much like the situation you find yourself in now, having to lie to try and protect another person. To protect yourself.

When you found refuge at the convent all those years ago, you were told you would never have to be untruthful ever again.

“God is granting you freedom from your woes,” You were told, and you remember how light those words had made you feel. “Thank him for His good graces with your undying loyalty and strive to always be who He guides you to be.”

You hadn’t lied since, no matter how tough things seemed. Sickly patients lying on their deathbed, scared and begging you for any kind of reassurance that it wasn’t the end for them. You wouldn’t give them false hope. Instead, you would tell them to turn their worries to the Lord, clasping their hands in yours and praying with them.

“Your soul is strong, bright and ever-present,” You would tell them. Sometimes you would let them hold your rosary so they can find comfort in it. “The body is a temple, and we do our best in our life to care for it. You’ve done that. If it weakens now, it is because God is calling your soul back to Him.”

The guilt is clawing at your chest, but you force it back as best as you can as you meet Garrett’s eyes. “I ask that you don’t force us to desecrate that,”

Garrett just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face. One deputy just looks between you and Garrett, uncertain with how to proceed in the face of defying authority, and the other deputy that sneered at the thought of Billy even coming to the clinic scoffs at your words.

“Listen, lady, the law–”

“John, enough,” Garrett interrupts, voice shockingly hard as his eyes cut to his deputy. “She’s a Sister and you’ll show her respect.”

You feel a quick spark of satisfaction at the way the deputy’s confident, power hungry facade dies under the Sheriff's ridicule. He mumbles a quick apology to which you accept with a nod despite how insincere it sounds.

Garrett nods his head towards the door, silently gesturing for the other two to head towards the exit before he tips his hat at you directly, thanking you for your time and apologizing for any inconvenience their visit may have caused.

You want to tell him it was no inconvenience at all, but you’ve already sinned enough today and you can’t bear the thought of intentionally adding to the tally without justified need. Instead you settle on curving your lips into a convincing smile, thanking the men in return for their brevity and understanding and wishing them a good rest of their day as you usher them out of the back room and towards the front entrance.

Every single muscle in your body relaxes once they are completely out of the clinic, relief washing over you as you whisper out a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing everyone to get out of the overwhelmingly dangerous situation unscathed - at least for now.

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine peek out of their respective rooms when they hear the front door swing shut, their wide eyes mimicking the relief you know is shown in your own.

“I can’t believe they didn’t find him,” Sister Ann admits, and it pains your heart to see tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I thought this was truly the end for all of us.”

You have her in your arms in an instant, cradling her small frame against your chest as she begins to cry in earnest. For as scary as it’s been for you so far, you can’t imagine what she’s been going through. Sister Ann and Sister Catherine have only known about Billy for less than no time at all. And yet, despite the short period of time between finding out about Billy, getting him into the alcove, and the entrance and departure of the Sheriff - you’re sure it probably felt like an eternity to her.

“Hush now, Sister,” You whisper, running a soothing hand along her back. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Sister Catherine places one of her hands on Sister Ann’s back as well, but she’s looking at you when she speaks. “He still can’t stay here,”

You know that. You know. You got lucky that the Sheriff didn’t find Billy this time, but who's to say that he won’t come back when he’s unable to find his missing outlaw anywhere else? Covering all his bases, that’s what he said. He’ll come back again when he sees that his other ‘bases’ have turned up nothing but dead ends.

Your older brother, Joe, has a cabin just outside of town. It’s a hidden place, specifically built for peace. No visitors. He lives alone, no wife or children to keep him company and he prefers it that way.

“If I’m alone, I can’t turn into him,”

You're positive he wouldn’t. Your brother is far from being anything like your father, but the task of trying to prove that to him seems to be out of your skillset. He tells you he’s happy with his life, that he’s chosen the path he feels he needs to be on just as you have. Who are you to pass judgment?

Joe likes the solitude, that much is certain. But he also has an adventurous spirit which guides him on lengthy trips from town to town, exploring all the world has to offer while never having to be tied to one place. He’s away now according to the last letter he sent you, planning to stay in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while and that he’s not sure yet when he’s going to be back.

“It’s dangerous,” Sister Catherine pushes, taking your silence as reluctance.

“I know,” You say. “I know. I think . . . I think I have an idea.”

The cabin will be empty. Joe isn’t due back for the immediate future, and even if he does return earlier than you suspect he will, you and Billy won’t be in danger. Joe can be trusted. He’ll help you, if need be. You can’t imagine that the Sheriff would ever know about it. It’s secluded - far off of any of the usual paths. It’s safe there. The perfect place to hide the wanted outlaw for a while. He can rest there, heal up uninterrupted for a few weeks until he can safely move around on his own two feet again.

Sister Catherine listens openly to the idea, but her face is pinched in displeasure.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” She says, reluctantly. “It seems like the best place for him to disappear to until he’s healed.”

You can hear the underlying pause in her agreement loud and clear. “But?”

“The clinic cannot spare two of us. We would lose half of our staff and it is too much for one person to handle alone per shift,”

“I wouldn’t ask any of you to come with us,” You say. No, for as much as you believe God sent Billy into your life for a reason, this was your mission to bear. You’ve already put your fellow Sisters through enough.

“You want to go alone?” Sister Ann sniffles, raising her head up from your chest.

“You need to think about this,” Sister Catherine says, sternly. “You shouldn’t be alone with him. He is a child of God, yes. But he is also an outlaw and a man. Sometimes, one of those is worse than the other.”

They’re being protective. The more rational part of you is grateful for their concern, and you think that if the positions were switched and one of them were in your position instead, you would react the same way. But a part of you is bitter. They’ve heard the stories. You know exactly how cruel men can be and you know exactly what they’re capable of. It’s a risk you’re taking, but you feel called to take it anyway. Billy needs your help, and God would never put anything in your path that you can’t handle.

“The Lord will protect me,” Despite the truthfulness of your words, you can see how they do little to reassure them. Your next words are better. “The Lord will help me protect myself.”

Sister Ann looks at Sister Catherine, once again bringing her hands together to pick at the reddened skin at the edge of her nail. Sister Catherine sighs, and the back of her hand reaches up to tap her forehead as if feeling the temperature or wiping away sweat.

“Alright,” She relents. “How do we get him to your brother’s cabin?”

“I don’t know,” You admit. “We need a wagon. Or a large wheelbarrow that we can put him in and attach it to a horse. I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, but I’m sure I can manage.”

“Where are we supposed to get that?” Sister Ann’s tone borders on exasperated.

As if answering your unspoken prayer, the door to the clinic opens once more, this time revealing a bright faced Samuel Anderson, carrying a crate full of fresh supplies. And behind him, lit up by the sunlight like a bright blessing, is his wagon.

Sam Anderson is the son of local store owner, Edward Anderson, the clinic's top provider for basic supplies that are not strictly medical. While medicine shipments and more specialty items are donated from suppliers farther away, and frankly much less frequent than necessary, Mr. Anderson and Sam never fail to come through with plenty of food for you to make soups and nutritious meals for your patients. On occasion, you even have enough to give away to the families who are stacked together in a small two bedroom on the edge of town. With eight children total between two families, you're honestly not sure how they manage - but you do your best to help when you can.

Seeing Sam walk through the front door is like a beacon of light from Heaven is shining down on him. He’s smiling already, the crate of food handled carefully between his hands as he lets out a cheery, “Good morning, Sisters”. But as soon as he sees your faces, more specifically when he sees the tear tracks still visible on Sister Ann’s cheeks, he’s placing down the crate and across the clinic’s entrance in a second.

“What’s going on?” He asks. His hands automatically reach out towards Sister Ann’s face as if to cup it, but he stops himself. Instead he just looks at her worriedly, his concerned gaze leaving her face for only a moment to glance at you and Sister Catherine before they’re back on her, voice low and gentle. “What’s wrong?”

It’s no secret that Sam harbors some romantic feelings towards Sister Ann. There are days when you feel sorry for him - a young man, good and kind and generous, who you have no doubt would make a fine husband to any lucky woman is in love with one of the four women in the entire county who are incapable of returning his affection. But it’s moments like this when it’s easy to see God’s presence in other people. Sam is as respectful and kind as they come. He accepts his feelings can never be reciprocated and in turn uses his undying love and loyalty to Sister Ann by helping you all at the clinic with anything he can.

Somehow, he doesn’t expect anything in return, never stares at Sister Ann with an ounce of lust in his eyes, and it warms your heart to see the godly quality that’s usually so absent in men so prevalent in him.

“Something’s happened,” Sister Ann tells him, her voice still wobbly with emotion.

“What?”

“Sam,” You say, calling his attention back to you. “I know I have no place to ask this and I won’t fault you if you decline, but– I’m asking.”

“Tell me,” He insists, pulling his hat from his head and holding it to his chest, and God bless how the sincerity in his voice bleeds into his words. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,”

So you tell him everything. Sam listens with wide eyes, shooting panicked glances at Sister Catherine and Sister Ann when you tell him about the Sheriff’s visit, and he’s genuinely sorrowful when your voice gets caught in your throat as you tell him that you had to tell some lies to get him to leave without discovering Billy. He’s nodding already when you mention your brother’s cabin.

“I’ll take you there,” He offers before you can even ask the question. “My wagon is always at your disposal.”

“It’s dangerous. If we’re caught, you would hang with us,”

Sam lets out a breath, unconsciously glancing over at Sister Ann again. “If the four most wonderful and religiously minded people in town hang for trying to do the right thing, then this isn’t a town or even a world that I want to live in anymore. Please let me take you. It would be my honor,”

A small smile graces your lips as you reach out and gently cup his cheek in thanks. For as many men pull and grind on your nerves with their endless greed and manipulation tactics, Sam is a breath of fresh air - a truly God-fearing man with a good heart.

He’s another person that you’re putting at risk, another life in danger because of the choice you’ve made. You try not to think yourself too selfish. Surely the fact that Billy has turned up in your life is God’s plan, and He does not put obstacles in your way that you cannot overcome.

He tells you that he’ll come back tomorrow. He has a delivery that’s expected in a town over and if he’s going to make it there and back before nightfall, he needs to leave before the sun comes up.

“I’ll stop here first,” He says. “We can load him into the back of the wagon while most people are sleeping and make the trip to your brother’s before I head on my way.”

“Thank you, Sam. Honestly,”

“My pleasure,” He nods his head at you, replacing his hat and tipping it kindly towards Sister Catherine and Sister Ann. “Until tomorrow, Sisters,”

The door swings shut behind him as he leaves and you let out a deep breath, hands smoothing over the dark veil covering your head just to feel a bit more grounded before you pick up the crate of food Sam brought. Billy needs to eat something. You're not quite sure how long it's been since his last meal, but even if he ate a minute before bursting through the clinic’s doors in the early morning, he would surely still be hungry and in need of sustenance by now. His body is weak and it needs nourishment to heal.

Billy’s still sleeping when you peek around the privacy blanket. His head is turned to the side and buried in his pillow as much as he can get it, mouth hanging open as he breathes. Your hand itches to reach out and touch him again, to smooth against his forehead or cup his cheek, maybe place your fingers under his chin to help close his mouth in hopes of him breathing through his nose instead so his mouth doesn’t dry out.

You’re not sure where this desire is coming from. You’re as affectionate with your patients as any nurse should be - kind and supportive, offering comfort when needed, but not overly so that it can be considered inappropriate. You’re all brothers and sisters, children of God - yes. But there are still social norms that must be considered.

It feels different with Billy for some reason.

“I’m going to get you to safety,” You whisper. You’re unsure about if he can hear you in his sleep or not, but you feel the need to tell him anyway. “I promise.”

You fall asleep at some point during the night, slumped against the wall next to the alcove’s entrance.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember feeling tired, exhausted by the stress of the day’s events, and how your eyelids were threatening to close permanently more and more with each blink. The soup you had made still sat out in the small kitchen, and you had wanted to stay close to Billy so that whenever he awoke, you would be there ready to help feed him.

Instead, you wake to the sound of Sister Maria giggling to your left and a low, unfamiliar but still soft voice speaking in Spanish to her.

“Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín,” The voice lets out a small chuckle, the smile on his face evident in his tone despite you not being able to understand most of his words. “Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses.”

“Ese niño,” Sister Maria laughs. “Parece que era un buen amigo.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear how he loses the smile in his voice. “Sí, él era,”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you step over to where Sister Maria is kneeling in front of Billy’s cot. It’s only now you see the mostly finished bowl of soup in her hands. Billy’s sitting up slightly, back propped up against his pillows enough to allow him to sit up a bit straighter but not enough to pull too much on his stitches.

At seeing your movement, his eyes snap to your approaching frame, big blue orbs staring up at you and you can’t help the relief you feel at seeing them.

“You’re awake,” You breathe, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Thank the Lord,”

His lips twitch a bit in what looks like a suppressed smile. “Kinda sounds like I should be thankin' you,” He says, and you notice how prominent the shift in his accent is as he seamlessly switches from Spanish to English. “Sister Maria says that you’re the only reason I’m alive right now.”

You shake your head, humbly. “Oh, no. Sister Maria and I work together as a team. I couldn’t have done it without her aid,”

“You show no fear,” Sister Maria insists. “Where I hesitate, you show mercy and strength. It is because of you that we are all alive now.”

“See?” Billy says with a blinding grin, and you can’t help but notice how handsome he is while no longer at death’s door. “My angel,”

You feel your face heat up at the endearment. An angel. Surely the comparison shouldn’t fluster you like it does. You’ve thought of your fellow nuns as the embodiment of angels before, angelic beings put into human bodies by the grace of God to spread His word. You know that’s not exactly true, that you’re just using your belief of what God’s angels would be like and seeing those beings in your fellow Sisters just like Billy is doing with you now, but you’ve never once thought yourself to be comparable to such a holy being and the compliment makes you flush.

You run a hand across your face, feeling the warmth under your palm, and clear your throat. “Oh, well, thank you,”

Sister Maria stands, taking the nearly finished bowl of soup with her. “He has eaten plenty and I changed his covering as soon as he woke up. You will want to change it again when you get to the cabin.”

“That’s great. Thank you,”

“De nada. I’ll go check on the patients and keep an eye out for Sam,”

She nods to you and Billy before she turns to leave, a small smile pulling at her lips when Billy rasps out a soft, “Gracias, Hermana,”

When she’s gone, you take her place in front of Billy, kneeling at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better thanks to you,” He responds, wide eyes trained on yours, a smirk playing at his lips as he continues. “Don’t feel much like I’m dyin’ anymore,”

A small laugh escapes you at his morbid joke. “Well, I’d say that’s a very good thing then,”

“Sister Maria said the Sheriff came lookin’ for me,”

“He did,” You confirm. “The Lord kept us all safe though and has given us an opportunity to get you to safety.”

Billy’s eyebrow raises skeptically. “Sounds like it was more your doin' than the Lord’s,”

You try to not let the slight against God rattle you. You had sensed this was coming anyway. William H. Bonney a.k.a Billy the Kid is an outlaw afterall, and no outlaw becomes an outlaw while still maintaining a positive relationship with the Heavenly Father. He’s gone through many hardships no doubt, and has more than likely deemed his bad luck in life as God’s personal vendetta against him.

“The Lord speaks through all of us, if only we have an open heart to hear him.” You tell him. “Fear can make His words harder to hear, and I’m thankful that He was able to guide my mind and heart enough through the fear for us to get to safety.”

“Hm,” Billy hums, and you can tell how much he doesn’t believe your words. He doesn’t argue though. “And where exactly is this safe place you’re gonna take me?”

“My brother has a cabin just outside of town. It’s well secluded and unknown to most. We’ll be safe there until you’re healed enough to go on your own.”

Billy’s eyes drop to your hand still resting on his shoulder, thick dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks before his bright blue eyes are locked on yours again. “You gonna be takin’ care of me, Sister?”

“Of course, I will,” You reply. “We shall see you well again, Billy. I promise.”

His own arm crosses his chest so his hand can rest on your own, his eyes wide and so earnest as he whispers a quiet, “Thank you,”

It’s only about an hour longer before Sam arrives. It’s still early morning, the sun still a ways away from coming up behind the horizon line, and town is silent. Sam pulls his wagon up to the back door of the backroom before coming around the front to help push it open from the inside. It’s been so long since it’s been opened. The door was once used for the scheduled delivery of goods for easy access to the storage area, but as years went on and the county and surrounding counties became overrun with greed and poverty, the shipments became less frequent. Now, anything needed just comes through the front door. It’s never too much anyway, so what’s a trip or two to the backroom while carrying a crate.

Sam slams his body against the door a few times, the wood groaning in protest under his weight before it finally swings open. Billy watches from his place on the cot, his eyes threatening to close but forcing himself to stay awake. You want to tell him to sleep, he needs his rest to help him heal and recover, but you’re too busy checking your bag to make sure you haven't forgotten anything before tossing it in the back of the wagon. You need to leave before the townspeople start to wake up. If someone sees you, if just one person witnesses you smuggling away a wanted outlaw, then all of this would have been for nothing.

“Sister y/n,” Sam calls, squatting at the head of the cot. He’s got his arms wrapped around Billy’s torso. “Come grab his legs. We’ll do our best not to jostle his wound,”

You come to a kneel at Billy’s legs, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Do your best to relax, okay? If you tense, you might tear your stitches,”

Billy lets out a harsh breath through his nose, clearly nervous, but he nods anyway, brows furrowed in determination.

Together you and Sam hoist him up. He gasps, groaning as his wound pulls but you can see how he’s trying to keep his stomach untensed. Getting him into the back of the wagon is not graceful, and you find yourself spewing endless apologies the whole time despite the relatively short journey.

Sam’s laid out a bed of hay covered by two thick blankets throughout the entire bed of the wagon. Crates of food and other supplies take up half of the bed, but he’s managed to make it so Billy will have enough room to lay comfortably on his designated side. Billy sighs as he’s laid down on it, one of his legs bent at the knee and his palms pressing into the makeshift mattress as he cranes his neck up to look at you. You ball up a spare blanket, tucking it under his head before you push him back down with a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Rest now, Billy,” You tell him, crawling out backwards and helping Sam slide on the rectangular backing on the wagon to secure it shut. “We’ll be there when you wake up,”

His eyes stay locked on you as you circle the wagon towards the front. Sam helps you up onto the spring seat before jogging around the rear and hauling himself into the driver's seat. You smooth out your tunic, looking around the dark street for any suspicious or wandering eyes that might be peeking out from around buildings or through windows. You don’t see any, even as one of the horses whinnies when Sam urges them forward. The clinic is located towards the edge of town, so it only takes a few minutes of nervous eyes and your head on a swivel before the wagon is passing the final few buildings that mark the town’s end of population and you can relax.

You blow out a deep breath, meeting Sam’s equally relieved gaze as he snaps the reins and nudges the horses a little faster. You look over your shoulder to check on Billy and you’re expecting to see him sleeping, no doubt still exhausted from the trauma of taking a bullet. Instead, he’s looking at you, head twisting so he can see your elevated frame from his laid out position. His eyes seem to pierce into yours, so blue and intense as he watches you that it makes your breathing hitch in your throat.

You’ve never seen eyes so beautiful before. Like endless pools of glistening water. Surely God must have taken much care when crafting them for him.

You feel your skin prickle under his stare, body straightening in your seat. He doesn’t stop watching you.

“Sleep,” You tell him. “You’re safe, I promise.” And thankfully he listens, eyes trained on your face for just a moment more before closing his eyes. The tingling feeling in your body dissipates with the removed gaze.

Your gaze turns around the front again, looking out to the vast stretch of land before you as you leave the civilization of town behind.

“Sam,” You start, looking for anything to pass the time and distract from whatever unusualness just happened between you and your charge. “How’s your mother?”

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: noncon #tw: non con #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 5 months ago

Note

meh why not. Honkai Star Rail X reader incorrect quotes when you have the time because I forgot you wrote for them.

I had a blast with this. Also, a special thanks to @tragedy-of-commons for reading these over.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Natasha: You need to stop drinking so many energy drinks. Seele: You're one to talk. Natahsha: The last patient who refused to stop drinking energy supplements after I suggested it died. Seele: Oh no. Natasha: In a car crash. You: That sounds unrelated. Natasha: I’m the one who crashed it. Do not disobey me.

You: Why do you two like being out in the rain so much? Screwllum: I like splashing in the puddles and rain is just fun! Ruan Mei: I'm trying to get hit by lightning for my research.

Sparkle: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind. Sparkle: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. Sparkle: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year? You: …This is Monopoly.

You and Asta: Madam Herta, help! We did a bad thing! Herta: Does it affect me? You and Asta: Not technically— Herta: Then suffer in silence.

You: Do you know a turtle's greatest weakness? Ruan Mei: How slow they are? You: No, their only weakness is that they can get stuck on their back. Ruan Mei: What if you taped two turtles together? They'd be unstoppable, correct? You: … Ruan Mei: … Ruan Mei: …I will be back shortly You: Ruan Mei, NO—

You: Died and came back as a cowboy, I call that reintarnation. Archeon: Laughs -Elsewhere- Boothill: I suddenly feel like strangling someone.

You: I need some help dealing with a problem, do you have any suggestions? Jingliu: Sword. You: Do you have any other suggestions? Jingliu: …Two swords.

You: Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking on a daily basis? Silver Wolf: One? You: No. Silver Wolf: Two? You: No. Silver Wolf: …Is it one?

You: why are you following me? Kafka: because we’re dating now You: okay… what about the rest of you? Kafka: we’re a package deal Silver Wolf, walking next to the rest of the Stellaron hunters while burying her face in a game and Blade maneuvering her to avoid hazards like light poles: buy one idiot, get several free

You: Do you want to play 20 Questions? Firefly: Sure! You: What's your favorite color? Firefly, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Will you go out on a date with me?

Kafka: I love making short jokes about Wolfie. You: They go right over her head. Silver Wolf, standing on a step stool: Fuck you.

Blade, reading the note in the lunch packed for him by you and Kafka: the path to inner peace starts with four words Blade: not my fucking problem Blade: Narrows Eyes I think this one is for Firefly

Firefly, reading the note in the lunch packed for her by you and Kafka: Please, for the love of the Aeons, be good. We know your love language is acts of service. We also know your only skill is stabbing people. Firefly: Tilts Head To The Side I… believe this is for blade…

You: I love my personal space You point to the Silver Wolf latched onto your back You: this is Wolfie. Wolfie also loves my personal space.

You: Why are you smiling Blade? Blade: Am I not allowed to be happy? Kafka: Of course you are Bladie… It’s just that you being happy, usually means someone’s lost their life… or a limb.

Pom Pom: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. The Express Crew, desperately trying to avoid spring cleaning after the last "Incident": … Pom Pom: Choo Choo motherfuckers, come out already.

Stelle, waving at the crew as she steps onto the express after being splattered by a small army of stings: hello. Himeko: i- Welt: we literally saw you die. Dan Heng: you died. March 7th: you're dead. Stelle, shrugging: death is a social construct.

You and Stelle: some fools be like “I play games to escape my responsibilities” then pick tank or healer Welt: In my greatest fantasies I am able to help people Dan Heng: In my fantasies I can prevent people from being hurt, even if it means I get hurt in their stead Himeko: In my fantasies I don’t have to know how to aim March 7th: In my fantasies I control who lives and who dies

You standing at the top of the stairs: What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase? Ruan Mei: I accidentally fell down. Herta: RUAN MEI PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HER part of our rent! Screwllum: Ruan Mei bet me fifty Credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than she did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money. Dr. Ratio: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and several galaxies away and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Screwllum.

You: Do you think different paints have different tastes? Ruan Mei: They do. Herta: …Why did you say that with such certainty?

Dr. Ratio, talking to You and Topaz: Well, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Aventurine do that?’ and if they would, I do not do that thing. You and Topaz: … Aventurine: I know I should be offended, but he's not wrong.

Silver Wolf talking about you: How do you feel about Them, Firefly? Firefly, vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter a glass: I love Them a normal amount.

You and the Stellaron Hunters sitting in jail together You: So who should we call? Silver Wolf: I’d call Blade, but I feel safer in jail

You: When do you usually go to sleep? Blade: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the Aeons. Kafka: My body will pass out when it's ready Kafka and Blade: high five You: angry staring (edited)

Firefly: Good News! The store had blueberry bagels! Bad news, the cream cheese died… or became more alive… It is the wrong amount of alive.

Tingyun, after being caught lying in bed with your shirt on: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt. You: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

Yukong: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? You: Peonies, why? Yukong: … You: Were you going to get me flowers? Yukong: … You: … Yukong, under her breath: It's a possibility…

Quingque: I owe you one. You: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Blade: walks in to see you and Firefly sitting on the couch facing away from each other. Blade: I know I will more than likely regret asking, but what's going on there? Firefly, gaming: They're having a fight. Blade, confused: Then why are they holding hands? Kafka, playing with her Cat: Fighting makes them sad.

Natasha: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? You, whispering to The Moles: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? The Moles: Because we have little hands. You: *Nods Sagely Before Turning To Natasha* You, with a smile: Its because The Moles have little hands

You, when Wildfire was just starting: Natasha, sweetie, the love of my life, all you have is a handful of impoverished shantytowns paying us protection money. We're basically slum lords.

Natasha: And what's the main rule we have? Julian: Don't dare The Leader Of The Moles, Dark Hook The Great to do stupid stuff. You: And why's that? Hook with her head stuck between two stair rails: Because I have no regard for my personal well being.

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moonselune · 5 months ago

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Hello there, hope you're having a good day!

Can I please get an Astarion x fem reader story where the reader gets injured when out of camp. Astarion finds them, and brings them back to camp to treat their wounds. Thank you in advance!

Something about writing an injured Tav just 😙👌

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion x f!reader | Injured

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the forest floor as you stumbled through the underbrush. Your side throbbed where the bandit's blade had caught you, the wound deeper than you initially realized. You cursed under your breath, clutching the makeshift bandage you had wrapped around yourself. Each step sent a jolt of pain through your body, and you knew you needed help soon.

You had strayed too far from camp, chasing after a lead on some supplies the group desperately needed. Now, you regretted your decision as you struggled to make your way back, your vision blurring with every passing moment.

As you broke through the last of the trees, the sight of the campfire flickering in the distance was a welcome relief. You could see Astarion standing near the edge of the camp, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The moment he spotted you, his expression shifted from casual boredom to intense worry.

"Where in the Nine Hells have you been?" Astarion exclaimed, rushing to your side as you collapsed onto your knees. His eyes widened as he saw the blood soaking through your bandage. "What happened?"

"Good evening to you too, my darling" You tried to muster a reassuring smile but winced instead. "Got into a bit of trouble… nothing I couldn't handle."

"Nothing you couldn't handle? You look like you've been through a meat grinder!" he snapped, his hands already working to support you as he guided you back to the campfire. "Honestly, do you have any sense of self-preservation?"

You groaned as he helped you to a bedroll, the pain intensifying with each movement. "I didn't expect to run into bandits," you muttered, feeling a bit defensive.

Astarion knelt beside you, his movements surprisingly gentle as he inspected your wound. "Of course not, because that would involve some forethought and caution," he retorted, his voice laced with frustration. "You could have been killed!"

You couldn't help but smile at his concern, despite the pain. "Astarion, your softer side is showing, people might start believing you love me more than yourself"

He shot you a withering look, not in the mood for your teasing. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm merely annoyed that you seem determined to get yourself killed before I can even enjoy a proper meal tonight. I mean look at all this blood- wasted!"

You chuckled, then winced as the movement jostled your wound. Astarion scowled, but you could see the worry etched in his features. "Hold still," he ordered, carefully unwrapping your makeshift bandage. "I need to clean this properly."

You hissed as the cool night air hit your exposed wound, but you forced yourself to remain still. Astarion's hands were surprisingly steady as he cleaned the cut, his touch gentle despite his earlier harsh words. Astarion was absolutely the last person you expected to be such a good healer, you had literally seen him step over a speared Gale, with a pathetic excuse of not knowing how to open the healing potion bottle.

"You know," you said, trying to distract yourself from the pain, "for someone who claims not to care about the process of mortal healing, you're awfully good at this."

He paused, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of exasperation and something softer. "It's a skill born out of necessity," he replied quietly. "When you've lived as long as I have, you learn a few things about tending to wounds."

You watched him work, noting the way his brow furrowed in concentration. "Thank you, Astarion," you said sincerely. "I appreciate it."

He huffed, but you could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Just try not to make a habit of this, will you my love?"

As he finished bandaging your wound, you couldn't hide your smile, you had earned back your endearment privileges again. You reached out to touch his hand. "I'll try to be more careful next time."

He squeezed your hand gently, his expression softening. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his tone begrudgingly affectionate. "But for now, just let me take care of you without any fuss and no more wasting blood, understood?"

You nodded, smiling up at him. "Understood."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I realised writing this Sasstarion came out more than lover Astarion - whoops, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :))) - Seluney x

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #astarion #spawn astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion x reader #bg3 imagines #gale dekarios #bg3 x reader

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reddesires · 6 months ago

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[Noa x Human!Reader]

So I've really gotten into planet of the apes and I absolutely adore Noa and I really wanted to put these ideas out there (I also wanted to venture more out with ideas but this is all I got :') I'm sorry if this isn't good, I haven't written in years.

•Reader is adopted by the clan leaders of The Marina Clan, Miro and Zena. Her mother was immune to the virus but she was very sickly, Zena tended to the woman as she was the clan's top healer but Reader's mother passed of natural causes leaving the young girl on her own.

•Reader becomes the older sister to Miro and Zena's two first borns, a pair of twins. River and Water lily are born a couple years after the Reader is adopted by the couple, the twin's absolutely adore their older sister and she finds herself babysitting them often as their parents are very busy running the clan.

•The Marina Clan are experts at building boats, they take pride in their craft and they're unusually good at swimming in shallow enough water, they tend to avoid deeper water unless by boat. Many ceremonies are taken place by the water and a lot of their culture is dedicated to the water.

•Their rite of passage is learning to swim followed by building their first boat, the experience marking a major milestone for their people.

•Miro passed 2 years after the twins were born, Zena had then stepped into her husband's role as chief. Reader then took on her mother's role as the clans healer, before she was a prized hunter but she felt it was an important obligation she take on her mother's former role.

•Their clan is pillaged by another, many were wiped out, Zena coronated the Reader into being the clan leader before succumbing to her wounds. She then wears a headband to symbolize her status as her clan's matriarch.

•Reader essentially becomes a mother to her younger siblings, she is aware that she'll have to teach her siblings their clan's ways in hopes of them carrying on The Marina Clan's legacy.

The Meeting

Noa finds the siblings in the outskirts of his clan's land, he's intrigued to find a human with young chimps hanging off her back like a mother ape would have her young do. He seems frozen as he closely observes the trio infront of him but he's completely at a loss of what to do, caught off guard by this encounter.

Reader is cautious of him, her body language is defensive as she seems ready to protect the young on her back. Her breathing is ragged and uneven as she tries to pace herself it seems, he can hear her heart racing even from the distance he was standing.

He sees her wounds and the desperation in her eyes, when his mind finally caught up with him he holds his hands out infront of him in an attempt of easing her and showing no intentions of harming them. "you're..hurt." he says softly, his green eyes following the blood staining the skin against her forehead.

Her head tilts in acknowledgement but she holds her stance not willing to give in to the pain that seems to want to seize her, the determination still pumping through her kept her from collapsing.

Her siblings needed her more than ever and she won't rest till she's knows they're safe and sound

Noa feels something stir in his chest when he sees the young apes lightly peek over the human's shoulders, their gazes frightful and wide as their hands grasp onto her tighter. "I can help you.." he breathes out.

Reader stares with a slight dazed look at him, bewildered but relieved, her hand dropping her weapon and a desperate plea escaping her bloodied lips "please.."

#noa x reader #noa x human reader #pota #planet of the apes #planet of apes x reader #owen teague #fanfic #fanfiction

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icaruien · 1 year ago

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I'LL LOOK AFTER YOU.

nanami didn't make a habit of being someone's saviour but if it's you, he's willing. he's so, so willing.

CONTENT WARNING! bottom!nanami kento x top!male reader. age gap (left up to interpretation), daddy kink (kento receiving), praise kink (reader receiving). was supposed to be some kinky stuff, but ended up being soft (per yuan typical writing style), which means there's actually minimal sex? dude, i don't know either. it's just massive comfort energy, bro, i'm so tired.

dedicated to the one and only @lofi-er. i hope you're feeling better <3

nanami knew better than to paint himself as a saviour. perhaps once, when he had been younger, blinded by the craving to be good and to do good, he would have considered himself one. but he couldn't save everyone, could only minimise damage. he knew this, learned this all the hard way.

perhaps that was why he was so desperately protective of you— still so young, still so close to your youth, and already loaded with the sort of sorrow that turned you into a loaded gun. all it would take was just one wrong move, one wrong look, and you would be set off; violently, brutally, cruelly.

you were still a child.

except, you weren't, really. not anymore. you had grown up, robbed of your childhood, and now you had left those years when you could still reclaim it. you were an adult, in all the ways that mattered— but all he could see was another one of their youths, stripped from their golden years.

and he wasn't a fixer. his hands were built to kill and to protect, but he was never made to fix. maybe, in another life, he could learn to become one, but not in this one. in this lifetime, he was a soldier, no matter how he much he tried to hide it. he wasn't a teacher, wasn't a healer. he was a man with callouses from his weapons, with blood in the place of soft skin and tender love.

but you never needed such gentleness. you were just like him, in a way— taught violence before you were ever taught love, taught to kill before you were ever taught to cradle, taught to be a soldier before you were ever taught to be a man. a yearning maw parted open in his chest at the sight of you, the realisation that you had become every single thing that he failed to protect you from a sharp knife to the gut each time.

perhaps that was the reason why he allowed you to do such things to him— indulgence of carnal pleasure; acts of debauchery that left him feeling drunken and you wholly intoxicated.

each touch of his lips against your skin was an apology, each whisper of your name was a seeking for repentance. you should not have had to endure that, and he had failed you. he could not save you in time—but perhaps, he could heal the wounds time had left upon your skin, etched upon your soul.

your nails dug into his skin, and a loud hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth. his hand reached out blindly, threading through the strands of your hair. it was slightly matted, wet from the shower you had just had when he arrived, and he pulled your head close to the crook of his shoulder. he buried your face against his skin as if it would protect you, as if he could make things right.

"that's right," he whispered, breath fanning against the shell of your ear. your resounding whimper tasted sweet in his mouth. "you're doing so good."

you let out a wet sound; a choked laugh, a strangled sob. "i thought you don't give out compliments," you said, your voice strained.

"i don't," he replied. "i make observations."

"was that an observation, too?" your voice was quiet, holding such a boyish naïvety. he wanted to protect you from the world. "me being good?"

"yes."

"oh."

"you're always good for me," he continued. "my perfect boy."

"oh."

he couldn't have possibly imagined the way you swelled where you were buried inside of him, pulsing against his walls. he shifted, fixed the angle, nudged his own prostate with the tip of your cock. there was barely enough time for you to stifle the sound that you made. it was fine. he liked hearing you, anyway.

it was quiet for a long moment beyond the sound of skin against skin, lube squelching with each of your slow thrusts. it wasn't anything at all like the animalistic sex that you would indulge yourself in with him; when you would pin him against the mattress, his wrists crossed over the small of his back, as you made him say who was making him feel so good, as you demanded him to tell you how his baby was doing so well in making daddy feel so good, oh fuck. god, baby, you're perfect. you're daddy's good boy.

no, these moments were different; quieter, more contemplative. he had more time to breathe, to think, and you had more time to hold him close, to use his warmth as an anchor. it was especially common for these moments to occur after a long mission, when you were held taut with whatever burdens you carried home alongside your victory.

he didn't know what happened to you this time, and he didn't care to ask. the higher ups no doubt knew, but he didn't want to hear it from them. you had been robbed of too much. if you were willing to share it with him, then he would gladly devour it greedily. but it must come from your hand, you must be the one feeding him.

so, he simply indulged himself in this togetherness with you. his back was on the mattress, his legs wrapped around your waist. his hands were clinging to you by your shoulders, toying with the end strands of his hair. missionary— intimacy, perhaps, or simply trust. he wanted to look at you, and you wanted to look at him.

your thrusts were slow, but they weren't at all lazy. your hands were all over his face; cupping his jaw, carding back his bangs, cradling him close. this wasn't rare either, and he simply leaned into each of your touch. he encouraged you, murmured sweet nothings into the hazy air hanging between you.

there was no rush. you needed to be grounded, and he was all too willing to allow himself to immerse into his moment. because when he got like this, when he would take care of you, he didn't need to be nanami kento—burdened by his past and failures; burdened by his future and hopes. he simply had to be your daddy, the person who held you close to him, the person who praised you for every little good thing you had done, the person who you looked up to and who cared for you in return.

and it was easy. so, so easy to love you.

your hand moved to brush over his under-eye, and he knew already what you were going to say before you say it. "you've got bags under your eyes," you murmured. "have i been worrying you?"

"a little bit," he admitted.

a pause. "i'm sorry."

"don't be." he reached up, tilted your head low, pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. "i don't mind worrying over you."

"it's not good though." you nudged against his chin, like an affectionate cat. a smile creased his lips. "daddy's worried about everything. he shouldn't have to worry about his baby."

"if daddy's worried about everything, then he should be especially worried about his baby," he corrected. his hand moved to brush the hair out of your eyes. "alright? i'm serious."

"i am, too. you're worried enough about everything. you needn't worry about me, too."

so stubborn.

"i like worrying about you," he corrected himself. once again, he pressed his lips against your skin—your jaw, this time. he could still see your sceptical expression, and he huffed. "i'm serious."

you shook your head, lazily fucking into him the whole while. "daddy's so weird," you said, scrunching his nose. "he's lucky his baby likes him so much."

"lucky me, indeed," kento agreed, bumping his forehead lightly against yours. you giggled, soft and quiet, and kento felt something warm blaze in his chest. "does my baby need anything from me?"

"no." this time, when you pressed your face against his throat, it was all your doing. "just hold me? wanna feel you while i make daddy feel good."

"alright." kento obliged, arms moving to wrap around your torso. he felt you nuzzle against him, and he allowed himself a little laugh. he pat you over the back of your head, earning himself a soft moan in response.

in between lazy thrusts and your lips latching against his skin, soft bites peppered in between fragile kisses, he heard you whisper, "i'm still your good boy, right? even when i do something wrong. i'll just have to make you forgive me, then i'll always go back to being your good boy, right?"

kento shook his head, held you tighter, pressed a kiss to the space behind your ear. this sort of question had stopped being alarming a long while ago. this was guilt speaking, an age-old, well-worn, intimately-familiar kind of remorse that even kento was well aware of himself. it was a kind of sorrow they couldn't entirely part themselves with, part themselves from. it was ingrained into their soul, next to the bone and the marrow and the heart and the lungs.

"that's right, baby," he whispered. "you'll always be my good boy as long as you're willing to be."

you whimpered, a soft trembling sound. kento wanted to protect you from everything wrong in this world. "i want to be daddy's good boy forever, then."

"okay," he said simply, because that was okay. because permanence wasn't so terrifying when his baby was the one speaking about it. because impermanence was scarier than the idea of eternity if you were involved in the equation. "then you can be my good boy forever."

your arms spasmed around him, holding him tighter. kento wanted to cry. "you promise?"

"i promise," he whispered.

#honestly idk either hehe (dying)#nanami kento x reader #top male reader #male reader #sub nanami kento #top reader #jjk x reader #( ❅. ) yuan writes.#( ❀. ) nanami kento.

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mock-arts · 1 year ago

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part 2/2 of my 2023 cover collection! This one only 75% star wars and 25% sandman. Check out my cover collection tag for big chunks of covers like this, or check out my big bang tag for a bunch of collab'd stuff! idk or do whatever you want!

oh, and happy thanksgiving for my american buds I'm thankful for getting to work with so many cool people

Links and summaries beneath the cut!

2023 cover collection

We'll Meet Again by @littledumplingwrites (art) (with more art by @punkascas)

When Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi is assigned to AgriCorps, he goes to his Creche Master to ask why he hasn’t been assigned to a Service Corps better suited. As a result he’s sent to MediCorps to become a healer. Cue Obi-Wan becoming Ben Kenobi: a master healer and specialized surgeon who does philanthropic MediCorps work on the Outer Rim. It’s hard work, but good work and he enjoys what he does. But when the Clone Wars start, Ben is called away from his humanitarian work to patch up Clone Troopers and Jedi on the battlefield. And once he’s there, he meets a rising star in the Clone Army: one Captain Cody.

Or, Healer-Surgeon Ben Kenobi was called to the war front. And he wasn't too keen on going. What were the Jedi even thinking when they started a war?

That M*A*S*H Star Wars AU that I just couldn't get out of my head, so I wrote it. (However, you do not have to know or have seen MASH to understand this.)

Healer Ben Kenobi, Reporting for Duty by @littledumplingwrites (art) (with podfic by mengde)

Healer Ben Kenobi finishes his surgical work on one battlefield and finds out he has a new assignment: rendezvous with the 212th and work with the clone healers there. This makes Ben a little nervous, because his new boyfriend Major Cody is a part of the 212th and Ben hasn’t heard from him in weeks.

Can the two of them work through their relationship issues, even as the Separatist Droid Army closes in on their position? Can Cody learn to trust someone who isn’t a brother? And can Ben learn to put his partner’s care above his past hurts?

Can be read as a standalone. Also, you do NOT need to know anything about M.A.S.H. to read or enjoy this story.

Bonds of Beskar by @popjeckdoom (art) (with more art by Aliennotperson)

In a universe where the Mandalorian Empire never fell, but changed, Ad’be’alor Kote Vhett faces threats from all sides. His father, Mand’alor Jango Vhett has been cursed into a Majick sleep, and as Tor Vizsla and his supporters tear the Council of Clans apart, Kote is desperate to wake his father and reunite the Empire. In an effort to save his father, and his people, Kote Vhett offers “anything” to the person who can cure his Father’s curse.

Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi may be the person for the job; only one issue--the Jedi have been in hiding for a thousand years, still hunted by Sith and Mandalorians alike. Can he keep his true identity secret long enough to help the Mand'alor... or will events conspire to reveal him before his mission is complete?

Forever; Without Stagnation by @noir-renard (art)

Din and Luke meet on Tatooine. Din and Luke fall in love. Din and Luke get married—

And then the plot catches up.

The Galaxy needs you, says The Force, and Luke believes it.

Din will understand, Luke thinks. It won’t take that long. What is a few years compared to the vow of 'forever'?

Only Blindly Could I Read You by @lillytalons (art) (with more art by @vanisketches

Rex's goal was to get into the organization, get the information, and take it down. Of course, no one had ever successfully infiltrated this empire, and most people had died attempting it, so it was easier said than done. But, the fact that a government agency had also sent in an agent, their best agent, was either a very good or very bad thing. Rex just happened to recognize them, and for some reason, Ben had decided that working together was the best option. What could go wrong?

It's a Sad Song (But We Sing it Anyway) by @ouzoa11-writes (art) (with more art by @impalafortrenchcoats)

Obi-Wan and Cody Kenobi have raised Luke for years and are at the center of the Rebellion when a new threat looms the horizon in the form of a new weapon. The tides seem to turn in their favor, even as they face new challenges along the way.

Or: Obi-Wan and Cody are soulmates who just want to see everyone survive. Their lives from Luke and Leia's nineteenth birthday to a confrontation with Vader alone.

Standalone though it is part of the "We Raise Our Cups To Them" universe

An Epiphany of Poppies Upon the Battlefield by @questing-wulfstan (art)

April 1940, On a French battlefield, Hob Gadling doubts his will to persevere in being alive for the second time of his existence. He swallows morphine in the hope to soothe his horror-scarified mind, and summons a mirage of the stranger who occupied his thoughts as the patron of his immortality. In a Japanese psychiatric ward, Delirium of the Endless is alerted by Dream's irruption in her realm, who she found missing when she sought his company on her quest for the Prodigal. Disappointment overcomes her as she finds it was but an image of her brother conjured by a mortal, and so it does Hob when her eruption dismisses the vision. Delirium will not resign herself to her exponential loss of brothers however, neither will Hob Gadling withhold his aid from any entity in distress, whether the stranger or his younger sister ; they just might hold the might to liberate Morpheus between their four hands ...

The Other Kingdom by @banhus (art)

In 1916, Roderick Burgess successfully summons Death, and Hob Gadling wakes up in the trenches alongside three dead soldiers.

#dreamling #dinluke #codywan #star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #captain rex #din djarin #the mandalorian #luke skywalker #obirex #rexobi #hob gadling #dream of the endless #delirium of the endless #cover collection #collab

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fictionalgap · 11 months ago

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Steal my heart (chapter 2)

Pairing: Kit Thantalos x Thief! Reader

Summary: You woke up somewhere you don't know.

Warnings: Swearing

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Note: I accidentally used spoon feeding here too and have no regrets.

Song Recommendation: Blue Eyes - Elton John

"Dehydration and malnutrition. Honesty Its kind of a miracle for her to be able to carry herself, let your higness to the castle ." The healer was reporting to the Queen.

"Your majesty, our two guards just let us know that she was a part of a criminal activity. That-that she's a thief! "

"I don't care who she is. She saved my daughter's life. I owe to her."

You were able to hear the conversations but you couldn't find the strength to open your eyes and move around.

"B-but."

"That's enough. " you heard a familiar voice.

"She saved my life so what I need is, her to be okay." The familiar voice sounded distressed.

"Yes, your highness. "

You felt sleep taking you once again in its world.

~~~

You woke up to sunrays in front of your eyelids. You blinked a couple of times. You were in a bed. You looked around to see the girl who you carried to the castle. She was sitting in a chair next to your bed and polising her sword.

"You are awake! How do you feel? "

You blinked a couple of times. You wanted to answer but your throat was too dry to make a proper sound. You licked your lips and before you knew she came closer to you with a glass of water.

"Let me help. " You nodded as you looked in her blue eyes. She put her hand to the back of your head and raised it so you could drink from the glass. You sipped the water first then you grabbed the glass and finished it in a second.

You were thirsty.

She took the carafe and filled your glass with more water.

You chugged it in a second again.

"Thanks." You managed to say to the princess next to you as you looked up and down to take her in more.

She smiled and it rushed your heart.

"No problem...wait." She said and went to get a healer to check on you.

She came with a middle aged woman who first checked your temperature with the back of her hand.

"How do you feel? " th woman frowned worried.

"I feel better. Thank you."

Your stomach grumbled in a desperate way.

The princess nodded to herself "I am going to bring some food."

You tried to hide your red face.

"She needs soft food, your highness like soup. Something easy to digest but I can make someone go get her you don't have to-"

The princess already vanished to get you something to eat.

'Are princesses really that helpful?' You thought to yourself than you remembered what happened in detail.

She was bit by a large snake but she looked pretty good now.

You cleared your throat.

"How is your highness? She was bit. "

Woman who was busy with things you didn't know turned to you and her gaze soften.

" Yes, she was but thanks to you she is alive now. We are so grateful for that. Your highness's mother, Queen Sorsha wanted to see you when you got better."

"Oh... uhm. Sure and I'm glad I could make it in time. "

"Your highness is fine right now. Don't worry about that. You on the other hand had been sleeping for two days."

Your eyes widen to woman's words.

"What? Two days? I -I..."

The princess came into your sight with a tray in her hands with a dedicated expression on her face. She put the tray to the table next to you.

You tried to sit on your bed but you hissed when your back shivered in pain.

The princess and the healer tried to help you to sit properly on your back.

The princess was very close to you right now which made you blush. She took the bread and started to make it into small pieces and d put them in the soup.

You could feel her breath when she sighed as she grabbed the bowl. You looked at her face. 'She is really pretty." you thought and you might have looked at her more than appropriate cause the woman cleared her throat and you turned your head to her direction.

She smiled knowingly.

"Your highness I shall feed h-"

" I want to." She took a spoon of soup blew it to make it a comfortable temperature.

"I can eat own my own. "

The healer and the princess shoted a look to you and you found yourself being unsure.

"I- I mean. I really don't want to be a bother." you explained nervously.

The princesses eyes pierced yours.

"How can you say that when you literally saved my life. I couldn't make it without you. Thank you. I owe you. "

You smiled softly.

"You don't owe me anything. It's an honor for me your highness."

"It's Kit. Call me Kit." Her smile met her eyes.

The healer's mouth hang open as Kit's head turned to the healers direction.

"Brenda, did you know she didn't know I was a princess when she took me here?" she smirked at your direction.

"Really? " Her eyes widen with shock.

"Yeah. I told her I was a daughter of a guard in the castle. "

You remembered the earlier conversation.

*Flashback*

Your arms ached with pain as you carry the girl who was becoming more and more pale by each moment.

"You don't know where the castle is? "

"I'm not really from here."

"Where are you from? "

"Not around. "

"That was specific." she chuckled with a groggy voice.

You sighed heavily.

"Why are we going to the castle? Who are you?"

"My dad works there. As a guard. They can help me there. "

"Is that why you dressed up as one? "

She snorted as much as she could a poisoned person can.

"Don't tell me you stole your daddy's sword. That looks too good for you to have."

She smirked tiredly.

"You know about swords? "

"Kind of... " you smirked tiredly.

*end of the flashback*

You understood why she lied.

Many people could kidnap the Princess for their interests.

She put the spoon between your lips. The soup felt delicious and warm. It was like nothing you had for the longest time. You let her feed you as you eagerly took every spoonful of soup down to your stomach.

" Why didn't you eat before, darling? " The healer asked.

Kit cleaned your mouth with a napkin.

"I didn't have time to."

A few minutes passed with silence. You were never spoon fed by a Princess before. It felt weird. In a good way.

Kit's brows raised up.

" I heard things about you. "

She cleaned her throat and looked at the healer. The healer took it as a sigh and left you two alone.

You gulped.

"The guards came here, didn't they? "

You didn't felt like lying to her.

She sighed.

"Yes, they did. They told my mum, the Queen that they were looking for you. They told her that you are a thief. " She stopped and looked at you for an explanation.

You looked down at your lap and fiddled with your fingers.

"If I am going to jail or be executed I-"

She started to laugh "What? "

Her laugh was a song you never heard of.

"I mean, It's true. I am a thief."

"You saved my life. So you're not going anywhere." Her face came closer and it was pretty serious. "I-I mean anywhere bad. " She got back in her chair.

Relief came to you by her words but her being close to you made you nervous.

In a good way.

"Thank you, Kit. "

She put her hand on your leg.

"No, thank you, ...uhm? " her eyes pierced yours again as she smiled.

"Y/N." you smiled.

Her hand warmed your entire leg.

"Thank you, Y/N." She smiled softly.

You never really knew you could ever like blue eyes so much until now...

Taglist: @valenftcrush @elliewilliamsgf69 @hayatistirahati @rubycruzsbitch @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes

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p-taryn-dactyl · 2 years ago

Note

I saw your requests are open for Harry Potter, was wondering if you’d do one with Fred Weasley 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I’m like super obsessed w him rn

Plot can be whatever you’d like !

a/n: hi!! i love Fred too!! thank you so much for the request, I hope I did alright 😁

prompt: fred didn't die during the war - was only seriously injured. upon waking up at saint mungos, the obvious reaction is to flirt with the cute healer tending to him.

warning(s): it's been a while since i've read the books and I wasn't exactly paying attention to the lore while watching the movies. I made up some spells and plot lmao

word count: 1,073

Confervo

Waking up felt like dying, Fred thought as his eyes lifted open feeling like lead. His joints felt like stone, weighing him down onto the slightly cushioned bed. At first, the red headed twin thought he was in a muggle hospital, with the bright white walls and fluorescent lights disorienting him even more. But then he saw owls fly through the air, delivering messages and potion bottles flying into the hands of healers, standing at beds identical to Fred's. Speaking of...

"Hello there.." Fred attempted his best flirting tone, his consciousness desperate to impress the healer doing magic next to him. But all that came out was a croak akin to one of a dying frog. Mortified, Fred's face went red, wanting to hide under his blanket as you stifled your laugh under your hand, trying to keep the air of professionalism.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," your voice soothed the headache building behind his eyes, you raised your wand, assessing him as you continued speaking, "you gave everyone quite a scare you know. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're banned from fighting anymore dark lords and his army."

Fred tried to laugh at your humor tinted words before reality crashed into him. Sitting up quickly, Fred felt pain shoot through his body. You shot forward, your hands steadying him as his eyes went wide with worry.

"Did we- Is my family okay? George? Ron? Ginny? Mum and Da-"

The comforting pressure of your hand on his shoulder cut him off. He looked up at you, his body relaxing at the answer in your eyes. Wincing, he leaned back, still sitting up but now in a more relaxed position.

“You won. He’s gone.”

You didn’t need to say the Dark Lord’s name, you didn’t want to. Even thinking of the man sent shivers down your spine, making you aware of every dark corner in the room. Fred watched as you walked over to your station, grabbing a potion bottle and twirling it around until the blue liquid turned clear. When you returned to the bedside, you poured some of the liquid into a spoon. The red head watched as the clear potion levitated above the metal utensil, only spilling down like water at a whispered spell that passed your lips.

“Confervo.”

You raised the spoon up to Fred’s lips, who took the potion with slight struggle. It spilled down his throat, tasting slightly of hazelnut. He raised an eyebrow at you, question in his eyes. You winced slightly, setting the spoon down before turning back to face him.

“The explosion you were caught in caused severe internal damage. The Confervious spell along with the knitting potion will heal whatever injuries our efforts haven’t been able to completely heal,” watching as Fred’s eyes widened, you were quick to console him, “But it’s okay! Because the duo has a 97% success rate and, not to brag, but I happen to be one of the best casters of the spell.”

Fred chuckled a bit at your attempt, his body starting to realize the trauma it had been through. You sat on the stool next to his bed, fiddling with your wand as you watched a pocket watch in your hand with intensity. Later Fred would find out that watch is how you saw the healing of his internal organs. Fred poked your arm playfully, getting your attention.

“So, what’s the damage?”

He wiggled his eyebrows but you just stared at him, waiting for an explanation. He used his eyes to ‘point’ at the area between his legs.

“Am I all still here?”

You sighed, folding your hands on your lap.

“Unfortunately, we couldn’t save it.”

Your serious face completely fooled Fred, who for a moment let complete terror take over his features. After a minute or two, you burst into laughter, causing Fred to groan and cover his face with his hands.

“You should’ve seen your face!”

You laughed between words, clutching your side. Fred nodded, recognizing he had been played.

“You got me, you got me. But you must mean this means war.”

You faux gasped, placing your hand on your chest sarcastically.

“Oh no, a battle with a man stuck in a hospital bed, I’m shaking in my boots.”

Fred full on laughed at that before groaning in pain and glaring lightly at you.

“Don’t make me laugh, my insides are still knitting back together!”

You smirked at him, checking the pocket watch to see that the healing was almost complete. You heard a ruckus outside Fred’s room and soon the door burst open, a frazzled fellow Healer sending you an apology with their eyes.

“The Weasley Family plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are here for F. Weasley.”

Your coworker said with an exhausted tone before pushing through the crowd back to their station. You smiled at the family as they piled in, answering Molly’s frantic questions and Arthur’s insistence his son was getting the best care. Fred’s siblings, plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, stood at his bedside, doting on him. You turned away, letting the family have a moment, organizing your tools and putting back the potion and pocket watch. When you turned back around, you saw George look at you and nudge his twin with waggling eyebrows. Fred turned and winked, causing your face to heat up as you held back a smile.

You joined in the conversation after a few moments, once more answering the questions and consoling the worried thoughts of Fred’s parents. After a few hours, visiting hours were over, and you gently excused the family from the room. You got Fred’s room set up for night, fluffing his pillow and blushing when he craned his neck so his face was close to yours. As you were getting ready to leave, you felt Fred’s finger brush against your wrist, lightly but effectively holding you back.

“You know, I’m not so fond of being blown up but I am really glad it brought me to meet you. When I get out of here, if you’re available, do you want to catch a movie? It’s a muggle thing my pop has been obsessed with recently, I’m just glad he got past his rubber duck phase becau-”

“Yes.”

You answered quickly, cutting off Fred’s uncharacteristic nervous rambling.

The two of you smiled softly at each other before you left the room, mentally compiling a list of quick healing spells.

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fanfiction #healer!reader #fred x healer!reader

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whatifitookalilnap · 6 months ago

Text

Three's Company, Four's a Crowd!

(Korra x Fem!Reader x Asami)

Prologue: Yuma Gives Birth to Half of the Airbending Population

(A/N: Hey hey! Wanted to give a lil intro to my reader insert fic here sorry it's so long. So this story will be Korra x Fem!Airbender!Reader x Asami they will end up a throuple. I will be covering over half of the show so it's gonna be a few chapters. I will be mostly focusing on season one and three. I won't cover season four at all and season two will probably be like three or four chapters at the most. Most chapters will be second POV but a few will be third person like this one. Also I named reader's mom Yuma because it's easier for me lol. There will be more entertainment in the next chapter rest assured! This will also be posted on my ao3 account I'll post that link right after this!)

"It's time to wake up, Turtle Duck!" Yuma whispered while gently rubbing her child's arm.

(Y/n) groaned and slowly sat up. Yuma's poor girl is not a morning person in any sense of the word. Her (h/c) hair was an utter disaster as it always is after a good night's rest. The five year old little girl yawned and rubbed her bleary (e/c) eyes in an attempt to get the sleepiness away.

"Can't I have five more minutes?" (Y/n) pouted.

"Not today, my love. We're visiting Gran Gran today, remember?" Yuma smiled.

At once, the five year old girl perked up at the mention of her grandmother. Honestly, that woman is the only reason why Yuma stayed in the Southern Water Tribe once the divorce from her ex-husband, Taro, was finalized. Zoh was an angel sent from above in Yuma's eyes. Always happily taking in (Y/n) whenever there was an emergency and helping around Yuma's home when she desperately needed a break.

Zoh has absolutely zero contact with her son after the divorce. Something about cheating on his wife and abadonding his child really pissed Zoh off. Honestly, Yuma can't even remember the last time someone was so loyal to her. It means the world to her that her ex-mother-in-law has her back. After all these years, Yuma felt as though she had a mother again.

"Yes! I can't wait to show you and Gran Gran my magic trick! I'm going to blow you guys away!" (Y/n) enthusiastically exclaimed.

"And I can't wait to see it! But before you blow us away, we have to fix this," Yuma grinned while patting her daughter's head.

(Y/n) gave her a cute little pout as Yuma began combing her hair. Once that was completed after much wincing from both parties, Yuma put her daughter's hair in two little buns atop her head. The Fire Nation woman then went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast while her daughter changed clothes.

Honestly, Yuma really couldn't wait to see what this little 'magic trick' is. (Y/n)'s been talking about it since last week and it has been driving Yuma mad. The Fire Nation woman has never been...how does one say...patient. Obviously, Yuma has all the patience in the world for her daughter, but literally anything else? That's going to be a hard no. She's also a very curious woman by nature. Yuma is just itching to know what the magic trick is.

Yuma highly suspects that (Y/n) might be a waterbender like Taro. She took (Y/n) to a waterbending show a few months ago and her daughter claimed it to be magic, which just furthers her suspicions. Yuma herself didn't have the ability to bend, so it made the most logical sense.

Then again, it could just be something like a picture or sleight of hand magic. Kids did have a tendency to exaggerate or bend the truth. There are plenty of possibilities which is greatly irritating because again, Yuma is painfully impatient and horribly curious.

Ah, well, it will be revealed today when they visit Zoh. (Y/n) rushed up to their little table and practically shoveled her food into her mouth.

"Careful now, we don't want to have to see the healers now do we?" Yuma reminded her.

(Y/n) didn't respond verbally but ate considerably slower. Her sweet daughter always got so excited to see her Gran Gran even though it's a pretty frequent occurrence. It really does take a village and even though Yuma's village is truly just one other person, she couldn't be more grateful for it.

Once Yuma finished her breakfast (Y/n) was shoving her out the door. The trek to Zoh's hut was only about ten minutes on foot so it wouldn't be long until Yuma got to see that magic trick.

(Y/n) talked on and on about how this trick is just the coolest thing ever and that Yuma will be so impressed. To be fair, practically everything about (Y/n) impresses Yuma. It must be a mom thing.

In what felt like no time at all, the mother daughter duo reached Zoh's hut. (Y/n) excitedly knocked on the door. It only took two knocks before the door swung open.

"Oh hello Yuma. Didn't you say (Y/n) was coming with you? I can't find her anywhere!" Zoh exclaimed while purposefully looking upwards.

"Oh you know how five year old girls are these days, she just wanted to stay home and listen to her radio," Yuma joked.

"Gran Gran! I'm right here!" (Y/n) laughed.

Zoh looked down and feigned a gasp of surprise. The older woman quickly scooped her granddaughter up and peppered kisses all over her face. (Y/n) giggled in pure delight as her grandmother smothered her with affection.

"And how's my favorite granddaughter doing?" Zoh smiled.

"I'm your only granddaughter, silly! I'm doing good! I'll be even better when I get to show you my awesome magic trick!" (Y/n) exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh? A magic trick you say? I didn't know I was getting good company and a show! We better all get inside to enjoy such a performance," Zoh smiled.

The older woman stepped aside to let Yuma inside and gently placed (Y/n) on the ground. Yuma smiled and gave Zoh a quick but firm hug.

"Thanks for having us, Zoh," Yuma said.

"I'm sorry, who is this Zoh you speak of?" Zoh grinned.

"Apologies. Thank you for having us, Mom," Yuma laughed.

"That's more like it. Besides, I'd have you guys around all the time if I could," Zoh chuckled as she locked the door behind them.

"Before I can show you my magic trick, I must grab my materials! Please, have a seat ladies," (Y/n) dramatically stated while gesturing to the couch in the living room.

Her daughter is just too cute. The adults shot each other an amused look before sitting on the couch. Once (Y/n) saw that they were seated, she rushed off to the kitchen to grab these 'materials'.

"You don't happen to know what this magic trick is, do you?" the Water Tribe woman asked her.

"No, not quite. She's been talking about it since last week but insisted that she would only do it with both of us present," Yuma explained.

"That must have driven you mad," Zoh smirked, well aware of Yuma's patience level.

"Oh, you have no idea. I really should work on that," Yuma sighed.

"All I'm saying is that this is about the age where children start to discover their bending abilities," Zoh said in a sing song voice.

"That was my first thought when she said magic trick. The waterbending genes do run strong in your family," the Fire Nation woman admitted.

"That they do. We're very strong benders, too. One might say, some of the greatest benders of all time?" Zoh asked smugly.

Yuma immediately rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what the older woman was implying. And it's all because of that alleged 'seer' Zoh dragged Yuma to.

Back when she was still pregnant with (Y/n), Zoh and Yuma were attending a festival in one of the main cities in the Southern Water Tribe. Zoh found a seer and insisted they get a reading of (Y/n)'s future. Yuma didn't exactly love the idea of a strange woman touching her belly to get a reading she didn't actually believe in, but figured it would be harmless.

Long story short, the seer told them three things. One is that (Y/n) will face great challenges in her life but will inevitably be victorious as long as she trusts in herself and her loved ones. The second thing is that (Y/n) will be one of the most powerful benders of all time and help create balance in the world. The final tidbit of information they got was that (Y/n) would be blessed to experience twice the amount of romantic love than most people got in their entire lives and will end up happily married with healthy children.

What a load of shit.

Seriously? Her daughter needs to believe in herself in order to overcome great trials and tribulations? That is the most unoriginal reading Yuma had ever heard. Could have gotten that from half of the fortune cookies in creation.

As for the bending, that seer probably says that to every person that crosses her path. It's not like benders are a dying breed, it's a pretty good guess that (Y/n) would end up one. The damn seer didn't even specify what kind of bender she would be! And that balance part? What a joke. Probably wanted to make it seem like she's meant for some great purpose.

The romantic aspect of (Y/n)'s life confused the hell out of Yuma. What did the seer even mean by twice as much love? Doesn't matter, because it's total bogus. Yuma is pretty sure that the whole happily married with children part is yet another thing that the seer says to everyone that gets a reading from her.

In other words, that con artist merely told them exactly what they wanted to hear. Zoh claims Yuma is just a pessimist and Yuma claims Zoh wasted her money.

"Relax, Mom. I highly doubt today is the start of (Y/n)'s 'destiny'," Yuma scoffed.

"Ye of little faith," Zoh said with a dramatic shake of her head.

At that precise moment, (Y/n) came back into the room with the biggest grin Yuma had ever seen on her. To both her and Zoh's surprise, (Y/n) did not come into the room with a glass of water. Instead, there were two little marbles resting on the palm of her left hand.

Okay, now Yuma's confused. Obviously, there would be no waterbending today. Maybe her magic trick is sleight of hand magic? But what kind of magic trick only involves two marbles?

The Fire Nation woman looked at Zoh from the corner of her eyes and saw she was just as confused as Yuma is. What is this girl planning?

"As you can see, here in my hand there are two marbles! No string, no magnet, just some boring old marbles! Now feast your eyes upon me!" (Y/n) excitedly yelled.

Both women looked on intently as (Y/n) hovered her right hand about two inches above her left. Both palms were facing the marbles. For a split second, nothing happened.

Then, the marbles moved. (Y/n)'s hands didn't tilt at all, they were completely still as the marbles levitated right in between both her palms. Then, the two marbles started to spin rapidly around each other in a circle.

Yuma's seen an exact picture of this once. But he is long gone and only one other person could pull this off.

There's no way. It's not possible. She can't be an-

"Airbender. Yuma, she is an airbender," Zoh hissed in her ear.

"But that's impossible! The only living airbender is Master Tenzin and we know for a fact (Y/n)'s not his!" Yuma hissed back.

First of all, unlike her ex-husband, Yuma's not a cheating whore. Second of all, during the divorce, Yuma wanted child support because it was the least Taro could do. He had tried to contest it by claiming (Y/n) wasn't actually his. Yuma went out of her way to be petty and gave the court four separate DNA tests. Each and every one of them confirmed Taro was the father.

Long story short, Yuma got her money.

Plus, Yuma's never even been in the same room as Master Tenzin. This means that (Y/n) has no biological relation to the previous Avatar or his family. Yuma knows her daughter can't be the current Avatar because she was already discovered about one year ago. This shouldn't be real. She shouldn't be able to airbend.

"Uhm, excuse you, it is very rude to talk while I perform," (Y/n) huffed as the marbles plopped back onto her hand.

"We're sorry, my love, we're just surprised. It's just, you're an airbender! It's incredible!" Yuma sincerely told her while struggling to get over her own shock.

"I see! So you're in awe of my super cool skills!" (Y/n) beamed. "But I thought there was only one airbender and you can only be an airbender if you're related to him."

(Y/n) has a very vague concept of bending. The only bending she's actually seen in person is waterbending and most of it is from Zoh to keep her entertained. She knows that people can bend both earth and fire as well as the fact that the only living airbender is Tenzin, Avatar Aang's son.

Yuma's daughter also enjoys listening to the pro bending matches on the radio but this is about the extent of her knowledge. How is Yuma supposed to fully explain this situation when she didn't understand it herself?

"Well I promise you are not related to Tenzin. But honestly, who cares how you can be an airbender?! This is phenomenal! Say, why don't we see what else you can do?" Zoh enthusiastically exclaimed.

(Y/n)'s entire face lit up, quickly forgetting about the technicalities of her airbending abilities.

"Like what?" (Y/n) asked curiously.

"I've got a stack of papers on my desk. Let's see if you can move them with your bending," Zoh told her.

"You're thinking big, Gran Gran! I like it!" (Y/n) cheered.

"That's my girl!" Zoh grinned as she rushed off to grab those papers.

Yuma took the opportunity to make sure all the doors and windows in Zoh's home were sealed shut. Of course they were, they lived in the South Pole for spirits sake! Even if they weren't shut, it still wouldn't have been able to explain the marbles rapidly circling each other in between the palms of (Y/n)'s hands.

The Fire Nation woman is pretty sure she's still in shock. Who wouldn't be? Her daughter has an ability that's practically extinct. It is nothing short of a miracle.

Zoh rushed back into the living room and plopped a small stack of papers on the table. She put her hand on (Y/n)'s shoulders and took a couple steps back.

"See if you can move the papers using your bending. I've obviously never taught an airbender, so it may be a little difficult. Feel the air in this room. Allow yourself to work with it to achieve your desired result," Zoh wisely told her.

Zoh's been teaching young children waterbending for years. Yuma doesn't understand how she's able to keep her voice steady enough to give off that confident instructor appearance under these circumstances.

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes in pure concentration and slowly lifted her arms. Yuma's jaw dropped seeing the papers slowly rise into the air. The young girl gasped in pure happiness at her accomplishment. Seeming to be testing the waters, (Y/n) began slowly swaying her arms from side to side to see if the papers would follow. They did.

Zoh and Yuma merely looked on in pure fascination as (Y/n) began to spin ever so slowly, taking the papers with her. The papers seemed as though they were dancing as they followed (Y/n)'s command, swishing in whatever direction she wanted them to. Her cute little face began scrunching up before dropping her likely tired arms. The papers, now no longer being controlled by airbending, began to slowly fall to the ground.

There is truly no denying it now. This isn't some small trick or accidental fluke, this is real.

(Y/n) is an airbender.

Yuma picked up (Y/n) and looked her dead in the eyes.

"I have to be honest with you, Turtle Duck. That was the coolest thing I've ever seen," Yuma grinned.

(Y/n) shot back what might be an even bigger smile.

"Thanks, Mommy! It was a lot of fun! I wonder what else I can do," (Y/n) smiled.

Yuma ended up zoning out as Zoh and (Y/n) chatted about how awesome the airbending is. It's certainly a fun thing to think about, what else could her little girl do? What is the extent of her abilities? She would certainly need proper training to-

Damn it. Damn it all. Reality's now hitting her like a train. This girl needs to learn to bend! And there's only one person in all four nations that could provide such services!

Oh for the love of spirits, (Y/n) is now one of two living airbenders! There's no doubt in Yuma's mind someone is going to want to hurt her daughter because of her extraordinary abilities! Not to mention the fact that Yuma has a pathological need to know how it's even possible that (Y/n) can airbend! There's so much that needs to be done and so much potential dangers-

"(Y/n)? My love? Gran Gran and I need to have a big kid talk. Why don't you curl up in your room and turn on the radio. I believe one of the pro bending matches just started in Republic City," Yuma told her daughter.

"Really? Awesome!" (Y/n) stated.

Zoh raised an eyebrow but ultimately didn't say anything as Yuma led (Y/n) to the guest bedroom she stays in for sleepovers. Once she got her daughter situated with her radio, Yuma walked back out and closed the door behind her. Then she dragged Zoh to the bathroom farthest away from the room (Y/n) was in and locked the door.

"Zoh, I need you to talk me down from a really high ledge because I am freaking the fuck out right now," Yuma hissed.

"Yeah, I had a feeling this might happen," the older woman sighed.

"What do I do? She's absolutely remarkable, Mom! She can airbend! The second person alive to do so! I just know some sick freak out there is going to want to wish harm upon my daughter! People always want to hurt the ones that stand out, good or bad! Oh spirits, what if someone kidnaps her and sells her on the black market-" the Fire Nation woman exclaimed, very clearly spiraling out.

"Breathe, dear. No one is getting sold in any markets. The answer is simple. We contact Tenzin so that (Y/n) will train with him and-" Zoh began.

"What if we didn't?" Yuma asked breathlessly. "What if we just leave now, change our names, and relocate to the Fire Nation? No one has to know. If no one knows about her, they can't hurt her."

Zoh gave her a look. Yuma knew that look. It was a look that said 'you're going off the deep end, kid'. Yuma did not like that look.

"And how do you think (Y/n)'s going to feel a few years from now, knowing you are purposefully trying to hide a part of who she is? How exactly do you expect her to control and conceal an ability she never got any training for?" Zoh asked.

Shit. Zoh's got her there. But that's why she's talking to the other woman. It's to prevent Yuma from doing something she'll regret.

"You're right, of course you're right. I'm just so scared. She's my baby. If anything happens to her...," Yuma trailed off.

She wouldn't make it. She knows she wouldn't.

"Nothing will happen to her. Not as long as she is properly trained. Katara was my mentor and we've stayed in touch. We'll make the journey to her place at once. There, she can contact her son and we will figure something out," the Water Tribe woman calmly told her.

Okay, Yuma likes this plan. It's a good plan. A solid plan. A plan that likely wouldn't end in utter devastation.

"Seems sane enough. But there's still the issue of how (Y/n)'s even an airbender. You know everyone's going to assume I had an affair with Tenzin. That's what I'd think. We'll need to brding the paternity tests and try to find out why (Y/n) can airbend," Yuma reminded her.

"I agree. Okay, obviously, if she's an airbender we must be descendants of Air Nomads. One of the girls I use to teach, Miyu, works in the archives at Republic City. I'll call her to send our family records over," Zoh told her.

"That's great! Alright, this is a real game plan. I feel much better now. Thank you," Yuma sighed.

"No need to thank me for doing my job," Zoh smiled.

At that, the older woman walked to the telephone and dialed this old student's number. Yuma began to anxiously pace around the room while Zoh talked to her former student. After a few minutes, which honestly felt like hours, Zoh ended the call.

"Alright, I asked Miyu to get her hands on both of our family trees and there shouldn't be any problem getting them to us. It'll take about a week until they're here," Zoh told her.

"Really? A whole week?" Yuma asked, visibly disappointed.

"Patience is a virtue, dear," Zoh grinned.

"Boo patience! I want to know now!" the Fire Nation woman whined childishly.

"Honestly, so do I. I don't think we should contact Katara until we have as much proof as we can get. This is going to be a rather hard hit for her," Zoh sighed.

"That's true. So for the next week we're just waiting?" Yuma frowned.

"Afraid so," the older woman confirmed.

"I'm nervous, Mom. This is huge. I'm worried this will somehow get out before we can get to Katara," Yuma admitted.

"I know, but please try not to worry. It's one week. We'll just keep her inside. And close all the blinds. We can just tell her a nasty snowstorm is coming. She's not going to know the difference," Zoh suggested.

"Oh, lying to my child. Hate to say it, but I kind of love that idea,"Yuma sighed.

"It's just one week. It can't be that hectic."

**********************

It was, in fact, that hectic.

Zoh was gracious enough to let Yuma and (Y/n) stay at her place until they got the family tree from the archives. Yuma's pretty sure that her child has rearranged the entire house at least fifteen times.

(Y/n) was restless. Ever since she found out she could airbend, it was the only thing she wanted to do. Yuma obviously didn't know much about airbending, but it's starting to look like her daughter's a bit of a prodigy. There's just no way a five year old should be able to airbend two chairs all the way up to the ceiling at the same time.

Yuma's daughter started to get irritated that the ceiling was in the way of her bending, so (Y/n) keeps trying to convince them to take her outside. Obviously, that's so not happening, so Yuma is trying to make (Y/n) focus on bending as many objects as possible instead of seeing how high they can float.

This child needs a damn airbending teacher. Yuma really could not wait until they could contact Tenzin.

To put it bluntly, when the family records came back, both women were relieved. (Y/n) thankfully is taking a nap, so they don't have to hide the papers.

After a couple minutes of searching through the results, Yuma finally found the Air Nomad in her very extensive family history of Fire Nation family members. Her name was Ina.

Yikes.

That is the first word that comes to mind when looking at Ina's rather short life. The records give very basic information. Birth date, death date, what kind of bender they were, and cause of death. The poor woman died at the age of twenty two, three months after giving birth to her only son. Ina had been burned alive. This was right at the start of the hundred year war. A Fire Nation soldier must have found her out.

Her son ended up being a firebender, which was for the best considering the fact that he also would have been killed if he inherited her airbending. What a tragedy.

"Did you find any Air Nomads on your side?" Zoh asked, effectively breaking the silence.

"Yeah, her name was Ina. Poor thing died from getting killed by a firebender when she was twenty two. It was at the start of the hundred year war. Had one firebending child. Any on your side?" Yuma asked.

"That's just awful. And yes, I actually did. Allin was his name. He was also about twenty when the hundred year war started, but must have hid himself well. Married a waterbender and had three children. Two of them were waterbenders and one was a nonbender. Died at the ripe age of eighty seven," Zoh informed her.

"Huh. I mean, Ina was in the very nation that wanted to eradicate the airbenders. That's probably why she got caught," Yuma frowned.

"Well, we've got what we need. Are we still going to start the journey to Katara's tomorrow like we originally planned?" the Water Tribe woman asked.

"I think that's best. I'm not sure if your furniture will survive if we wait," Yuma joked.

"Who cares about stupid furniture? My granddaughter is an airbender! That's so much better than furniture. I'll call Katara, tell her it's an urgent matter and I must speak to her immediately," Zoh laughed.

"Alright, I'll go and pack for all three of us. It's going to be a long journey," Yuma noted.

"Perfect. You already grabbed the paternity tests, right?" Zoh asked.

"Who do you think I am?" Yuma snorted.

She opened the top cabinet in the kitchen and revealed all four paternity tests.

"Show off," Zoh grinned.

Yuma merely laughed and walked to the room she was staying in to start packing. A few minutes later Zoh joined her. Apparently Katara was thrilled to get a house call so there was no issue there.

All Yuma told (Y/n) was that they were going to visit Gran Gran's old friend. The little girl just seemed happy to get out of the house, so she was ready for the journey.

Before they left, Yuma made sure to tell (Y/n) that airbending was their special secret and she would get to show Gran Gran's friend when they visited. (Y/n) didn't seem to put up a fuss about it, so off they went.

**********************

The trio made it to Katara's hut with zero incident. That was Yuma's main worry. She finally felt like she could relax when they walked up to the waterbending master's front door.

Zoh knocked a couple times before Katara opened the door. She smiled brightly before greeting Zoh with a tight hug.

"Oh, it's wonderful to see you again. I take it that these lovely ladies must be the wonderful daughter and granddaughter I've heard so much about," Katara said with a smile.

"Yes, that's us. It's an honor to meet you, Master Katara," Yuma said with a polite smile.

And it really was. This woman is kind of a living legend, after all. Yuma then nudged her daughter to give the woman a proper greeting. In (Y/n)'s defense, it's a pretty early morning so the little girl is still incredibly sleepy.

"G'morning, Miss Katara," (Y/n) yawned.

Katara laughed at the greeting, clearly finding (Y/n) as cute as Yuma does.

"Oh please, just call me Katara. Master and Miss is just so formal. Not really my style. Now come on in, it's a particularly cold day today," Katara said as she stepped aside for them to enter.

They walked into the beautiful hut and sat down on the couch. Zoh and Katara made small talk while (Y/n) leaned on Yuma's side, probably about to fall back asleep.

"Alright, you said there was a family emergency that only I could help with. I'd love to assist you out in any way I can," Katara said once they were all settled.

"Okay, before we show you what we're about to show you, I'm gonna need you to really look at these paternity tests," Zoh said as she handed Katara (Y/n)'s tests.

Obviously, Katara was confused but did as requested.

"Alright, her father is very clearly a man named Taro. What is this about?" Katara asked.

"Time to wake up, Turtle Duck. Show Katara your awesome magic trick," Yuma smiled while gently nudging (Y/n) awake.

"Must you demand me to perform when I clearly need rest?" (Y/n) grumbled.

Yuma snorted. Where in the four nations did this child get her sass from?

"If you do it now I'll let you have dessert before dinner," the Fire Nation woman said, blatantly bribing her child.

"Okay!" (Y/n) said brightly.

"Only use the marble trick, (Y/n). This is not your grandmother's house, Katara will not appreciate you rearranging her furniture," Yuma reminded her.

"Well you're no fun," (Y/n) grumbled.

Ultimately, she grabbed the little marbles from her pocket. Katara is looking more confused by the minute. Who can blame her?

With ease, (Y/n) put two marbles in between her palms and got them to rapidly spin around in a circle. Katara's jaw immediately fell open. The marbles fell back onto (Y/n)'s palm and she smiled. Then she plopped back onto the couch and fell asleep on Yuma's lap in about three seconds.

"(Y/n)'s an airbender, Katara. She's an airbender that needs training and your son is the only person alive that can help her," Zoh stated.

Katara looked like she was having a hard time processing this information. Yuma could relate. Katara then looked back down at the paternity tests like she really couldn't believe this child isn't Tenzin's. A completely understandable reaction.

"But how?" was all the older woman could muster out.

"Well. As it would turn out, (Y/n) is a descendant of Air Nomads from both sides of her family," Zoh told her.

Zoh pulled out her's and Yuma's family tree and pointed out the Air Nomads on each side.

"I'm not all that into genetic research, but something tells me it's almost impossible for (Y/n) to be an airbender. But she is and we need to know if Tenzin would be willing to train her," Zoh told her.

"Willing? Are you kidding me? Tenzin is going to be thrilled! Oh, it's his biggest dream to revive Air Nomad culture. Another living airbender not related to him is unimaginable. I have no doubt in my mind that he will be more than happy to train you daughter," Katara insisted now that she's relatively over her shock.

"Oh, that's wonderful news," Yuma sighed, utterly relieved.

"I need to call him right now. I'll make sure he gets here as fast as possible," the waterbending master informed them.

"Are you going to tell him (Y/n) can airbend over the phone?" Zoh asked curiously.

"Over the phone? Hah! I want to see his face when he finds this out. I'll just tell him it's urgent. If he leaves right after I call, his sky bison should get him here by the end of the day," Katara told them.

Oh thank spirits, it was going to be a quick situation. To be quite frank, Yuma has gotten really sick of waiting.

After getting off the phone with her son, Katara was kind enough to make them tea. While Tenzin would get here at some point today, it would be close to sunset when he arrived.

When (Y/n) woke up from her nap, Katara was heavily encouraging her to airbend. Yeah, the furniture was rearranged yet again. Thankfully, the waterbending master didn't mind at all. If all else fails, (Y/n) has a real future at being a one woman move in service.

As the sun began to hide behind the mountains, a loud roar was heard from outside. Katara got up from her chair, already knowing Tenzin had arrived. His wife, Pema, joined him in greeting his mother and introducing themselves to Yuma's family.

Yuma made sure to show Pema specifically (Y/n)'s parentage. They were, of course, confused out of their minds.

"Alright Turtle Duck, you know what to do," Yuma nodded.

"Do I get to move the chair?" (Y/n) asked excitedly.

"I don't see why not at this point," Yuma snorted.

(Y/n) then used her airbending to push the chair to the ceiling and gently lowered it back down. Zoh began clapping as Pema and Tenzin looked at (Y/n) with dropped jaws. Huh, Tenzin actually looked exactly like Katara with that expression. Strong genes.

"I know this seems impossible, but my daughter is an airbender. An airbender who needs a teacher. Master Tenzin, please, take on (Y/n) as a student," Yuma asked him.

Then, Tenzin fainted.

"I have to say, he took that much better than I thought he would," Katara noted.

Pema looked down at her husband then proceeded to check his pulse. (Y/n) frowned and looked down at the fallen man.

"Um, is he going to be okay?" the young girl asked.

"Eh, he'll be fine. But, more importantly, this is incredible! Another airbender! I know he's a little unconscious right now, but Tenzin will be more than happy to train your daughter. It's just, there's a bit of an issue with the living situation," Pema said while trailing off.

"I'm fully prepared to move wherever you need me to in order for (Y/n) to get proper training," Yuma said with zero hesitation.

She'd do anything for her daughter. This wouldn't be the first time Yuma's uprooted her entire life for family. If she's done it twice already, what's one more move?

"Cool, when are we moving?" Zoh asked.

"Oh, that's wonderful! That's really the only concern I had. We'll hash out the finer details once my husband regains consciousness," Pema smiled.

Yuma nodded and watched on as Pema then tended to the still knocked out man. The newly realized airbender furrowed her brows and aggressively crossed her arms.

"Mommy, I don't want to move. I want to stay near Gran Gran," (Y/n) frowned.

"Well that's an easy fix. I'm moving with you two," Zoh casually stated.

She's going to what now?

"Oh, okay! We can move now," (Y/n) said with a bright smile.

"Really, Mom? But you have a life here! You have work and-" Yuma began.

"And you two. I can find young waterbenders to train anywhere, but there's only one place where my family is. Besides, (Y/n) is going to be training as a bender. You're going to need a good healer on standby when accidents happen," Zoh told her.

Yuma sighed and wrapped the other woman in a firm hug. Zoh readily embraced her back. She watched as her daughter excitedly started to jump up and down at the prospect of her grandmother moving with them.

Yuma's daughter is an airbender. One of two in all four nations. Motherhood is not for the weak.

**********************

(Thirteen Years Later)

Korra sighed as she took a seat on one of the benches on Air Temple Island. It's been, to put it bluntly, an insane day. Republic City certainly isn't what she thought it would be. It's not like she had much of a choice, though. As the Avatar, she needed to learn to airbend. The selection of airbending masters are slim pickings given the fact that there's literally only two.

Given Tenzin's major responsibilities in Republic City, it did make sense that he wouldn't be able to get away from it even though it was always the plan for him to move to the South to teach her. What's always stumped Korra was the other airbending master, (Y/n). Mainly because they've never even met.

Tenzin's family visits rather infrequently to see Katara and Korra while she was in the South Pole. Korra’s heard all sorts of things about (Y/n) from the whole family over the years but the airbender’s never made an actual appearance. Apparently, the reason why the (Y/n) is unable to teach Korra is because she’s the one that gets sent out when there’s trouble with sky bison poachers. Some assignments take weeks, others take months and Korra doesn’t have that kind of time.

This (Y/n) girl has a pretty impressive track record. Got her airbending tattoos at age eleven, making her the youngest airbending master in recorded history. Korra remembers reading a paper a few years ago where (Y/n) saved a bunch of people from falling to their death in some gang related incident at the age of fourteen. Poor girl also had to fight off said gang members.

Korra’s always been quite curious about this air bending master. She figured now that she’s in Republic City and ultimately lives on the same island (Y/n) does, they would meet eventually. For now, Korra just has to wait.

Korra strolled around the island, looking for something to do. Maybe she could find an open space to train or something. She had some time to kill before dinner. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw a couple adorable baby sky bison playing together. If Korra doesn’t get to pet one she might actually die. Knowing bison are a fan of apples, Korra picked a couple from the tree and held them out to the babies.

“C’mon little buddies, I’m not going to hurt you,” Korra cooed at the sweet little animals.

One of the babies perked up at the sight of the apple in Korra’s hand and began waddling towards her. Yes! Just when the baby was nearing Korra’s hand, she seemed to have been struck by an intense gust of wind.

Korra groaned as she landed on her back. Unfortunately, the madness did not stop there. Before she could even blink, Korra was literally suspended in mid air. She could feel air rushing at her from all sides, pinning all her limbs together as if she was in a strait jacket. Damn, she could barely breathe.

Okay, now Korra's starting to panic. She can't move which means she can't bend. Plus she has zero idea who is attacking her right now.

"Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing to those bison?!" a woman's voice snapped.

At least now she can see the woman currently assaulting her. The attacker looked to be about Korra's age with (h/c) hair tied into a braid. Huh, her attacker is actually kind of pretty. But most notably, she had airbending tattoos.

Well this is not how Korra wanted to meet the other airbending master. She may not even need to deal with awkward introductions because Korra's pretty sure she's loosing consciousness.

"Korra, dinner's re- (Y/N) DROP HER RIGHT NOW THAT IS THE AVATAR!" Tenzin yelled in a frenzy.

The stern look on the airbender's face fell into a shocked one. Her arms flopped to her sides, releasing Korra from her air like prison. Korra doesn't even care that she managed to cut her arm on the fall down, she's just happy to be on solid ground again. The girl that can now certainly be identified as (Y/n) is just standing there in pure disbelief.

"She's the who now-"

#avatar the last airbender #legend of korra #korra x reader x asami #korra x asami #korrasami #korrasami x reader #korra x y/n #korra x you #korra x reader #asami x reader #airbender reader #lok x reader

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onebourbon-oneshot-onetear · 12 days ago

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Familiar- Eric Northman x witch!y/n

Just a small Eric x y/n oneshot that I couldn't get out of my mind as I'm watching True Blood for the first time. Hopefully more to come as I finish watching it...

My hand had started cramping with the effort of the continuous stirring of my cauldron. My most recent calming potion was in a particularly tricky phase and I certainly didn’t want to have to start over. The shimmering fumes coming off of the cauldron spiraled around my head and the condensation beaded against my eyelashes. Between the floral smell of the potion, the flickering candle light, and the summer heat, my head started to feel heavy and I literally had to fight with my eyelids to keep me awake so I could continue stirring.

Once the stirring pattern was complete, I lowered the gas on the stove and ran a hand over my burning eyes. The potion had to simmer for a few minutes before the next steps and I desperately needed to sit down.

Before I could even take a step the hairs prickled on my neck as I felt eyes on me. This wasn’t like the spirits I often felt around the area, these were actual, physical eyes. I stilled, closing my eyes and sensing around me before opening them a moment later, my body immediately relaxing as I recognized the scent wafting through my back door. “It’s rude to linger in doorways, Eric,” I said, turning around to stare at the tall Viking leaning against the open door.

He smirked, sending my heart into flutters. Any idiot could see that Eric Northman was a good looking man. Gorgeous even. As a human and a vampire, especially when the paleness brought out the blue of his already striking eyes. Usually witches and vamps stayed away from each other. But the area around Bon Temps was only so big and the supernatural circles were pretty small.

“I’m not lingering. I’m just waiting to be invited in,” he said, running his hands along the door jamb.

I chuckled, turning around to fill up my kettle. “You know you don’t need to be invited in, Eric.” The vampire had been coming over weekly for a few months now. The first time I had invited him in was when we were both dealing with the typical drama around Bon Temps and he thought I needed protection. After that, he started showing up on random nights. He was like a stray cat, coming and going as he pleased.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to think I was being rude,” He said, strolling in through my back door and pulling one of the kitchen chairs out. He sat on it backwards, his hands draped over the back of the chair and his head resting on his arms, watching me as I mill about the kitchen making tea.

“You? Nobody could ever mistake you as rude,” I said, pulling down my favorite mug from the cabinet. He chuckled but didn’t answer. I looked back and was met with the familiar sight of him sitting in my chair, watching me. It had become quite a habit of his it seemed. Most nights he didn’t say anything, and I sat in his comfortable silence, working on whatever project was keeping my hands busy.

I poured my tea and pulled out a kitchen chair, sitting across from Eric. We didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I just sat and watched him as he looked around my kitchen. I followed his gaze, getting lost in my little kitchen. It wasn’t much. I had found a small farmhouse for sale that was over 100 years old. With how long I had been alive, money wasn’t much of a problem. I fixed up the house with a few modern touches but it wasn’t anything crazy. I had kept the kitchen large but simple. Green cabinets with wooden counter tops, little trinkets, cook and spell books, brass pots and pans. And of course the dozens of bulks of drying herbs, cauldrons of various sizes, and candles on every available surface. Despite modern times, I had always preferred candle light over artificial.

Keeping my kitchen stocked was always important for my business. I had become Bon Temps resident healer. The people were skeptical at first, and most probably didn’t realize I was an actual witch. The potions and charms I made and sold could be considered healers work - natural remedies to most common ailments. I knew my clientele and didn’t charge an arm and a leg for medicines. This kept orders from the townfolk very steady, along with a steady income. i had always taken great pride in my work and craft, and with the sprawling gardens I had to upkeep for my ingredients.

My wandering eyes went back to the vampire in my kitchen, and I was a little startled when the shocking blue eyes were already looking at mine. I slowly smiled before sipping my tea. Eric mirrored my smile and the sight almost took my breath away and made my chest flutter again.

“Can I ask you something?” I murmured around the lip of the mug. Eric nodded, the smile still on his face. “Why do you keep coming here?”

The smile left his face and something was in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place. “Do you not like me coming here?”

“No, I do,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. “I just don’t understand,” I trailed off. Quite frankly, I loved the quiet nights featuring Eric’s company and I was often disappointed on the nights he didn't come by. I was always shown a softer side of him that I felt most people very rarely got a chance to see.

He looked around the room, almost like he was unsure before settling his eyes back on me. “You’re familiar.” He didn’t say anything when I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him. It was another minute before he spoke. “The smell of your kitchen, the herbs, the candlelight, it reminds me of home. Of my human life.” I had no idea what to say to that. I kept staring at him and he did the same.

“Oh,” I mumbled. I didn’t even know what to say. The thought of bringing him that sense of comfort was…well, I didn’t even know what word to use to describe the warmth that settled in my chest.

“You, calm me. Honestly in ways I didn’t know I could be anymore,” he continued. He stared into the fire and seemed to get lost in thought.

We sat in silence for about ten more minutes, both of us lost in thought. “Do you ever miss the cold?” I blurted out.

“What?” He asked. He didn’t seem annoyed, just genuinely curious.

“The cold. I grew up in the north and I miss genuine winters so much. It’s always so hot here all the time. It never snows, their version of cold is like, 70 degrees, and I have boxes of sweaters just going to waste.” As I rambled, the smile on Eric’s face got bigger and bigger until it stretched his face. “What?” I laughed.

“I do miss the cold. Very much,” he finally said, shaking his head. I chuckled, and took another sip of my tea.

“Eric, you know I don’t mind you coming over. You’re always welcome here.” I said standing up and putting my hand on his shoulder.

He stared at me before grabbing my hand and lightly kissing the back of it. “Thank you, Y/N.”

I could feel the blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. Eric’s eyes followed the trail of color and he smiled again. I had to look away from his piercing eyes before I melted on the spot. My eyes caught my cauldron on the stove and I jumped.

��My potion!” I said rushing over to the stove and adding the few ingredients I needed. I don’t know how long I worked on it, before I remembered Eric’s presence. I looked back, and he was in the same spot, staring at me with an incredibly soft look on his face. I smiled, and turned back to the stove, not minding the Vikings presence in my kitchen. And hoping that his visits became a more regular occurrence.

#True blood #Eric northman #Eric Northman x reader #Eric Northman x Y/N #alexander skarsgard #Oneshot #reader insert #vampire

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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

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THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion. The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction.

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him.

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well.

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring.

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you.

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear.

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint.

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces@avengersheart@lunatic1012@keepingupwiththeskywalkers@mxltifxnd0m@syviiss@luckyzipperscissorsbat@avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil@n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x forcesensitive!reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian rewrite

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thaleleah · 4 months ago

Text

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝔀𝓸)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal, Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.5K

A/N: So sorry this took so long! 🥺 But I hope you guys like it and I'm hopeful that the next part won't take nearly as long to get out.

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The ride to Joe’s cabin only takes a few hours, and the sun is high in the sky by the time Sam helps you down from your seat. You hastily make your way to the front door, opening the latch and pushing it open, keeping it propped with a heavy rock laid by the door while Sam opens the back of the wagon. The journey inside is a bit more difficult this time. Billy gasps in pain when you stumble on the front stairs, tripping over your tunic and jerking his body down accidentally as a result. He’s breathing harshly when you and Sam are able to lay him down on your brother’s bed and you once again find yourself whispering apology after apology as you lift his shirt and the bandage to check on his wound.

Thankfully, there’s no tears or rips. You were only able to bring a little bit of the suture material and enough extra bandages in your bag to get you by. The clinic has limited materials as it is, so you only packed what you thought the clinic could spare. It’s enough to completely redo his stitches if necessary, but you’re hoping it won’t ever come to that.

Billy’s safe here now, he will not be leaving the bed until he’s well enough to start moving around on his own.

His hand comes down to rest on top of your own, pushing your hand down and forcing you to recover the stitches with the bandage as his fingers curl around your palm.

“Hey,” He says softly, calling your eyes to his tired ones. “I'm okay.”

His hand is gentle on yours, thumb lazily sweeping back and forth across the back of it. You pull it away, smoothing your tunic down again just for something else to do with your hands.

You didn’t even notice when Sam left the room, too preoccupied with checking on Billy’s wound, but your head turns at the sound of his boots on the steps of the porch. He steps back into the cabin, a crate held in his hands filled with food and other supplies and you let out a grateful sigh at the sight of it.

“Thank you, Sam,” You say, watching as he deposits the crate just on the side of the doorway. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping us. You’re a good man,”

Sam smiles shyly at your words of praise, and out of the corner of your eye you notice how Billy’s head snaps towards him.

“Of course, Sister y/n. Anything for you and the other Sisters,”

“Are you sure this is alright? You don’t need it for your delivery?”

“No,” He says with a shake of his head. “I packed it for you to have,”

You cup Sam’s cheek in thanks and shoot another glance towards Billy just to make sure he’s okay. His face is turned to the side again, pressing against the pillow for comfort, but you can see how his eyes are still on you, following your every move as you follow Sam out of the cabin.

Poor Billy, he must still be so nervous. So on edge about being hunted like he's nothing more than a rabid animal needing to be put down. Hopefully now that he's safe and out of harm's way, he can find some peace.

You walk Sam out, watching as he checks the horses and settles himself on the seat.

“I’ll come back in two weeks,” He promises. “That should be enough time for the search for him to wind down. Can't let people get suspicious. I have another delivery to do 'round then. I'll bring you some extra food and supplies.”

You wave as he nudges the wagon into motion and wait until he’s completely out of view over the hill before heading back inside and closing the door behind you.

Billy’s still watching you as you move about the main living area. Your brother’s bed has a direct line of eyesight into the front area, so Billy doesn’t even have to move to be able to watch you as you settle your bag and extra blankets onto the floor. You’ve told Joe before about how dangerous you think it is to have his bed in clear sight of the entrance, but he’s told you many times that he doesn’t like being told what to do.

“Besides, you know what it was like,” You remember him telling you. “Sleeping soundly in that house was never an option. And that feeling never goes away. If someone ever tries to break in here and attack me, I’ll already be awake and ready with my gun pointed at them before they even make it through the front door.”

As much as it pained you to hear, you know the truth of it. You’ve gotten better, you think. Whereas when you were younger, you would wake from the slightest noise, terrified of what might come after it. But now you find you can sleep through the night with very little problems. It’s not perfect - some nights are harder than others, but you credit God and the wonderful family you’ve found at the convent. They gave you rest, taught you to give your fears to the Lord so that he may take the burden they bear from you. They gave you peace in the world when you had none, and for that you will be eternally grateful.

Joe has not been so lucky, choosing instead to lock himself away in solitude rather than give his grievances up for absolvement. You pray for him every day despite his reluctance, asking God for guidance on his behalf.

The entire cabin is almost bare, sparse furniture just enough to be convenient. Despite your prayers, you know the ghost of the past still hovers over your brother's shoulder and even still, you wonder how he can stand to call this place a home with how unloved it feels.

“How do you know Sam?” Billy asks, and the cabin is small enough that his voice carries from room to room.

“He and his father run one of the markets in town,” You reply. You make your way into the bedroom, pulling the now rumpled blankets from under Billy's body and adjusting them so they lay over him neatly. “They’re our suppliers.”

“You seem very close,” Billy says, absently running his fingers over the edge of the blanket.

“Oh, well, he’s a dear friend,”

“You sure you can trust him?”

You nod, a small twinge offended at the implication of Sam being untrustworthy. After what he just risked to get you both here and Billy still doubts him? You stomp the feeling down just as quick as it flares. “Sam is incredibly loyal. He would never betray us,”

Billy’s mouth turns up in an unpleasant curl. “I think he likes you,”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I should hope so. Otherwise, he is a very good actor,”

He huffs a small laugh at your attempt at a joke, but it doesn’t really sound joyful. “Not like that,”

It takes a second for your brain to register his vague words, but when they do your mouth falls open in shock at the bold statement. “No. No, no. Certainly not. Not me anyway,”

Oops. Perhaps you’ve said too much.

Now it’s Billy’s brows that furrow and he stares at you, hard, as if trying to read your mind about what you’ve meant. They shoot up as it clicks for him, a smirk pulling at his lips at the realization. “Him and one of the other nuns?”

“No!” You gasp. “Absolutely not. Sam just– bless his heart. He… has romantic feelings for one of the Sisters.”

“She doesn’t feel the same?”

Not exactly. Sam and Sister Ann have a connection that anyone with eyes can’t deny. They help complete each other and help each other grow in ways that one can only hope to experience in this life. Sister Ann has even confided in you that, while she doesn’t regret joining the church, she can’t help but think that if she had met Sam sooner then she would have said her vows to him instead of straight to God.

“It’s not that simple,” You settle with. “She’s a woman of faith and she’s spoken for by the church. They can’t be together regardless of what she may feel. Sam understands.”

Billy hums, a low and displeased sound. “Hm. Poor Sam,”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, so you don’t. Billy’s still frowning, so you tell him he should rest some more while you go fix up some lunch for you both. You’re happy to find that the simple stew made from some deer meat your brother had stored before his current trip is enough to cut the sudden unexpected tension and return him to good spirits.

Things are calmer now that you’ve arrived at the cabin. There’s very little risk of unwanted visitors and your brother’s last letter puts him deep in Texas and considering venturing upwards, so you're confident that he won’t be coming home anytime soon.

You’ve heard stories about Billy the Kid. Your patients like to talk, surprisingly gossipy considering most should be too sick or too involved with their pain to speak. But they push through their uncomfortableness to tell you stories of the young outlaw whose face is on the Most Wanted posters in at least three separate counties.

“He’s a ruthless killer.”

“A no-good murderer.”

“A good person who’s just had back luck.”

“A kindly fellow. He helped scare off some kids who were robbin’ me!”

And as you talk to Billy more and more, you can’t help but agree with the last two opinions. Billy is a sweetheart - respectful and kind like any man should be towards any woman despite her role in society. He listens with rapt attention as you tell him stories of your travels as you clean and re-bandage his wound. He nods when you tell him about the difference between the Utah territory and the Montana territory, and laughs when you tell him about your very memorable trip to Mexico where you climbed off the wagon and didn’t even take one step before face planting in a pile of mud. His grin is almost blinding when you tell him about the day you and your brother reunited after two years apart.

“Your brother’s name is Joe?” He asks.

“Mhm,” You confirm, leaning back into the chair you’ve placed next to the bed.

“My brother’s name was Joe, too,”

“Oh,” You smile despite the twinge in your heart. The word ‘was’ is almost devastating to hear. “It’s a good name. A strong name.”

Billy nods and his voice is barely above a whisper as he responds, “Yeah, it is,” and you think you can physically see the light die in his eyes as he thinks about it, the look of happiness he had just a second ago completely snuffed out by past memories.

You don’t want to pry, it’s not your place. But then he glances at you with those big blue eyes of his and all you see is hurt. God has put you on this Earth to be a healer, and you think that turning away now would be doing both Him and the broken man in front of you a disservice.

“Was he older or younger?” You ask, softly. “Your brother,”

“Younger,” he responds, and your heart breaks more at the rueful smile he sends you. “He died. Consumption. My mother too.”

Oh. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Billy. I can only imagine how hard that must have been,”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s not even looking at you now, just staring off into the distance as if somewhere else.

You lean forward, placing a careful hand on his arm. “Tell me about them?”

This time, the smile is real.

You learn over the next few days that Billy’s faith is in even worse shape than you feared.

For most, the presence of God is never fully gone from their hearts. Most who you’ve talked to who are rocky with their faith feel abandoned, cast aside as if The Heavenly Father were to play favorites and they’ve somehow found themselves on the losing side of the ‘sibling’ competition. Others feel betrayed by Him - those who have suffered great loss or tragedy and can’t understand how someone who’s entire being is made up in the light of faith and love can allow such heartbreak and suffering to happen to His children.

You do your best to soothe their heavy hearts. You tell them that God works in mysterious ways and that each and every person has their own trials and lessons in life that they must learn and overcome.

“Everything happens for a reason,” You say. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. But He is always by our side, speaking to us. All we have to do is listen.”

Words are not as powerful as feelings or actions, but you’re always grateful whenever your words are able to help heal any of their woes, even if just a little bit.

Billy, however… you are horrified to see that his faith is gone completely.

He talks about how he came to New Mexico and all he’s seen on the way. His start in New York City and the promise of a better life in Kansas. The lies and tragedy they were met with there. The death of his father.

“I think my Pa knew there was no one up there lookin’ out for us even back then,” Billy says, and it takes everything you have in you to stay silent at the horrific statement. “That’s why he just… gave up.”

For all that you disagree with, you can understand why Billy feels the way he does. He truly has had no one in his corner - devastating hardship after devastating hardship throughout the entirety of his life and he’s had to fight tooth and nail, carving a place out in the world for himself by force, just to get a bit of peace that should have been readily given to him.

“Tell me, Sister. When you’re by yourself in the world, young and alone and starvin’, not a penny to your name and no work for you in the entire county, what else are you supposed to do?”

The tears welling in your eyes match the ones threatening to spring from his.

“Exactly what you did,” You whisper back.

A single tear escapes one red rimmed eye, running down the curve of his cheek. “Is that what your god does? Leave children to steal or starve and then let them be arrested and made into a criminal when they choose not to just roll over and die?”

The lump in your throat refuses to go down. “We can’t know what the Lord’s plan is for us. It’s a mystery meant for us to unravel,” Your words are true, but they feel bitter on your tongue. “No matter how hard it might be.”

Billy’s eyes soften at your words, thick lashes clumping together with unshed tears, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of emotion.

“You remind me of my Ma,”

He’s told you about his Ma. A kindly, religious minded woman whose devotion to God and her ‘rotten, cheatin’, stealin’ ass husband’ was her downfall.

“‘I won’t leave him’ she said.” Billy had huffed, hands squeezing into fists as they wrapped tightly around the blanket. “‘I said my vows before God and the Catholic church’. What am I supposed to say to that?”

You can see how it eats at him - still after all these years since his mother��s passing and the guilt of not being able to save her, to protect her from anything and everything trying to harm her, it gnaws away at his heart. You think she might have been his best friend.

“Yeah, you remind me of my Ma,” He repeats, voice soft and low, and you wonder if this is the voice that he used to use when talking to her. “She was optimistic too. A dreamer, always tryin’ to see the best in people when all they do is show you their worst.”

“She sounds like a lovely lady,” You say. It’s genuine - you think it would have been an honor to meet the woman that Billy called a mother had you ever gotten the chance.

The woman who was strong for her family when it felt like the entire world was crumbling down around them. The woman who pushed for progress and courage when they uprooted their entire lives in hopes of finding something better elsewhere and held it together for the sake of her children when their father passed. The woman who sacrificed staying in an unfaithful and unhappy marriage for the sake of her kids and loyalty to God’s will.

“The vows we make are meant to be for eternity, Billy,” You had told him. “They are not to be broken easily or without consequence. If they were, there would be no point in making them and they would lose their significance.”

Your own mother knew that too. Despite how much you wanted her to leave him when you were younger - run away just you, Mama, and Joe - she never did.

“My father wasn’t a very nice man either,” You say, eventually. “Like your stepdad. He was cruel. He would hit her, and Joe…” The me remains unspoken, but understood anyway.

Billy remains silent, but his eyes are on you, listening with full attention to whatever you’re about to tell him. The idea that maybe God has sent Billy into your life to help heal some unresolved part of you, too, isn’t lost on you.

“I know that we are all God’s children,” You say. “And I know that there is good in all people. But sometimes… I think the Devil’s hold is much too strong on some. Because I can’t remember even one ounce of goodness in my father.”

“Is your mother still with him?”

“No. She’s dead.”

The days go by with an unexpected ease that you're grateful for.

You talk, and talk, and talk - and honestly, that's about as much as you can do. Your brother has nothing. No forms of entertainment and no distractions that wouldn't be considered laborious and harmful for Billy's recovery.

You like to talk though. Like to get to know people and have other's get to know you in return. Each person is unique - an extension of God and an example of His love for us personified.

It's even better when the energetic connection is instant, two souls recognizing each other and relating to each other in a way that you think all of God's children should be able to. Talking with Billy is easy, and despite the differences in religious views, you find that conversation between the both of you flows like water. And when that water sometimes finds itself hitting the shore of land, you find that Sam has come through for you once again.

Sam, bless his soul, has had the forethought to pack a chess board and a pack of playing cards in his care package, and you find that they become quite handy when the rare silence between conversations becomes too stretched.

Despite the initial stress and your reasoning for being here, it's nice.

Five days into the stay at your brother’s place finds you relieved to see that Billy’s wound is still making progress with its healing. You were a little concerned that the threat of being caught and the additional stress on the stitches from the abrupt movements of being transferred to the cabin could have brought about an infection, but the area around the injury still looks clean.

You make sure to send up a quick prayer of thanks for the Good Lord’s grace.

While Billy’s wound is healing nicely, your back, on the other hand, is in significant pain.

Joe’s place is built for one, so the single bed in the only bedroom is more than enough to house him when he’s home. For two, however - it’s a little problematic.

Billy gets the bed, that’s a given. He’s injured, and people need to be comfortable with lots of rest so that they can heal properly. You’re no stranger to uncomfortable sleeping spaces anyway. You’ve spent more than your share of nights on the floor of dusty inns during your travels and, to be completely honest, it's not like the beds at the convent were much better. It’s moments like this where it reminds you of how many things humans take for granted in their day-to-day lives. Sometimes it takes losing something for someone to appreciate it.

Despite the uncomfortableness, sleeping on the floor has never really bothered you much. It’s been a few years since you’ve had to do it though. Even on the round-the-clock shifts at the clinic there’s at least been a cot available to you, but here there’s only the hard wooden floor and the single blanket you’ve allowed yourself to claim.

And, perhaps you aren’t as young as you used to be, because the shooting pain in your back as you carefully roll to your side has you gasping.

Billy must hear the noise because you can hear the slight ruffle of bedding as he shifts, his voice calling out a concerned, “Sister, you alright?”

“Fine,” You call back through gritted teeth. Every movement feels like torture as you brace your hands on the floor to help push you up. You can do it, you tell yourself. You can do it. God willing… “Just- ah! Just trying to– get up.”

The rustling of the bedding sounds more deliberate now and you’re shouting from your place on the floor before you can think about what you’re doing. “Don’t you dare get out of that bed, William Bonney! Or so help me,”

The rustling stops, and you steel yourself to try to push up and off the floor. It feels like a miracle when you’re on your feet. Your garments are wrinkled and slightly dusted, but that’s to be expected out here. It’s the bare space on the floor that gives you pause. How are you meant to sleep on the floor again tonight with the way you feel right now? The thought seems almost unbearable. Perhaps Billy will spare one of his extra blankets - the slight extra cushion could be all you need.

At least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

A few steps takes you into the bedroom and your suspicions are confirmed when you see Billy sitting up in the bed, blankets pooling down at his waist as his arms prop himself up, his right leg is just swung over the edge of the bed at the knee in a perfect indication of his intention of getting up.

Ignoring the pain in your back, you walk forward, clicking your tongue in disapproval as you push him back down flat with a firm hand to his forehead. He goes back willingly, moving his leg back in place when you tap on his knee.

“You could have pulled your stitches trying to get up like that,” You reprimand.

“‘So help you’ what?” He responds.

“What?”

“You said ‘or so help me’. So, ‘or so help me’ what?” Billy says with a small playful smirk on his face.

“God,” You respond with a smile of your own. “So help me God. So that maybe He can send me some holy restraints to tie you to this bed to keep you from ripping your stitches and worsening your injury that I worked so hard on healing.”

Billy’s smirk widens. “Careful now, Sister. Some people like that kinda thing,”

You can feel the heat flood your face from his implication, eyes widening as your mouth parts in shock.

You don’t know how to respond - you’ve never been in this type of situation before. For men and all their faults, you’ve been lucky to find that most of them, even the criminals and frequent brothel visitors have mostly been respectful of your title. Inappropriate comments and jokes have rarely been said in your presence since becoming a nun, and on the rare occasion they have you’ve never been shocked since the offenders are always obvious the second they open their mouths.

But somehow it strikes you speechless to hear the sexual meaning coming from Billy’s lips.

“Oh, is that too much for the Angel’s ears?” He laughs. “M’sorry.”

You force a quiet laugh, working your lips into a small smile as you try to battle through the uncomfortableness. He’s just joking. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Men will be men for as sexually driven as they are, and some are just more outspoken about it than others. Billy’s been on his own since he was a young teen, running around with that band of outlaws who you’re sure are far worse than he is. You’ve had the displeasure of meeting Jesse Evans before. And you certainly weren’t shocked when the rude words fell from his mouth about how he imagined how good you would look without all that ‘modesty bullshit you have on’.

Billy isn’t Jesse though, so you just lightly smack his shoulder with the back of your hand as you let out a half teasing but mostly serious, “You watch your language around me, sir. I’m a lady,”

“Yes, ma’am,” He grins. “Yes, you are.”

You hum out a small sound of disapproval as you bend forward slightly to try and adjust the blankets that have twisted around his waist during his premature attempt to stand, but you're stopped when the sharp pain consequence of sleeping on the floor shoots up your spine. Billy starts at your loud gasp, hand darting out to grab your arm as if he could catch you if you suddenly dropped to the ground. Your hands press against your back in agony and they stay there as you slowly limp to the chair next to the bed.

Billy watches as you gingerly lower yourself into the seat. The pain doesn’t go away now that you’re sitting down, but at least you don’t have to move for a while. “What happened?”

“Sleeping on the floor hasn’t been very kind to me,” You respond through gritted teeth.

“You should sleep in the bed then,”

“No,” You say, shaking your head, appalled at the thought of kicking Billy out of the bed while he’s still healing. “You’re injured. You get the bed.”

The eyebrow raise you get in response tells you that you misunderstood his meaning. “I think we can both share the bed,”

“No,” You say, again. “No, no. It’s not proper.”

“Sister y/n–”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with harder things than just sleeping on the floor. A little back pain isn’t going to keep me down,”

Billy looks like he doesn’t believe you, but he keeps quiet on the matter anyway.

He distracts you instead by keeping you talking. He asks about why you decided to join the convent and take your vows. You tell him about your brother and how he couldn’t bear to be around your drunk of a father anymore, and how you harbored such anger at him for what felt like an eternity but was only actually a year and a half because you felt betrayed by him. Deserted and left to fend for yourself by your own brother. How you walked around your house praying to never be seen, acting like a ghost in your own home in hopes of keeping away any avoidable conflict. How your mother did her best to shelter you from it all, and you can tell by the way Billy’s brows furrow and his lips pinch together that he wants to say something harsh in response, but he stays silent. You can only imagine what he would say.

“Shelterin’ you would’ve been takin’ you far away from him, not forcin’ you to stay in a dangerous place just because she thinks it's what God wants. If that’s what God really wants, then maybe he’s the evil one, hm?”

You’re thankful he doesn’t actually say it. You’re not sure if you would have the right words to try to defend otherwise.

“Turning to God was the best thing I’ve ever done,” You say instead. “In Him I’ve found peace like I’ve never known before. I found a family and a purpose in life. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“That should be the bare minimum,”

Turns out it doesn’t matter what he decided to say because you don’t really have the right words to defend against that statement either.

“You deserve to have someone lookin’ out for you,” Billy says, and his stare is so earnest and intense that you can’t bare to look him in the eyes anymore.

“I’m… I’m going to go make breakfast,”

He watches you push yourself up from the chair, wincing as your back protests the movement, but doesn’t move to stop you.

You use the time you’re cooking to gather yourself. Prayers of apology fall from your lips to God as you beg for forgiveness at being caught unable to hear His wisdom during your conversation with Billy. Billy spoke his truth, no matter how wrong it was, and his words made you falter - unable to uphold Him and His grace in the face of judgment. This is your mission, your test.

And you’re failing.

Sister Catherine wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have known exactly how to respond to his disbelief. She has a level head on her shoulders, the words of God falling from her lips like water. Perhaps she would have been better suited to handle this task.

No. That’s the work of the devil - the fear and self-doubt you feel. Meant to slow you down and keep you from fulfilling your cause and spiritual duties.

Steeling yourself, you pile spoonfuls of the now thickened oatmeal into two bowls, topping them with a generous drizzle of honey before picking them up and taking a deep breath. You try your best to ignore the pain still throbbing in your back as you head back to the bedroom, pausing just outside the door and letting the heat front the bowls sink into your hands as you talk yourself up.

Have faith in His Holiness, y/n. He will guide you.

When Billy’s eyes catch on you as you walk through the doorway, his face is soft and friendly - none of the overwhelming intensity or barely contained anger that was there before.

“That smells great,” He says, taking the bowl from your outstretched hand. His bright blue eyes follow your movement as you sink slowly back into the chair next to the bed, resting your own bowl on your lap.

He smiles, clearly trying to calm your unease that you’re sure is still evident on your face and takes a large bite of oatmeal.

“Hmm,” He hums, closing his eyes briefly at the taste. “This is delicious. Best meal I’ve ever had. Cooked by an angel, I can tell.”

“Thank you,” You reply, and you can feel the involuntary pull of a smile on your lips at the praise.

He’s a good man, too. You can tell.

The floor isn’t any softer as night rolls around.

You try to sleep on your stomach, one arm propped underneath your head and the blanket balled on top of it so you have something soft to rest your cheek on. The other arm twists down at your side, a position that probably doesn’t seem very pleasant but that’s been your go-to comfort position since you were a young girl. It helps alleviate the tightness in your back for a little bit, but the ache is still there - laying in wait until you fall asleep and your body automatically rolls into the more reasonable position for floor sleeping.

You don’t sleep, or at least you don’t think you do. It doesn’t feel like you do. Your mini dozes just feel like blinks, those moments where you close your eyes, just for a second, before you’re opening them again in the next moment only to realize how much time has actually gone by. You’re not sure if it's minutes or hours, but more often than not you’re blinking only to find that you’re mid roll in adjusting positions and the pain in your back is too intense for your sleeping brain to handle. At one point, you manage to roll completely over before you wake up - the blink of closing your eyes while on your stomach, darkness encompassing the entirety of the main room, and then suddenly your eyes are opening again with the ceiling as your viewpoint, the beginnings of the sun shining in through the window, and the unbelievable agony ever present in your spine.

You’re so preoccupied with the pain that you almost don’t notice Billy standing in the doorway of the bedroom. His eyes are set on your tensed frame, dark brows furrowed in concern as he takes a cautious step towards you.

“Sister y/n,” He says, carefully.

“W-what are you doing o-out of bed?” You ask through gritted teeth. Oh gosh, this hurts so much. You feel like you can’t move, like your entire body is stiff as a board and one wrong move will snap the wood across the grain where it’s the weakest and break it in half. You can’t even bear the thought of rolling over to try to get up.

Billy ignores your question, crouching down beside you with one knee pressing into the floor for stability. His hand caresses the wound on his side, and even through your pain you don’t miss the slight wince he gives even as his eyes rake over you with worry.

“Are you okay?” He asks. The hand that was just pressed to his side comes to cup your cheek.

You’re not sure why you’re noticing how large his hand is right now in this moment as it presses against your skin, his long fingers curling to press gently into the fabric of your veil just behind your ear. You should be chastising him, scolding him for getting out of the bed and possibly injuring himself further. He winced, you saw it. He’s in pain. But all you can focus on right now is the comfort his warm hand brings with your nerves this fried and body this agonized.

“It hurts,” You whimper.

“I know, Angel. I know.” His voice is soft and soothing, the low tone caressing your eardrums.

The sight of his eyes watering cuts through the pain for a moment, and you wonder if that’s really truly what you’re seeing or if maybe it’s your own tear filled eyes playing tricks on you. Your hand reaches up, intent on caressing his own cheek and swiping your thumb under his eye to see if it's actually wet, but he catches your hand in his and brings the back of your hand to his lips.

“You’ve done so much for me already,” He murmurs, lips brushing against the back of your hand. “Let me help you now, okay?”

Billy’s arms fit themselves under your body, one arm creeping underneath your tensed back while the other loops beneath your knees. Your hand clutches desperately at his shirt, fisting the material in between your fingers, as he lifts you from the floor. Your agonized gasp mixes with his own grunt of pain as he stands up with you held securely in his arms and pressed against his chest.

“Your stitches,” You try to say, but he just shushes you.

“Shh. Don’t worry about me. M’fine,”

He carries you to the bed, carefully placing you down on the mattress. The softness of it under your back doesn’t do much to alleviate the pain, but the anxious part of you is hopeful that it will the longer you lay on it. But then Billy walks around the other side, the bed dipping down under his weight as he settles down on it, and you’re instantly filled with shame.

You shouldn’t be in bed with a man. Ever. You gave up that possibility when you took your vows, promising that it's only His spirit that would ever get to be around an area as intimate and personal as your bed.

“I can’t,” You say, trying in vain to push yourself up, but the sharp pain you receive for your efforts makes you freeze. “Ah! It’s not– not proper.”

“Y/n, please,” He says, hand coming down to press lightly on your shoulder to keep you down. “Just for today.”

You almost miss it - the absence of the title when he says your name. And that’s inappropriate too. Not only are you alone with a man, in the same bed together, but he’s dropped the earned title to show your life’s calling entirely. You want to reprimand him immediately. Jump out of the bed and wiggle your finger in his face just to make him understand how wrong this is.

But his eyes are filled with worry, silently begging you to just lay there for a while, just until you feel better and the words die in your throat.

He’s a good man. He doesn’t mean any harm by it. It was just a mistake, the title lost among the honest worry you can see reflected in his eyes.

“You can’t take care of me if you can’t even walk,”

Your eyes close, a resigned sigh escaping your lips as you reluctantly press deeper into the soft sheets. He’s right. You need to recover so you can continue to aid in his recovery. You can’t do your job if you're bedridden.

“Just for today,” You settle.

Just for today.

That was your intention anyway. Just stay in the bed, enjoying the small pleasure of the soft mattress against your back, and wait for the pain to dissipate enough for you to be able to resume your nightly rests on the floor in the main room. You didn’t even want to stay in the bed all day. It was a hopeful thought, that you would feel better in just an hour's time, maybe two or three at the most, and then you would feel better enough to be able to get up and return to your duties as normal. But you realize now that the honest hope for that was just willful ignorance on your part.

You work in a clinic and you’ve dealt with your fair share of back injury patients during your lifetime. You know it’s not something easily overcome or relieved in a matter of hours - sometimes even days or weeks.

God can perform miracles and you see the blessings He puts in your path each and every day. This, unfortunately, is not one of His miracles.

The hours blend together - one turning into two, and then two into four, until you can’t take the stillness anymore.

You force it a few times, pushing through the pain and slower than ever making it up and off the bed as you try to go about your day like normal. Being on the bed makes it so much easier to roll off than trying to push yourself up from the floor without the help of gravity. Your back protests as you roll off the edge, Billy echoing its protests with actual words instead of shocks of pain as he tries to urge you back down, but you grit your teeth and slap his hand away.

There’s a small amount of guilt creeping up from how hard you smack his hand, but it's still buried so deep under the agony and the overwhelming frustration of feeling useless that you can’t even stand to give it a second thought.

Billy watches you as you slowly make your way around the room. It’s not too bad to walk as long as you don’t bend or twist your upper body at all, but it's all becoming much too obvious now how much one takes their movements for granted until they’re face to face with their sudden inability to make even the slightest normal movement.

The empty bedpan sits on its own short stool in the corner of the room, next to the usual chamberpot. It’s been hours now since either of you have had to use them and even though you still feel fine enough to forego the chamberpot, which… thank the Lord because you’re honestly not sure how you’re meant to position yourself correctly in order to use the pot or even the outhouse for that matter in your current condition - you’re sure Billy is probably ready to use it.

“Do you need the bedpan?” You ask him, already reaching for it.

It's another moment of stupidity on your part when you go to reach for it and bend down with your back instead of using your knees. Another dagger of pain shoots up your spine and your hands fly around you to cradle the ache.

Billy shoots up as the sharp gasp leaves your lips, the bed rustling and creaking underneath him as he tries to push himself up. Your head jerks at the sounds and your shout is echoing through the small room before you can even think about it.

“Sit down!”

He freezes at your words, big blue eyes wide as he stares at you, the anger and frustration in your command no doubt audible in the way your yell scratches your own throat.

“Sorry,” You say, softly. “Billy, I’m sorry. Just…” Your eyes shift to where he’s pressing his hand against his side, directly over the wound and the guilt from earlier creeps back full force.

He’s already moved today. Already possibly hurt himself more by getting out of bed to check on you and then carrying your full weight to the bed.

You didn’t even check it afterwards.

“Just stay down,” You continue. “Don’t move.”

Reluctantly, he relaxes back on the bed, just sitting there and watching you when he should be flat down so as to not put extra strain on the wound. You want to tell him that - that he should be resting because he’s injured and injuries can’t heal if he’s just moving about however he pleases. You’ve said it before and he’s listened, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to call out your hypocrisy this time.

“You sit down too,”

His words are soft, the timbre of his voice soothing and gentle but the words themselves are as demanding as they can be. Your eyes flick back up to his and you can see the unspoken threat in them.

If you keep pushing yourself, I will too.

“Billy, I can’t just sit around all day. I have things to do,”

“What things?”

“Things,” You press. “I have to– clean and make food. And care for you. That’s my job,”

“It’s clean, Sister,” He says, waving his arm around the mostly bare room. “There’s not much you can do. And we can wait for food, I’m not even hungry yet. What else are you tryin’ to do?”

Your eyes close and sigh, praying to God to give you patience because you know that your own stubbornness is as much a strength as it is a hindrance and you can quickly see that the same could be said for your young outlaw charge as well.

“Do you need to use the bedpan?” You repeat.

“No,” Billy says, and he sounds just as over the conversation as you feel. “M’fine.”

“Fine,”

He expects you to return to the bed, you can see in those eyes how he thinks it’s a battle he’s won. And perhaps he has, in a way. But you’re still in charge here and you’re not going to let him know that right away.

You turn on your heel, exiting the bedroom as swiftly as you can bear and Billy’s shout of protest races from the bed and follows you out in the main room.

“Sister y/n!”

“Hold your horses, Billy,” You call back, raising your hand up as if to wave him off. “I’m just grabbing something.”

Your bag is sitting next to your makeshift bed and you make sure to use your knees this time when you bend down to grab it. You can feel Billy’s gaze burning into your back as you rummage through it and even though there’s only so many supplies you were able to stuff into your bag before you left the clinic, you’re still relieved when you’re able to find what you’re looking for rather quickly.

Billy eyes the knitting needles and balls of yarn cradled in your arms as you bring them back to the bed. They follow the needles and yarn as you drop them on the mattress and then flick back up to yours, waiting for you to say something.

“Well, if I can’t be useful on my feet, I’m going to at least be productive off them,” You tell him. You raise your eyebrow, daring him to object.

He doesn’t. Instead, he brushes the supplies out of your way and motions to the newly cleared space with an open palm.

“Then I reckon you should get off those feet, Sister,” He smirks.

It feels almost like giving up as you settle back down on the bed. You know it’s not - you can only do what your body is allowing you to do. Pushing through the pain or discomfort is fine to a point, but only if there is truly a need for it and as much as you don’t want to admit it, Billy is right. There is no need for you to be up on your feet right now and continuing to give in to your stubbornness is doing more harm than good. The Lord has given your body the ability to give you physical clues as to what it needs. You thirst when you need water, hunger when you need food, and get tired when you need rest. It’s speaking to you now - telling you how the current sleeping environment you’ve put it in has not provided it with the rest and comfort it needs to recuperate from the day to day demands and now it's making you.

Your body is a temple, and you have to respect it and care for its needs.

But just sitting here still feels like failure. You’ve never been one to just sit around for so long and the past few days of doing just that has made your patience run a bit thin. You are a healer. You help people. Doing anything and everything you can for them in their moments of need and it's in those moments that you receive your strength. You didn’t expect to be running around from room to room here as often as you were while working in the clinic, but not having a choice in the matter is more difficult than you could have imagined.

The Lord has designed you to be His helper. Your life’s mission is to help people.

But now you’re finding it hard to even help yourself, and that alone feels like failure.

You close your eyes and send up a brief prayer, apologizing for your pause in the task that He’s granted you by inadvertently hurting the body He’s blessed you with and asking Him to grant you the strength and patience needed to overcome this hurdle.

When you open your eyes, Billy’s still staring at you.

“You seem like you got somethin’ weighin’ on your mind, Sister,” He says.

You shake your head, smiling kindly at him. He’s a sweet boy - kind and caring despite the fact that he’s been the victim of some of your frustration today. “Nothing you need burden yourself with, Billy,”

His eyes are earnest as he watches you, leaning in closer as he says, “Nothin’ you do could ever be a burden to me,”

“Oh, is that so?” You say, the corner of your lips tugging mischievously as you grab your knitting needles and a new ball of yarn. You grab the free end of the yarn, pulling the starting length enough to give you enough to work with before tossing the ball at Billy. His hands are quick to grab it despite being unprepared for the throw and another small smile creeps on his face as he holds the soft sphere in his hand. “Then you won’t mind holding that and making sure my yarn doesn’t knot as I work, right?”

“No, Ma’am. Not at all,”

It’s cozy, you have to admit - working in silence as you cast the yarn onto your needles. The yarn is soft as your fingers brush against the developing chunk of project, and Billy must think so too since you can see how his thumb keeps swiping across the ball kept in his hand. He’s a good helper, keeping the working end of the yarn held loosely between his pointer and middle finger, just enough to guide it and prevent any catching or knots.

You’re making a blanket for the clinic. The rushed packing job almost saw that you had no form of productive entertainment on this trip, but thankfully Sister Ann had enough wits about her to suggest taking your knitting materials. Some of the blankets in the clinic are old and worn, some even well-loved enough to have holes in them. You won’t throw them away. That’s wasteful and you’ll continue to mend them until you can’t. But the clinic can be a sad enough place already, and if you can brighten someone’s day with a blanket that’s not ripped beyond belief and put back together again by the power of God and some well placed stitches, then you’d like to make that happen for them.

Plus, winter will be coming soon. And things can get mighty cold around here.

Billy is content to just watch you, eyes fixated on the movements of your hands and the way the yarn is twisted and eased into the blanket. At one point, you ask if Billy wants to knit too. You have a spare set of knitting needles in your bag and you figure that it might be funner for him to knit too instead of just watching you twist yarn over itself for hours on end. You could teach him if his Ma never did. Knitting is a valuable life skill. The ability to create new clothes or household goods from practically nothing is priceless.

But he shakes his head with a polite ‘no, thank you”.

“Why not?” You ask. “You don’t want to learn?”

“It’s not that,” He replies, still playing with the yarn ball in his hand. “I’d just rather watch you. It’s calming.”

Calming is an interesting way to describe watching someone knit. It’s calming for you - you enjoy it and it's a nice hobby along with being a practical skill to have under your belt. But watching someone knit? You don’t think you could do that for very long without trying to grab a pair of knitting needles for yourself.

“My Ma used to knit,” He says after a while. “I used to watch her make us sweaters or scarves for the winter. I used to hold her yarn too. Just like this.” A small smile pulls at his mouth at the memory. “I would respin the yarn for her when the balls would come undone. It was calming, just sittin’ there with her, in her presence, watching her repeat the patterns over and over.”

His fingers slide across the ball a bit, feeling the texture under his fingertips before he pulls a little more yarn from the ball to give your working strand some more slack.

“This feels like that,” He continues. “Here with you right now makes me feel like I did with her. At peace.”

Your chest clenches at his words and your hand closest to him drops one of the needles before reaching up and resting it on his shoulder.

“I’m honored,” You tell him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His eyes flick down to where your hand is cradling his shoulder before they meet yours again, and you're shocked to see a sort of desperation in them with they lock on yours.

“I always pictured I would do it for my own wife one day,” He whispers. “Supportin’ her while she makes somethin’ beautiful for our kids to wear. Or somethin’ warm for them to snuggle up in.”

“You will,” You say. Your hand moves from his shoulder to cup his cheek before you move to grab the knitting needles again. “The Lord will bless you with someone wonderful, Billy. I know He will.”

You hear him hum next to you, but you keep your eyes forward and focused on your project. You know what that hum means.

“Don’t think I need the Lord’s help much,” He says. “I think I can manage just fine on my own.”

The blanket quickly comes to life under your fingers, skillful movements manipulating the yarn into a solid and beautifully woven product that you think will look so homely laid out on the beds of the clinic. Sometimes things can get so boring, bland colors and a too sanitary palette can make an already dreary situation all the more woeful. The pretty blue of the blanket would make a nice contrast to all the white and gray.

Billy watches as you work and keeps the yarn from getting tangled when the balls reach their end and loosen from their coiled form. You only stop a few times throughout the day - once to eat some quickly made oatmeal, once so you can check on Billy’s wound and replace the bandage, and a few times so you could relieve yourselves. By the time the yarn balls you’ve pulled from your bag have been knitted into the blanket, it’s dark out and you have only the small lamp by the bedside table to give you light.

The blanket rests in your lap, knitting needles still in your hand as you look towards the bedroom door and out to where you can see your sleeping area still set up.

“You’re sleeping on the bed,” He says, firmly, as if he can read your mind and see the thoughts you haven’t even fully formed yet.

It’s for the best. You know it’s for the best. The Lord wouldn’t strike you down for doing what you have to do to let yourself heal, even if it means sharing a bed with a man.

And still… “I shouldn’t,”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already sliding a leg over the side of the bed and you’re grabbing hold of his arm before you can think about what you’re doing.

“No!” You shout, fingers digging hard into his bicep. “You’re injured! You need to stay in the bed.”

He pauses, eyes boring into yours. “You are too,”

“I know,” You say, releasing his arm. Your palm gently rubs over the area you grabbed, trying to soothe any hurt you might have caused when you grabbed him. “I know. I’ll stay.”

He relaxes at your words, lifting his leg back on the bed as he leans back against the pillow.

“I’ll be respectful,” He whispers and the blue of his eyes shines brightly even in the dim glow of the lamp. “I swear.”

You follow his lead, carefully tossing the knitted blanket on the floor and laying back slowly, being mindful of your back as you rest your head on the balled up blanket you snagged from your sleeping spot the last time you got up to make dinner.

“I know you will,”

You haven’t known him for long, but you feel like if there is any man you can trust to be respectful in a situation like this - it’s Billy.

You can see God in him, even if he can’t see Him within himself.

But it still feels weird, feels wrong - sleeping next to another man. And you turn your head to the side, away from Billy, so he doesn’t see the silent tears that flow down your cheek and into the fabric where your face presses harder against the blanket.

You pray until you fall asleep.

There’s a hand on you when you wake up in the middle of the night.

It’s still dark in the room, your groggy eyes opening to pitch black and even though you can’t see anything, you can feel that you’ve flipped over at some point during your sleep.

It gives your back some relief, being on your stomach like this. And the hand gently rubbing up and down the length of your spine helps to bring even more relief. The hand is big, taking up a wide expanse along your back and the soothing back and forth motion of it helps to keep you in the blissful fog of sleep.

You find that your back does feel a little better come the morning thanks to the Lord's healing touch.

Taglist: @queenofshinigamis

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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