#So that's like twelve or more feet of water depth passing over you

[abeautylives]

Trip Around the Sun - Day One

a/n: Beach Josh is near and dear to my heart, and this is just an upgraded and grown version lol

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 5.3k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What’s the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, summer Josh requires his own warning, tiny bit of voyeurism, graphic sexual content, public sexual activity, digital penetration ✌️

☀️☀️☀️

This is exactly what I needed.

Through the green tinted lenses of your Ray-Bans, you let your eyes travel lazily down the length of your own body. Oil-slick and sparkling as your sweat beads on the surface, your skin is glowing a shade of bronze you haven’t seen in what feels like years. The contrast against the vibrant lemon yellow of your bikini is exactly as you’d pictured it, just a week ago as you’d hastily added last-minute vacation essentials to your Amazon cart.

A shadow makes its way into your blissful bubble of sunlight, falling over your outstretched legs and asking if you’d like another Tequila Sunrise.

“I would love one, thank you so much!”

Your gaze follows the woman as she makes her way around the pool deck and back to the bar to retrieve your order, then skims over the sunkissed faces and shoulders of your fellow vacationers bobbing in the crystalline water of the pool. It’s calling to you, a cool reprieve from the midday sun, but you’re just not ready to move yet.

With a fresh drink in hand, you reach down to rifle through your beach bag with the other, digging for your phone. This would make a great photo, and an even better Insta post, just enough to make your coworkers jealous. Arranging your legs attractively, bent at the knees with one foot kicked out just a bit further than the other, you lift the phone above you and take a test shot. You peek at it quickly, make sure most of your body is in it, need to adjust your feet, palm trees in the background? Move the hand holding your drink in just a little, stretch your torso a tiny bit more, snap the picture.

Perfect. Damn I look good.

Your tongue draws your straw into your mouth and you take a long pull of tequila, orange juice and grenadine as you add a subtle filter and… post.

The phone sinks back to the hidden depths of your bag as you let it drop from your fingertips, unconcerned with anyone who dares to try and reach you this week. Settling back into your reclined position, your lids almost flutter closed against the harsh rays before something across the pool catches your attention.

There’s a guy, leaned back on his palms at the edge of your concrete oasis, head tilted to the side, just so. You almost mistook him for a child, his legs are dangling in the water and from this distance he appears tiny but the longer you evaluate him, the more detail you can make out. Both tinted pink (no surprise, the UV index is obscene today), his shoulders and chest are way too broad to belong to a kid. Not to mention the mustache. What had first seized your awareness though, were his eyes. They’re shaded by the bill of some kind of cap, but you’re pretty sure they’re trained on you. And his stare hasn’t wavered since you started analyzing him.

Great, creeper alert.

Your legs shift against each other, tingling with discomfort, uneasy under his ogling. With another long sip of your drink, you push it out of your mind and finally let your eyes close.

Time seemingly moves differently in paradise, you dig again for your phone when it feels like thirty minutes or so have passed, only for your screen to illuminate and reveal it’s been… twelve. Just to ensure you’re seeing that correctly, you slip your glasses down the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger before lifting your cup and downing what remains of the orangey pink liquid. Your skin feels like it’s about to ignite, and as you shift to flip onto your stomach you notice that the spot previously occupied by your unwanted observer is now vacant. Settling in and resting a cheek onto your folded arms, your lids lower again and the rest of the world effectively disappears.

“You’re burning, y’know.”

Soft and smoother than silk but entirely too close to your ear, the voice wakes you violently from your swelter induced nap. The owner of said voice has to jolt backwards to avoid the crown of your head colliding with his face.

Clambering ungracefully to sit up, hair hanging over your face and knotted in the sunglasses sitting askew across your nose, you open your mouth to chastise the idiot with the audacity to disturb you but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

“Sorry about that, didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

He watches, bemused as you awkwardly swipe at the strands that refuse to unstick from the sheen of sweat coating your face, tug through the tangled mess wrapped around your shades. By the time you can see him clearly, he’s relaxed into the lounge chair beside you and shut his eyes.

The creep from across the pool.

“Can I help you?” You feel a bit more composed, hands still smoothing down the wild mass of waves that you’ve pulled forward over your shoulder, sunnies fixed back into place.

Unfazed and without turning to face you, he casually states that he had been attempting to help you. “You need sunscreen, it’s barbaric out here today.”

Suspicious, you examine him warily for a moment. Completely aloof, he’s at ease in his reclined position and his scandalously short swim trunks are riding high on his thighs. You scan upward from there, he is tiny but the lightly defined muscle at his waist leads up to a slightly more sculpted chest. At the base of his neck you can now see that his hair, a tuft of what might be considered curls, is pulled into a frizzy ponytail. His profile is strong, a dark brow framing the curve of an eye that’s still closed to you, a subtle bump in the bridge of his nose that ends in an attractive point, full lips turned up into a smirk. Ugh, whatever.

“Thanks, you can go now.” You bend forward to reach into your bag, shuffling things around until you feel the smooth surface of the bottle of tanning oil at the bottom. He’s still next to you when you straighten, but now his eyes are open and his gaze is lingering somewhere distinctly lower than your face.

“That probably doesn’t have a high enough SPF.” His words are quiet, reticent, barely rising above the ambient din of the crowd formed at the swim up bar. Glancing down at the bottle, you take note of the large font 15 on the label and catch a glimpse of alabaster skin.

Even through the oppressive heat from the sun, you can feel the creeping flush of embarrassment as you slap a hand over your right breast, nearly half of which had been exposed by your still disheveled bikini top. Twisting away from him, his smug chuckle manages to reach your ears as you adjust the strings of your top and put the girls back in their assigned seats.

“It’s clearly working for your tan, though.”

You twist back to him, appropriately covered and lifted, and watch his eyes dart down to your chest before they meet yours. Your own eyes narrow, hidden behind your dark lenses, a silent challenge for him to say something else stupid. Predictably, he does.

“You need any help gettin’ that on your back? Pretty red back there.”

He’s just… grinning at you like this is the most normal interaction he’s had all day. Now that you’re face to face, and he’s not thirty yards away, you can see that he’s sort of cute. Unfortunately he’s aggravated you enough that you’re not impressed.

“Are you okay? Are you losing a bet right now?” You glance back to the side of the pool from whence he came, searching for a group of frat bros or some other type of rabid alpha males that may be watching. When you find none, you let your eyes land back on his face. He's upright, feet on the ground and elbows resting on his knees as he leans closer. He’s still just smiling patiently, probably thinking that he’s wearing you down with what he must perceive as his own charm. “What do you want?”

That is a question he apparently has an answer for. Before he offers it, his smile stretches slowly across his face. You watch it transform his features, a dimple pulled into his left cheek as plump lips slide apart to reveal an impossibly straight row of impossibly white teeth.

Fuck.

“I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I found one.”

“So you came over here,” you emphasize your words with a manicured finger pointed at the concrete between your chair and the one he thinks he’s claimed, “from all the way over there,” your hand lifted to indicate the place at the edge of the pool where you’d first spotted him, “and watched me sleep. To find an excuse to bother me?”

You find yourself matching his posture and putting even less distance between you as you speak. His eyes, an uncertain shade of brown that you can’t decipher under the shadow of his hat, even at this proximity, are practically sparkling with delight at your question.

“I didn’t watch you sleep. I noticed you were boiling like a lobster before I even made it over here, so I let you know right before I sat down. But other than that… yeah.” His shoulders lift into an easygoing shrug, you curse yourself for noticing the way his muscles bunch with the movement.

Considering his response, you tap the orange tip of your index fingernail against pursed lips. Entranced by it, he watches the motion with an eagle-eye and when your hand falls back between your knees, those eyes follow. Yours threaten to fall out of your face when his own hand, palm turned up and long fingers subtly curved, touches yours and lifts it back up between your faces. He moves your fingers with his delicately, as though they might break were he to apply any pressure. Once again, as if this is a totally average part of his day, he speaks.

“I like your nails.” His eyes snap to yours and you can finally tell what color they are. Brown, sure, but you decide in an instant that you would never describe them as such. Lined by long lashes you should be envious of, they’re warm, dripping honey and crystallized amber and you’re pretty sure they’re looking into your soul.

“What?” The sound of your own voice is borderline embarrassing, as if you’re under hypnosis, completely dazed.

“Your nails. They’re cute.”

You break from the spell of his stare to look at them. A rainbow, each nail a different shade. It’s sort of childish but you wanted something bright and unusual for your temporary escape from everyday life.

“I- um… thank you.”

He admires them for just a moment longer before lowering your hand and then letting it slip away from his, the pads of his fingertips sliding over your skin, a purposeful caress. Your hand tightens into a fist as if you’re trying to hold on to the feeling.

“You’re welcome… so, about that sunscreen. Want me to get your back?”

All you can think about are his hands on your skin again. It’s working, almost. The charm is having an effect on you, though you’re not even sure he’s doing it deliberately and it might not even be the charm. He’s not even cute, he’s actually verging on pretty and that probably has something to do with it.

Unnerved by the sudden flip in your own reaction to his presence, you scoot yourself back on your lounger, needing the few inches of distance from him that it gives you. “No, uh.. no thanks. I think I’m gonna, y’know, take a break. Go back to my room.” If he’s not going to leave, you will.

The ghost of disappointment drops the corners of his lips, for a split second but you’ve caught it though his smile never falters. His head nods in acceptance but it stops when you glide your sunglasses down your nose and pull them from your face. He touches you again, the warmth of his palm halting your intent to drop the glasses into your bag, your connected hands frozen there in mid-air.

This time when your eyes meet, his reflect something like surprise, skirting the edge of reverence. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, the way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“What?” It’s no more than a whisper, carried to his ears through air on the calm tropical breeze.

“You’re so lovely, captivating really.” He’d already believed this to be true, drawn into your orbit by the gravity of your allure, the revelation of your eyes only feeding his starving intrigue. “Beautiful.”

Your hand pulls away from his of its own accord, your face cast down in an attempt to hide the creeping blush that you can feel forming, the heat suddenly unbearable. The Ray-Bans land in your bag and you’re already looping your arm through the straps and rising from the chair, his body mirroring yours and standing with you.

“I… have to go. It was nice meeting you. I think.” Your unsettled mumblings don’t faze him, he’s enjoying the way he’s flustered you and it’s obvious in the way his eyes are dancing with laughter.

Afraid to touch him again, you step away and move from between the chairs without offering a handshake or a graze of your fingertips over the tempting shape of his upper arm. He simply watches you leave, unabashedly focusing on the way the bottoms of your bikini have ridden up and exposed the distinct tan lines on the curves of your ass.

Before you get too far, he calls out to you.

“See you around, beautiful!”

You glance back over your shoulder, your only acknowledgment that you’ve heard him.

Doubtful.

🌙🌙🌙

The bubbles tickle your tongue as they fizzle and burst before sliding down your throat. Effervescent. That’s how they describe it, right?

You’re not much of a champagne drinker, but it was complementary and it’s been sitting untouched in your room for days. It’s late, or early, probably after one in the morning at this point but you’ve left your phone behind. You left everything, actually, it’s just you, your champagne and the moonlight.

Unable to sleep, you’d slipped out of your room and made your way back down to the pool, clad only in your swimsuit. This one is black, as if that would prevent you from being detected in the cover of night by anyone who dared attempt to thwart your plans. You don’t know if you’re allowed to be here at this hour, but there’s certainly no one around to disturb you or tell you otherwise so you’d tossed your room key onto a chair, popped the cork and slid into the water.

The pool itself provides the only illumination out here, lights tucked under the lip of the concrete’s edge causing the water to shine with an almost neon-like blue glow, but the surrounding pool deck is nearly black.

You haven’t left the spot where you’d entered, forearms resting over the side and lower half of your body submerged, your own movements causing the only disruption in the glassy surface. Maybe half of the champagne is gone, swimming pleasantly through your bloodstream and you think that by the time you finish it, you’ll be able to sleep.

“Rule-breaker, huh? My favorite.”

He’d made his way toward you unnoticed, quiet as a mouse and just as much of a nuisance. The sound of sloshing water fills the void of silence, followed by the grating sound of his laughter as you’ve once again nearly jumped out of your skin.

You hardly recognize the man standing above you, in a plain white tank with hands tucked into the pockets of khaki shorts. This man has a wild mop of curls, some flopped over his forehead and framing his face that give him a much softer appearance than he’d had twelve or so hours ago, though the smirk on his lips is distinctly the same.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You’re shouting at him on a whisper, pissed off but wary of your surroundings. “Are you stalking me?!”

“Hm, nope. Just a bored night owl looking for a little trouble. It would appear… that I found some. How’s the sunburn?”

A huff of annoyance pushes past your lips. “Not as bad as you made it out to be.”

“Ah well, I’ve been called dramatic a time or two. Have you considered the possibility that I got to you just in time to save you from sun poisoning?”

Your eyes roll but his expression doesn’t change, clear amusement on his face as far as you can tell.

“I hadn’t considered any possibilities that concern you.”

His teeth are nearly glowing in the dark as they peek through his grin. “Sure you haven’t… So, what kind of trouble are we getting into on this lovely evening? Pretty sure the pool’s closed.”

You’re already lifting yourself from the water, an uncoordinated effort to sit on the edge made even less graceful by the alcohol buzzing in your system. “Actually I was just heading to bed.”

“Are you a habitual liar or am I special?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Whipping your head around to look up at him causes droplets of water to fly from the ends of your hair and land across his feet, clad in a pair of stark white Tevas. His eyes fall to them and he ignores your question, bending down to remove his sandals. “What are you doing?”

Kicking the shoes aside, he starts to lift his arms behind his head. “Going swimming.” With that, he tugs the tank top up and over, shaking out his curls and tossing it to land on top of his sandals. He knows you’re watching him disrobe, he caught the way your mouth dropped open when he expressed his intentions, but he misses the way your eyes go wide when he reaches for the button closure of his shorts. Without hesitation, his fingers pop the button and deftly slide the zipper down.

Right before your appropriately scandalized eyes, this complete stranger pushes his shorts off of his hips and lets them land on the ground around his ankles.

You immediately wish you could see him better. In the dark, you’re pretty sure his boxer briefs are gray, maybe heather, but you’re positive that they’re snug and leave extremely little to the imagination. The shadows being cast by the light below are unholy, and suddenly your mouth has run dry.

A hard pull from your bottle of Brut helps, but barely.

“You gonna join me?” His head is tilted again, just so as his voice rips your attention away from his crotch, which you have no idea how long you’ve been gawking at. “You can keep staring at me, I’m enjoying that too.”

Drawing your focus back down, he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pushes them even lower on his hips.

“Stop.” You find your own voice but it’s unconvincing.

“Not into skinny dipping? That’s a shame,” he pulls his hands away from the elastic, “You sure?”

You’re not sure that you wouldn’t enjoy seeing him naked, but you’re certain that you wouldn’t be joining him. “Positive.”

“Hm. Will you at least stay and swim? C’mon, live a little.”

Another pull of champagne. Fuck it.

Wordlessly, you place the bottle gently back onto the concrete. To make up for the mortifying way that you’d hauled yourself out, you stretch your limbs and arch your back, allowing the ground beneath you to emphasize the curve of your backside, and then slip your body back into the water. An indistinct and nearly silent fuck drops from his lips, but he steals your chance to turn and see his reaction. From the corner of your eye you catch the flash of pale thighs as they take two bounding strides toward the pool and before you can decipher what’s happening, the collision of his body with the water leaves you drenched and gasping for air.

As you push the wet tresses of your hair away from your face, he’s still below the surface and moving toward you. He slows as he reaches you, nearly touching his face to your kneecaps before he emerges.

You’d swear it’s happening in slow motion. The breath he’s been holding bubbles and breaks the surface, his eyes closed and lips parted as he rises to stand, mere inches between you. His hands come next, arms lifted to push the water from his hair, slicked back away from his forehead again. He’s so close that you can feel him breathing, deep inhales followed by a gentle stirring of air that falls across your skin. Goosebumps raise over your arms before his eyes finally open and his lips turn up into a bold, completely genuine smile.

“Sorry, did I get you wet?”

You can’t help but laugh, it’s so obvious what he’s doing, and that he probably knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His little show had affected you just as he’d intended, and somehow he fucking knows. Two can play, however.

Your arms cross over your chest. “I’m soaked, what are you gonna do about it?”

He nearly chokes on nothing but air, you watch him process your words and recover quickly. It was almost too easy to chip away the icy wall you’d constructed, though he’d managed it with nothing but sincerity. Encouraged to topple it completely, he adds pressure.

“I can make it so much worse.”

The eye contact can only be described as intense, you can’t even make out the details of his face, you can’t see the honey and amber of his irises but his gaze is burning through you and the fire is spreading.

“Try me.”

A hand lifts from the water and you watch it, dripping and confident in its actions, as it moves toward your chest. You’re expecting him to go in for a handful but instead, a slender finger slides underneath the singular string that’s supporting your left tit. It trails, up and down the thin material twice as your arms fall away before he speaks.

His voice sounds different, deeper, with an edge to it that you haven’t heard from him yet.

“Can I touch you?”

It feels like you’re floating outside your body, watching the main characters of your favorite series eye fuck each other, two seasons of sexual tension having built up to this moment rather than two brief interactions. You’re dying to see what happens next. You can only nod your head, yes.

“Where?”

The thrumming pulse between your legs seems like a good place, but you can’t say that. Right? Your confidence wavers, he seems to sense it and continues to take the lead. The finger tucked under the string of your bikini slips lower, following the line of material down until his fingernail is skimming the still hidden skin of the side of your breast. It hardly crosses the boundary of virtue but your entire body trembles, a shiver that has your nipples straining against the fabric. His thumb moves in and brushes over the diamond-hard peak, the sound that you exhale is lust-laden and humiliating and inspires him to do it again.

“Here’s good?” He waits for your head to nod in confirmation before his hand dips below the water and just the pads of his fingers splay over your ribcage, just below the breast that he’s teased and left begging for more attention. “What about here?” His thumb strokes over the curve of a rib and your head moves again. “Tell me, I wanna hear you.”

“Yes, keep going…”

“I will, keep talking to me.”

When his fingers travel over the dip at the small of your waist, your muscles there tense and his hand pauses before it’s reached its destination.

“Please don’t stop…” You’ve wholly given over to it, the feeling of his skin against yours and apparently you’re not above begging for it.

“Yeah? Tell me where, beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his request. “You know.”

“Hmm, I’m not a mind reader. I can just stay right here.” He lifts the other hand from the water and cages you in on one side with it braced on the edge of the deck behind you. His palm flattens against your waist and he presses his fingertips into it, a light but almost possessive grip that leaves you in distress. There’s only one thing you can do.

“Pussy.” The word squeaks out of you and your face bursts into flames, but he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Touch me there.”

“That is vulgar.” The grip on your waist loosens and his fingers continue their journey until they pass the knotted string at your hip and two slide up beneath it. “I like it.”

“I like not being teased.” Your teeth are gritted, frustrated and unbearably turned on.

“Oh?” Without missing a beat, his eyes drop and his fingers follow the hem of your bikini bottoms just as the one had over your chest, knuckles this time skimming over your mound and the sparse hair that covers it. He groans, a gravelly sound that starts in his throat and passes through flared nostrils, before he tugs the fabric to the side and exposes you. The shape of your bodies is distorted through the lens of the water but he can see the dark patch at the crux of your thighs as well as the hard evidence of how it’s affecting him. He drags his eyes away from the view and brings them back to your face, where he finds you staring at him, wide-eyed and anticipant.

“Was kind of expecting you to be bare down there.” You lift an eyebrow, confused. “Y’know, the nails, the tan, I just expected… something different.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He shakes his head, his hair moving with it, damp curls beginning to spring back to life. “You haven’t disappointed once, this is so much better. It’s sexy.”

The heat is back, the compliment fanning the flames on your cheeks as he finally blazes a trail with a finger run through you. Your breaths mix in the air between your lips, mutual sounds of relief floating up and away on the breeze. Instinctively your hands leave the water, one grasping at his arm and the other landing on his chest, finding purchase and holding on tight.

The finger moving between your legs slides through you again and he leans in closer, his lips nearly touching yours. He whispers, “Started to think you were never gonna touch me back.” You close the gap between your faces and let your head fall enough to rest your forehead against his. “You ready?”

He can feel that you are. Your skin is hot and slick, even under water and your hips are twitching with every swipe through your arousal. He almost corrects you when your head nods against his but he doesn’t need to.

“Do it.”

The tip of his finger slips inside as you both turn your eyes down to watch, the view warped and rippling in the blue glow. He pumps it into you until it’s tucked inside to the last knuckle.

“Relax for me.”

Relax. Relax? You’re about to melt into the pool and float away, but you focus on releasing any tension you might be holding onto and he can feel the difference. He starts to move within you again as you slide your hand up his chest and let go of his arm to lay yours over his shoulders.

“That’s good, does it feel good?” His finger curls and drags over a spot you’re not sure you knew was there, eliciting a shaky moan to escape you. “Tell me.”

“Yes…”

He repeats the motion and pulls another wanton sound from deep in your chest.

“You want more?”

“Mmhmm, yeah…”

His finger slips away with your dreamy murmuring, a second added and circling your entrance before pushing back into you. Your hands sink into the still-damp curls at the base of his neck, the stretch snatches your breath and you’re gasping to get it back as he pushes them as far as your body and his will allow.

You can’t tell exactly what he’s doing with them, but his fingers are moving against each other inside you and you feel full to the brim.

“You feel fucking incredible, god damn.” His voice is still as smooth as the first time you heard it and your body reacts, squeezing around him.

Remembering his request that you keep talking, you tell him exactly what you want.

“More, make me cum.”

He’s already pulling and pushing, thrusting into you slowly but with this new demand, he presses the heel of his palm into your clit. “Love it when you say those dirty words. I’ll get you there, I promise.”

The journey to the top is a leisurely one, his pace remains steady and slow as his eyes bounce from your face to his hand where it’s pressed tight and sliding against you. The night is almost dead silent around you, the only sounds to be heard are the water lapping against your bodies, the breathy whines you’re letting out and his soft words of encouragement.

You let your head fall back and your hips grind into his palm, the sky above you is inky black, glittering with stars and you feel like you’re there, weightless and floating in that space until he switches speeds.

He’d looked up at you when your hips started moving and found you offering his praises to the heavens, as if they’d done anything to deserve what rightfully belongs to him. A simple reminder of exactly who holds your impending orgasm in the literal palm of his hand, he sends his fingers deeper, faster, until you’re bucking back against them.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

“No, he’s not here. Look at me.” The hand holding on for dear life to the pool’s edge comes to wrap around the back of your neck. When your eyes meet, his are burning with determination and yours are completely fucked out. “Are you gonna cum for me? All over my fingers?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes…”

You ramble on, riding his hand and so close to the summit that you can taste it. With a final push against your clit, a flourish of his wrist and a violent curl of his fingers, your mouth falls open to scream a name that you don’t even know. Before someone else’s can take its place, he jerks you into him and captures whatever was about to spill from your lips with his own. The orgasm rips through you, your cunt clamping down on his fingers and your fingernails digging into his scalp.

By the time it releases you, you’re kissing him back, tongues timidly meeting as his fingers slow to a stop and stay inside you. He breaks it first, pulling away and you suck a heavy breath past tingling lips, half of his mouth is curled up into an affectionate smile when you finally open your eyes to him.

“Stunning. That… was fucking beautiful.” He slips his fingers from you, the evidence of your tryst washed away instantly, a tragedy from his point of view.

Your hands fall away from each other as he awaits whatever you have to say, his eyes pleading for anything. Still coming down, dazed again and sleepy now, the gears of your brain are turning at half speed. When you finally feel that you can utter words, your question makes him blush.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Josh.”

Taglist:

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

[fandomwriterstuff]

“We’re a well-oiled team of military-grade kindergarteners,” his best friend, and the only other human on the ship who would understand what kindergarten was, continued chastising him and his companions. “The level of education and training among the three of you eclipses that of the entire rest of the members of this operation,” Annabeth continued, pointing her finger individually at himself, his pilot Jason, and his Chief Science Officer Nico. “You know, I’m not that surprised with you, Percy, but you are our XO so you should really be more responsible,” he winced at that, still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome at being the Commander of the USS Olympus. “Jason, shouldn’t you be piloting a ship or something?” At that, he saluted her and did an about face before scampering off to get into more trouble. “And you, you’re definitely way too responsible to have gotten mixed up with this Seaweed Brain and Sparky, so what’s in this tomfoolery for you?”

Nico, the only Neptunian on the ship, shifted his large black wings self consciously under the scrutiny of their Chief of Operations. Percy, as the Commander of the vessel, felt obligated to protect his usually stoic and well-behaved… acquaintance? Di Angelo was reserved, almost standoffish, and resented anyone who tried to stick up for him for some reason, but that didn’t stop Percy’s stupid seaweed brain from doing so. Hence the acquaintance. Percy was 99% sure Di Angelo didn’t consider him a friend. But he was nice to Percy and a great officer, so Percy considered him his friend.

“It was my fault, Annie,” he used her childhood nickname carefully, not knowing whether it would soften her up or piss her off more. He was hoping for softening. “It was just another one of Jason and my dumb ideas that we thought we would need a scientist to help with, and we didn’t want to piss off Leo by involving him in it. You know how he is about his engineer and warp cores and whatnot,” Percy held his hands up placatingly. “Leave Di Angelo out of this, he has sciencey things to do, isn’t that right?” Percy side-eyed his companion who (not surprisingly) rolled his eyes.

“I try not to get involved with human pranks or even Jovian mischief, but Officer Grace and First Officer Jackson were about to be meddling with my linguistics team. It isn’t my duty to tell my superiors what to do, so I sought out the next best option, supervising and ensuring no lasting damage was done to the physical or emotional state of the linguistics team. Now,” Here Percy held in a smirk as Di Angelo shrugged. “If they caused interference with the machinery of the ship, that wouldn’t be my expertise, so I allowed it to happen and-” Percy held back a laugh as the other male started speaking even faster to get everything out as Annabeth turned redder and redder. “I’m very sorry about that, truly, but I had no control over the situation.”

“No control over the situation? You three broke our LIT machine and now we have to go back to Earth as soon as we pass close enough to fix it. Soon enough nobody on this ship will understand each other,” the woman across from them crossed her arms and Percy shrunk back a bit.

“I want to make a joke about a machine being called “LIT,” but I feel like it isn’t the right time,” he muttered. “I know the Linguistic Inhibition Technology is important, but most of us have a working understanding of at least one other language, so it shouldn’t be a huge issue, right?”

“You know it works by connecting to the implant technology in our brains, so as it shuts down one by one, members of this ship from spaces stations and planets far and wide will have no clue why they suddenly can’t understand their XO, or their Chief Officer, or their best friend. So you better explain this. And you have to tell them that we’re going straight back to Earth to fix it because no nearby planets have the same brain implant tech as us. Damn Terrans and their brand name technology copyrights,” Annabeth grumbled and finally turned around to walk off.

“Hey, you’re Terran, too!” Percy shouted after her, but she just flipped him the bird.

“She can do that?” Di Angelo asked, side-eyeing Percy.

“Yeah, she’s been my best friend since we were twelve. As long as she doesn’t undermine my authority in front of everyone else, I don’t really care. I’ve done way worse to her,” Percy laughed at the other man’s frown. “Nothing bad, just pranks and things of that sort. Maybe when we get back to Earth we can show you where we’re from. You never set foot off of the training grounds while you were in school.”

“I would… like that,” Di Angelo paused and gave Percy a soft smile.

“Great,” Percy patted the younger male on the shoulder and made his way to the Command Center.

Percy sat himself down in the rotating chair and pressed on the comms device.

“Gooooood evening crew of the USS Olympus, this is your Commanding Officer, Percy Jackson, speaking,” he smiled at the engineering crew that was scuttling by, only for one of them to pause and look at him like he was speaking a different language… Whoops.

“There was a malfunction with the Linguistic Inhibition Technology and we will be returning to Earth henceforth to repair it before the damage becomes problematic. You may experience glitches with your implant technology and may revert to only understanding your first language and those you have studied extensively. If somebody looks like they’re not understanding what I’m saying right now, please escort them to the linguistics team in Science Bay 3. Carry on. Jackson, out.” He clicked again and the mic turned off.

He sighed, this would be one of his bigger mistakes. They were supposed to be exploring, but they couldn’t do that if nobody could speak to one another. One trip home couldn’t hurt him, and he was sure Annabeth would be happy to see her father.

It wasn’t until later after the Chief Officer meeting when someone finally asked Percy about Earth. For many of the non-humans on the ship, Earth was a place to get education and training to go out in the star fleet, and they never set foot outside the campus grounds, just like Di Angelo. But people had stopped asking him questions because Earth was basically “Space Australia,” as Annabeth had explained to him. The adaptability of humans and their need to pack bond astounded many and horrified many others. So, he stopped talking about home.

It was a new member of their ship, Novax (a Vulcan who was a part of Leo’s engineering team), who asked him about it first.

“I hear Earth is 75% made of pure salt water, and is filled with animals of all kinds. Do you have a favorite water animal?” he asked Percy excitedly.

“Definitely dolphins, though they aren’t underwater creatures. Like humans they need oxygen to breathe, and come up for air very often. My favorite actual underwater species would have to be a hippocampus from Neptune. I’ve always wanted to go and see one, but my human anatomy prevents me from going on-planet,” Percy explained and sipped on his hot tea.

“There are a million creatures in the ocean and you pick one that doesn’t breathe underwater?” Clarisse grunted. His Chief Tactical Officer was a brutish Martian, but very specialized in weapons. “And your second favorite isn’t even Terran.”

“What else do you know about the ‘ocean’?” Novax breathed, leaning forward.

“Eh, not much,” Percy shrugged.

“I’m not sure I heard that correctly, maybe my LIT unit isn’t functioning well,” another member of engineering asked, Nyssa. “Your planet is 75% water and you don’t even know what is inside it?”

“I could tell you about the people who spend their life learning about what survives in the deep depths,” Percy looked up, knowing he had all of the non-Terrans hooked on every word. Even Di Angelo had paused in his note taking and was staring wide-eyed at Percy. “But I don’t know if you’d want to know.”

“No we do!” Nyssa exclaimed. “There are people who dedicate their lives to a place that’s literally not navigable by humans, the main inhabitants of the planet?”

“Well as you said, most of the planet is water. Which means that coastal communities are filled with fisherman, whalers, swimmers, and more. I could tell you about some of those. I could also tell you about the scientists that spend years of their lives building bots that can’t even come close to withstanding the pressure at the deepest depths without imploding, or I could tell you about those that do come close,” he shrugged.

“What happened to those?”

“The video feed cut out after only seeing multiple rows of sharp, jagged teeth,” Annabeth answered, her sharp grin frightening those who hadn’t noticed her. Some forgot that she was Terran, because she was also half Minervan.

“I could tell you about whales. Beautiful, they come in black and white or grey or blue. But they can be as big as almost 100 feet long. That’s as long as most pirate ships. And they could fit about 400 average sized humans in their mouths. You don’t want to cross one of them. And they only live on the surface. The things that live in the deep,” Percy shuddered for effect. There were no Neptunians on the ship, so there were no natural water dwellers there, so all of his rapt listeners were shocked by this information. “There’s the anglerfish. They light up the dark with an antenna on top of their heads, and the light lures in prey. But it’s so dim elsewhere that you don’t see their big sharp teeth until you’re right up against them,” he murmured. “Giant squids are almost as big as whales but not nearly as peaceful and beautiful. They have eight arms and two tentacles that could wrap around any boat and crush it.”

“Ten limbs?” Nyssa whispered, clearly disturbed.

“Plus, the Portuguese Man o’ War,” Percy shrugged nonchalantly. “Also known as the floating terror. It’s like a big blue jellyfish that sits innocently on top of the water with huge blue tentacles that sit just underneath with a sting strong enough to kill a full grown human.”

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth grinned that shark grin again. “Percy won’t tell you about the stories of the old days. He doesn’t want to scare you.”

“That was the not scary part?” Novax gulped.

“Anyway, I just got notified that we’ll be back on Earth in a few days, so brace yourselves,” and with that, she stood and left them all staring after her. When the door clicked shut, Percy had all eyes back on him. He shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t going to tell you about the kr- nevermind,” he stood. “Di Angelo, with me,” the younger officer stood, back to business and was at Percy’s side again in a moment. “Clear your schedule, you’re spending shore leave with me, pal.”

“Great,” came the deadpan reply.

“Don’t sound so somber,” Percy rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to show you the beach and maybe a good gay bar. You need to let off some steam my dude.”

The other male reddened.

“That is so… That is…” he huffed. “Highly inappropriate.” he glared down at the ground and Percy felt a little bad, maybe the guy wasn’t out? But it was clear he had a preference for males. Oh well, that foot was already in Percy’s mouth.

“Fine. But I will be attending and I am a great dancer so you’re missing out,” he winked at the flustered officer and made his way back to his cabin. It would be an interesting few days.

He made a plan with Annabeth. Day one before shore leave, Percy would spread a rumor to Novax about the kraken. Bigger than a giant squid and meaner. Known to crush entire pirate ships in the olden days.

Day two, Annabeth would mention sirens to Nyssa. Hideous creatures that could lure you in with their voices and lead you to believe you were bringing your ship in to everything you ever wanted, when in reality you would crash your ships and then drown.

Day three, Percy would tell Leo about the Megalodon. A definitely very real shark so big you couldn’t even imagine it. Percy shuddered at that one.

“But, there are some good things,” Percy was speaking to Nico Di Angelo from his Commander chair, in ear shot of some of the participants of the conversation a few nights prior. “Mermaids, the siren’s nicer cousin species. And the lost city of Atlantis. Known to be a great and bountiful city, lost to the sea and cursed by the gods to be stuck down there forever. Some believe it still exists, but it’s within the Bermuda Triangle.”

“What, pray tell, is the Bermuda Triangle,” Clarisse sighed.

“Hard to explain. Ships just… go in… and they never come out,” Annabeth shrugged. “Planes go down. Ships wreck. People who go in don’t come back out, so we don’t know if Atlantis is really there or not.”

“That’s… terrifying,” Novax whispered as he walked by.

Percy was sure he had created a healthy fear of Earth’s oceans in his crew. And he meant to, because while he loved the beach and swimming, he did want to make them shy away from the depths. They wouldn’t do well to explore it.

[the-last-kenobi]

*kciks down door* ReQuEsTs?!??! uh, 18. “Is it all right if I hug you?” with Obi-wan and character of your choice (please, this boy needs a hug so bad)

Hugs!!!! What an excellent ask.

Took me forever to pick a character though. I came this close to writing multiple hugs throughout the years but it would’ve been very long...

It’s still long. Whoops.

Note: I skipped the actual sentence and instead went for ✨vibes only✨

(From this various prompts list.)

_

Obi-Wan is twenty-three standard years old, very nearly twenty-four.

It is a delightful stage of life. (It’s awful.)

He’s growing in independence, so close to Knighthood he can almost taste it. (Is he? Nobody seems to have a clear opinion.)

He’s receiving more and more solo assignments, and on his missions with Master Jinn, the older Jedi makes an effort to at least await the Padawan’s input before making a decision, sometimes even deferring to Obi-Wan’s word. (Only in public, though, is there a sense of equality. Behind the scenes, Obi-Wan is still very much the learner.)

He longs to be free. (He doesn’t want to be alone.)

The confusing clash of thoughts and emotions is, in and of itself, a creator of more clashing emotions, all resulting in a bundle of self-doubt that crouches near his heart, like a greedy bird, picking away at his strength and certainty when he most needs it.

Doesn’t your doubt show you that you’re truly not ready? the pestering creature asks.

Doesn’t your longing for freedom prove you don’t deserve it? it says, tapping against the veins of ice and fear that lie right against the heat of his heart.

Doesn’t your need to be reassured tell you that you’re too hesitant, too weak to be alone?

His desire to fly is wrong. His desire to be sheltered, even more so.

Both together, coexisting in his heart and mind, could quite possibly mean the one thing he had been dreading for over a decade now, the thing older Jedi, real Jedi, had put into words and addressed to his face when he was only twelve, only eleven, only ten.

You are too emotional, they said.

You are overeager, they said.

You are not destined to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon had told him. I will not train you.

He had, in the end, and Obi-Wan has been wondering in the depths of his heart for all these years of it had not been a dreadful mistake. As much as the Force sings in his ears Jedi, Jedi, Jedi, endure, Jedi, Jedi, it felt like everything he touched, everything tangible, argues back failure, weak, selfish, foolish, unwanted, not fit.

Obi-Wan is twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and he is years into adulthood and light years away from proving that he’s capable of handling it.

When will he be Knighted?

Nobody seems to be expecting it from him.

Do they know, he wonders, have they known since the beginning that I am doomed to fail? Has this all been a gracious attempt, a thank you for my actions on Bandomeer, and they have drawn this out and out and out as long as they can?

How much longer can this go on?

Still, there are moments when he is at peace, when Obi-Wan is sure. When he meditates, when he accomplishes something new, when he walks away from an assignment feeling unashamed when he translates his memories into a tidy mission report.

When he has one of his long talks with Master Yoda, or Master Windu, who despite their revered status have taken to talking to him more like a friend than a child, outside of the Council chambers.

When he remembers the Force whispering inside, Jedi Jedi Jedi Jedi, endure, Jedi...

And then, on one of the missions assigned to both himself and his Master - still the overwhelming majority of his assignments - he and Qui-Gon are separated during a violent uprising.

There are bodies in the streets and buildings are aflame; children weep over the bodies of their parents and parents cradle the bodies of their children and scream as if the sound is their only companion left in the world. The standing government has a point, the rebellion has a point, the civilians caught in the crossfire don’t say which point they agree with because they’re too busy screaming and perishing, and Qui-Gon is simply gone.

Obi-Wan, faced with the threat of further bloodshed right here and right now even as the air is still clogged with ash and flame and as another body topples from a rooftop in front of his feet, raises his hand in surrender and calmly proposes a truce, offering himself as a legal hostage against the government that brought the Jedi here.

Obi-Wan is led away with his hands bound behind his back and his lightsaber taken away, and though his face is calm, the furrow between is brow speaks of his inner turmoil, which sounds like tapping against the cracks in his heart and Qui-Gon, where is Master Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I’m doing, if I fail more people will die, if I fail it will be my fault, is this taking charge or stepping aside, am I a leader or a victim?

He spends not days, not weeks, but three standard months as a hostage. He spends a terrible amount of time sitting in a cell and pondering his uselessness, the gravity of his foolishness, but every time someone opens the door and escorts him out to hold parley with the leaders of the rebellion and the ministry of the planet, he holds his head high, tempers his fear, and speaks to them with all he has.

Which is honesty. Humility.

You don’t know what to do, he says. Neither do I.

We all know we must do something. No matter how much blood you spill and how much earth you scorch you will eventually come back here to this table to have this same discussion until either both of you are broken beyond belief or one of you has been crushed, and half your planet’s voice stolen away. And you will have sacrificed two of the Republic’s Jedi along the way, a black mark against whichever victor is left standing.

Or, he says, we choose to pass over the violence and talk here and now, and choose this again and again and again. You have already had your fighting. Your people are already hoping for negotiation.

Are you here for their sakes or to kill them for show?

He does not use these exact words.

He sews them into his brief speeches, hammers in the point sharply when he must, weaves the common thread over and over again.

He knows they fight while he is locked away.

But he believes, from the growing respect in the eyes of these people who hold him both by his and against his will, that he is making a difference. He must be.

And Obi-Wan is twenty-three, very very nearly twenty-four, when he finally walks free to witness the signing of a treaty like this planet has never had before, to witness the formation of a new government, and he discovers not ashes and mass graves when he sees daylight for the first time in three months — but instead, a city and a planet marred only by scattered battlefields, and marked more clearly by the way its people have fought to keep it clean, to keep it safe.

Children race through the streets, unafraid, because they have had real shelter during the war. It has not entered their homes since that first terrible day.

Neighbors from opposing sides of this fight and friends who staked no claim in this war mingle freely. Their smiles are a little hesitant, but they are there.

The dead are all honored equally.

It is leaps and bounds, it is a civilization that propelled itself through years of struggle in three months, and Obi-Wan is awed by them.

He knows it cannot be this way everywhere.

He knows that there will be wars where no one wants to surrender, or where one side will be so certain of their point of view that they would rather raise hell than cease, and he knows there will be people who resist them.

But today it is real.

Obi-Wan looks at his pale and clammy hands, the marks around his wrists where he was so often bound, and feels the way his limbs shake from months of too little sunlight, not quite enough food, and more than his share of fear and doubt and self-recrimination.

As he smiles for a camera that will record this moment forever, he glimpses Qui-Gon amongst the crowd.

Someone explains to him, when he asks, that his Master had been injured during the uprising and spent the first three weeks of Obi-Wan’s captivity in convalescence. The remaining time, he has spent on the sidelines, forced there by his Padawan’s actions. With Obi-Wan a willing hostage, playing negotiator and leverage both, Qui-Gon had no role except to mingle with the people, offer them comfort and aid.

Something Obi-Wan knows his Master loved, but — he had still stolen his Master’s role.

He had thrown himself into a stupid, foolish situation, and how many times had Qui-Gon teased him about playing damsel in distress? And here he has gone and surrendered of his own accord. What would Qui-Gon have done if Obi-Wan had led them all to ruin?

Obi-Wan slowly loses his confidence, his relief, his silver tongue, as the press and the people recede, and he and his Master walk to a room that has been prepared for both of them, as honored guests by this new government.

Qui-Gon says nothing to him.

They walk in silence for twelve minutes.

And then, as soon as the door has shut behind them, Obi-Wan finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace, one of his Master’s hands buried in his hair, Qui-Gon’s chin resting atop his head.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Does his Master think him a child?

Perhaps Qui-Gon senses his thoughts, because the man pulls away briefly, still holding his Padawan by the shoulders, as if unwilling to let him go completely, else he vanish like smoke.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and his voice is loud and strong and brimming with warmth that washes over Obi-Wan like sunlight, like water, like an embrace. “Well done, my Padawan.”

And then he is pulled again into Qui-Gon’s comforting arms, and Obi-Wan breathes in and gives in, folding against his teacher like a child, and if a few tears stain Qui-Gon’s robes or drop into Obi-Wan’s hair, neither of them speaks of it.

Obi-Wan lets his Master hold him, lets go of fear and pride and doubt, and finds that he is safe.

~

[nev3rfound]

curled up : b.b

bucky hasn’t seen you all day in the compound, and it turns out you’re sick in bed. so being the loving yet oblivious boyfriend he is, he decides to provide some needed comfort. (1k)

masterlist / permanent taglist (also thank you to whoever organised my taglist!)

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

Walking into the shared living space within the compound, Bucky looks around, only to sigh in disappointment. “Anyone seen Y/n?” He calls out, only to be greeted by a series of heads shaking in response.

“You sure she’s not found someone else to annoy? Like Peter for messing up on his date with MJ?” Sam laughs, oblivious to Peter holding his hand up sheepishly.

“Erm, I’m right here, Mr Wilson.” Peter mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes, motioning to Peter to lower his hand back down.

“I haven’t seen her since last night,” Bucky admits quietly, unaware of Sam raising a brow to Steve. “and she’s not answering her phone either.”

Footsteps echo from behind, and Bucky knows it isn’t you as the footsteps stride through the corridor.

Loki stands tall as he passes Bucky with a smug look on his face. “Missing something, Barnes?” Loki questions playfully, hearing the metal plates in Bucky’s arm whirring as he forms a tight fist. “No need for that, I can assure you.”

Rising to his feet, Thor steps forward much to Loki’s disappointment. “Come on, brother, where is Lady Y/n?” Thor’s voice booms as he stands in front of Loki, recognising the sly look crossing his gaze. “Don’t make me ask you again, Loki.”

“I’d do what he says if I were you,” Tony chimes in from the couch, eyes never leaving his phone despite a potential argument brewing between a super soldier and two literal Gods.

“Well then,” Loki starts, looking between Bucky and Thor. “if you must know, Y/n is sick.”

Scoffing, Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “She can’t be, she was fine yesterday.” Bucky reasons, but Loki simply looks at him before tearing his eyes away mischievously.

“Buck, she isn’t invincible,” Steve speaks up. “she’s only human.”

“Pitiful really,” Loki mutters, tutting to himself as he moves past the pair. “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m after some needed quiet after having to put up with Y/n sneezing and coughing two rooms down all night. Not exactly the kind of noise I like to hear from someone in the night.”

Turning around, Steve shakes his head as Bucky’s feet remain cemented in place. “Buck, go,” Steve ushers, and Bucky snaps out of his thoughts, rushing through the corridor toward the elevator. “god, young love, hey, Queens?” Steve jokes to Peter who nervously laughs.

“Whatever you say, Mr Rogers.” Peter mumbles, hoping by some miracle the ground will swallow him whole. *

Hovering outside of your door, Bucky can hear your dry coughs and faint swears leaving your lips.

“Hey, doll?” Bucky knocks on the door before opening it, revealing the room drowned in darkness; and at least twelve packets of empty tissues discarded across the floor.

“Bucky?” You speak up, sounding nasally. “I thought I told Loki I didn’t want anyone coming in here.” You add in defeat as you sink your head back down into your pillows, unaware of Bucky’s smile fading.

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Bucky creeps over toward you until he’s perching on the edge of your bed. Despite it being close to pitch black, a slither of light peeks through the blinds and Bucky can see your eyes are closed, but brows remain furrowed together.

“You didn’t want me to come check on you?” Bucky tries to hide the defeatist tone in his voice, but you open your eyes and reach out sleepily, flinging your hand on his.

“No, no I didn’t mean it like that,” You tiredly whine, and Bucky chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t want anyone getting sick, I’ve got into full quarantine.” You explain before coughing violently, a hoarse noise leaving your lips.

Bucky quickly picks up the glass of water you’re reaching for, and passes it to you. He listens as you gulp it down, a softer cough following before you lie back down.

“Full quarantine or not,” Bucky starts as he rises to his feet, moving around the bed to climb in beside you. “I’m not leaving.”

Feeling the dip in your bed, you roll over as a pair of arms wrap around you gently, lifting your body closer to his.

You hum in content, knowing there’s no use fighting and you don’t exactly have the strength to bother trying.

Resting your head on Bucky’s chest, his metal arm remains wrapped around you whilst his other hand rests on your hair, his fingers attempting to run through the tangled knots.

“Loki didn’t pass my message on, did he?” You suddenly ask, and Bucky pauses. “Stupid God.” You mutter, feeling Bucky’s chest rise and fall softly.

“He is, isn’t he?” Bucky remarks. That’ll show Loki for trying to get between him in and his girl. “Do you want me to get you anything? Like some soup? My Mom always made soup when I got sick as a kid.”

Shaking your head in response, you tug on the duvet, pulling it further over you both. “Can you just tell me a story? I wanna hear more about your family.” You whisper and Bucky tenses beneath you. “I, sorry Bucky, if it’s not something you’re ready to share that’s okay.” You ramble, but Bucky shushes you, returning to running his fingers through your now knotless hair. “I’d happily tell you, doll.” Bucky leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Well, growing up on Sundays,”

It was almost instantaneous that you fell asleep in his arms before Bucky was even able to get into any depth in his story. But it didn’t matter as you peacefully slept in his arms as the occasional snore left your lips.

Smiling to himself, Bucky closes his eyes, wondering how he ever got so lucky to find a girl like you; ill or not, you’re the most precious thing in his life.

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[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Confidence to inspire fear

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The bridge of the freighter felt like it had become a nightmare as Lithel awoke.

He tried to open his eyes but even when open the room refused to stop spinning. One of his upper left eyes refused to open and as Lithel attempted to reach up with one of his arms he found that he could not move it as well.

Tilting his head down and saw through his blurry eyes that a section of the bridge ceiling had collapsed atop him and was pinning him to the deck. He tried to rise but the weight was too heavy. Just as he began pondering if this would be his end he felt the debris shift atop him. "Captain!" Lithel heard someone calling him but the sound felt like it was coming from everywhere. "Captain can you hear me!?"

Blinking several more times Lithel was able to focus and he saw his second in command Michael rushing over. He could hear several other footsteps approaching and not long after the metal pinning him to the floor being lifted off and a strong pair of arms pulling him out.

"I got you sir, just take it easy."

Lithel moved his mouth to thank him but nothing came out but a soft gurgle and whimper.

Only now as he was pulled free did Lithel see the damage done to his bridge. Halve the consoles were shattered, the data streams were flickering rapidly as an overload of information from across the ship poured in, and at one of the walls had several panels blown out and were currently on fire.

Michael helped lay him down across the floor while a medic rushed over and began treating him. Lithel was about to sit up and take back his command throne when the communications officer rushed over.

"Message coming in sir; it's from the pirates."

Lithel's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up but Michael put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They had served together aboard the Red Manta for some twenty years and had developed an understanding that needed no words.

He saw the look in Michael's eyes and knew he would take care of the situation and instead laid back down.

"Put them through." Michael said as the communication officer scurried off and began fiddling with the only remaining working communication console.

Within moments the data feeds stopped streaming information and displayed an image. On the opposite end series of figures could be seen standing around a command throne similar to Lithel's were it not for the adorning skulls and bones of various species draped over it.

They were muscular mixture of aliens ranging from lizard like creatures with sharpened teeth to thin limbed beings looking like living twigs, and even a strange blob like creature that had a knife wedged within it. But the most impressive of the figures was sitting atop the throne itself.

It had the shape of a humanoid figure but it appeared as a swirling cloud of black ink ever shifting. It wore no clothing and had no distinguishable features save for a pair of crimson red eyes.

"Surrender."

It was a single word spoken by the black ink creature before Michael could even say a word. The crew around it chuckled and laughed as if sizing up their soon to be prize; though Michael would soon throw a wrench into their celebration.  

"Are you insane!?" he spoke. His stance was firm and unwavering with his feet planted into the decking as if he was bracing for a storm. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Who, are you?" the black ink creature spoke as it raised a talon like finger at Michael, the ink bleeding off of it in drips as it did so.

"I am Captain Michael Zbari of the human reformation, transporting goods to the homeworld."

The pirates appeared confused at this announcement and murmured among themselves before the ink creature held up a hand. The medic treating Lithel appeared to take just as much of the confusion from the announcement and was about to say something when Lithel forestalled him. He knew Michael was playing a dangerous game, and it might just be there only way of getting out of this.

"You, lie." The words were spoken as if through water and Lithel could barely understand them as the thing continued. "The captain, is not human; this, we know."

"First you attack my ship unprovoked and now you claim I am not captain of my own ship?!"

His confidence radiated from him as he spoke and some of the pirates appeared taken aback. They were the ones who had attacked and now had them all at gun point. With a single word they could destroy the Red Manta and be on their way yet this human was acting as if they were the ones who should be sorry.

"Do you have any idea who are cargo is for?" Michael continued. "Should, we, care?" the ink being replied. "You should when Emperor Galvoc finds out you stole his personal shipment."

The smirks of the pirates dropped away instantly at this. The mere mention of the human emperor's name gave them pause as if they had just been struck by a cannon. The ink being leaned forward now on both arms and fixed the camera with a burning gaze.

"You, lie."

Michael scoffed at this and raised his arms out. "Nineteen containers of freshly cut refrigerated Borgan meat, twelve containers of the finest wines of the Nebula Rim, thirty six crates of gem stones from the fire pit mines of Draxon Iv, and that's just the tip of the ice berg."

The ink monster relaxed back into it's throne at this. "An, impressive, haul, indeed." it said and some of the pirates began grinning again but Michael continued to speak.

"For one with a death wish, an impressive haul for sure."

Michael stepped towards the monitor. "You could kill us and steal all of our cargo to sell but it won't matter; because the emperor will hear of this and will hunt you down to the farthest ends of the universe."

The ink thing chuckled and Michael's face frowned. "By attacking his shipment you have essentially declared war on him; you do realize that don't you?"

At this the black goo like creature stopped chuckling.

"He controls the largest fleet of ships to ever sail the void;  their numbers alone change gravity of entire systems with their passing."

"His armies are beyond counting and the march of their feet can crack planets in two."

"The depths of his depravity for torture against his enemies boundless and of such horrific that even the Draxic are afraid to incur his wrath."

Fixing an equally dark glare now Michael faced down the ink being. "You have no idea the hurricane you just sailed into."

The pirates began to argue among themselves but the black creature let out a deep roar that sounded as if bubbling tar could scream.

"He, will, never, know!" it said, "We, will, be, long, gone, and, you, all, dead!"

It was Michael's turn to smirk as he pulled out a small box like device with a blinking red light.

"This, is an emergency transmitter capable of reaching across five sectors." he held it out clearly so all the pirates could see. "Once activated it calls in a relief fleet to warp to our position within twenty minutes; and I activated it fifteen minutes ago."

For the first time the ink creature rose from its throne and pushed several of the pirates aside with surprising strength for a creature that appeared to be made of living oil.

"You, bluff!" is said.

"You could stay and board us to call it, but when they arrive and blow your scrap heap of a ship out of the stars I don't think it'll really matter what you think now will it?"

The two stared down each other, neither speaking a word yet unwilling to back down in the face of this challenge.

Lithel watched with ever clearing eyes as the pirates became increasingly anxious.

"Tick." Michael made a sound similar the clock arms of his wrist time device. "Tick, tick tick tick."

"Silence!" the ink creature bellowed, but Michael continued.

"Time's running out for you." His face was devoid of emotion save a devlish smirk. "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

"I said silence!"

"Time's running out little pirate." Michael quipped back, "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

The pirates were not frantic and some even began talking to the ink creature in an alien language none of the red manta crew could understand but it appeared to upset the ink being.

Letting out another roar the screen suddenly went dead leaving the bridge crew silent as the repair teams finally shuffled in to douse the flames.

Through the viewport Lithel could see the pirate ship burning retro boosters and turning around as fast as it could before warping away.

Michael stood upright for a few moments more after they fled back to the warp before collapsing down to the ground. Streaks of sweat began pouring down his face like rivers and he began breathing rapidly.

Lithel raised himself on to his arms unsteadily and looked at Michael.

"How did you know that would work?"

Michael looked at him as if he just remembered he wasn't alone on the bridge and looked embarrassed.

"When you act like you have the backing of the biggest thug in the yard, the other rats tend to leave you alone."

"So by claiming to be the emperors personal shipment.." Lithel began as he connected the dots.

"They would fear the hell hammer that would fall on them should they attempt to steal from the biggest threat the galaxy has ever seen."

Lithel was surprised that such an act of subterfuge worked but they were still alive and he would be the last to complain on how it was handled. He did point to the strange blinking box Michael still clutched in his hand.

"What is that device?"

Michael looked at it for a moment before chucking it over to Lithel who gracefully caught it mid air.

"It's a remote control for my room lights."

Lithel looked at it dumbfounded but before he could inquire more from Michael he saw his second in command pass out on the bridge as the stress of the attack and the performance he just made finally caught up to him.

[moonlightwritesdisney]

DREAM COME TRUE. -- WYATT LYKENSEN.

Paring: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: foul language. nudity. graphic descriptions of blood and cannibalism. sexual activity. 

Summary: Weeks after your old elementary friend had finally vanished from all existence everything seems to finally go back to normal. Standing in a coffee shop you met him. And all hell breaks loose.

SEQUEL TO ‘YOU’.

PREVIOUSLY . . .

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything. 

THE DIRT BELOW HIS BROWN BOOTS became sore while he had previously been peering into your small window for the past five minutes watching you. Your brown pale skin covered in the blood that wasn’t your own. Your face dry and lips cracked from the crying you had done, you felt numb. Your heat besting rapidly in anxiety.

The mirror reflected your bruised image. The bags under your eyes were a dark purple, your eyes a dark brown with widened pupils ( a side effect of a broken Z-band which usually wears off after twelve hours ). Your sink water turned a bright pink as the last of his blood washed down the drain. Disappearing into the drain pipes.

Your mascara smeared down your cheeks, your nose and cheeks red and your eyes puffy. ‘Your going to kill him’. A selfish voice spat in his head, his sharp claws dug into the untouched flesh of his tan palm. He was furious.

How could someone so shameful have the power of destroying someone who was so innocent? She was a ray of pure sunshine. His sunshine. The pondering question he already knew the answer to racked the Alpha wolf’s brain. He couldn’t understand it.

You were so innocent. Baby like. His baby. He felt guilt.

A page pant of sadness washed over him. He had wished it was him, who could comfort you from what had just happened. ‘Shh baby it’s okay I’m here now, your safe, completely safe, I won’t let anyone ever harm you again, ever, never again. I am so sorry.

So sorry. So sorry.’ He had imagined you sobbing desperately in his chest the ache of your body he felt against his own skin, he’d stroke your arm softly and whisper sweet nothing in your ear.

He’d reassure you constantly, be their for you when having to deal with the gained trauma even after the act. He’d give you anything you needed. Leave you loving encouraging notes in your belongings. Hold you every night as you slept. Lock every door and window in the house.

He’d lay bare with you in bed for hours just to make sure his babygirl was okay. Although he couldn’t help blame himself. He knew that he couldn’t just burst into your house and save you from your attacker, even after the matter.

‘oh uhm yeah, I’ve totally been watching you for months, that includes changing, and showering, and well... pleasing yourself too.

I’ve seen it all, and uhm I’m kinda in love with you too so I mean that’s a plus, uhm I know literally everything about you, how you are very persistent in organization and you hate cheesy romantic comedies.

How you’d just want to stay up until three a.m. reading a book about truce crime. How you can girl over the most underrated music artists and how you hate a guy that plays dumb in the most basic way. I know you absolutely hate roses anything I’m missing?’

He chuckled at the image of you stunned. He knew more about you than you knew yourself. How you’d jump into his arms, the feeling of your skin against his. Your soft lips brushing against his neck. He’d want it all.

That would immensely creep you out. His intention would to never make you uncomfortable. So the pain only grew worse. Not being able to call you by your name. Hold you. Take in the surreal beauty that was Y/N.

His white fangs pressed against his bottom teeth. His blood boiled to the brim. He wanted to make that disgusting human pay for what he did. His stomach twirled in mixed emotion.

He so badly wanted to hold you in his chest and comfort you, but some things have complicated consequences.

In the low midst of the night he kept a sharp eye on the human who groggily made his way down the deserted dirt road, stalking the weak being beneath the depths of the dark forest.

Small boots could be heard from miles stretched along the black canvas of the open air, the human male scanning his surroundings for some place to rest or.. a possible shortcut that could lead him home.

Wyatt licked his dry lips breathing out slowly watching the human stand in the clearing with curiosity. ‘Kill him’. ‘He deserves to suffer for what he did’. ‘Y/N’. ‘Think of Y/N’. ‘Gut him’.

The imploding thoughts trying to take control of him. His pupils shrunk and turned a bright yellow his fangs grew from the K-9’s in his mouth. He breathed heavily and beast like trying to regain his composure. Sure, he thought of you.

How you would’ve told him ‘this is dangerous and could get you caught by wolf patrol don’t’. But, the monster side of her would’ve agreed with him. Could’ve given into the impulses.

Could’ve joined in on the eccentric thrill of gutting a human to their bones watching as blood came spitting out of their body, falling limp to the ground and squirming like a dead rabbit, until their last breath leaves the closure of their lungs.

But he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard and shoved the impulsive thoughts aside. He caught attention of the human stepping through the clearing, Wyatt swiftly disappeared behind a tree. (Thank his wolf stealth.)

He watching closely behind the large oak as the midnight sky lit up with thousands of glowing stars the bright moon floating still. His feet crunched under the small wood chips and loose dirt, which made Wyatt’s right ear twitch occasionally. 

The human was lost, he had reached up to a large clearing in the middle of the forest ‘maybe this will be a quicker way home’. He thought to himself as he squeezed his way through the thick pine trees that scratched his face and dark leather. Little did he know he wouldn’t be going home.

An owl called in the distance alarming the human. Shrugging it off he walked a few more feet bonfire stopping in the middle of the clearing an eerie feeling began to set it and shake throughout his body. Wyatt quickly ran behind the large oak tree causing the bushes to rustle.

The human quickly threw his head around to the source of the sound, Wyatt felt his heart pace quickly , quicker as each second passed.

The moonstone laid on Wyatt’s chest grew a bright blue his sharp K-9s’ growing to a slick point and his eyes glowing a bright deeming yellow.

A low growl erupted from his stomach the animalistic nature taking grasp of his human side. The human caught sight of a dark shadow peeking out from behind the tree. He bolted the other direction.

His breathing paced as his nimble legs carried him the south west end of the dark dreary forest. Mud crushed under his boots his lungs burning and heaving out of exhaustion. Wyatt was faster. He dodged past trees and bushes running at almost fifty miles.

His leg got caught on a sharp tree ranch nearby he knew that whatever was out to kill him was going to make it quick. He was scared. He pulled with force which caused the branch to cut into the soft flesh of his leg, blood seeped through the blue denim and into Wyatt’s nostrils.

Jumping over large rocks and the bushes he caught up to the human quickly grabbing him by his jacket he pushed to human to the ground and used the force of his arms to hold him in a pin.

The human breathed heavily his eyes widened in fear “please .... don’t hurt me”. He spoke weak like it was an excuse to let him go. Wyatt’s eyes glowed his lips formed a deep snarl.

“Let you go? And what, you continue raping other innocent women”. He whispered a deeply distorted voice replacing Wyatt’s usual calm manner. The monster had completely taken over. The human whimpered and squirmed like a dead animal.

A scream left the human’s mouth and soared above the trees as Wyatt bite deeply into the salty flesh. The blood was warm a large chunk of his skin hung off of Wyatt’s mouth before he spit it out discarding it.

The human grunted and moaned in pain shooting out lines of foul words. Wyatt smirked as he straddled the humans hips in place allowing him to not move.

In panic the human began to wail his arms, the young wolf felt his heart erupt in his chest. The watched as the human wailed in half death, he felt evincible.

The blood squirted and poured out of the human’s uncared wound. The blood tasted sweet in his mouth, a true delicacy.

About fifteen minutes after he threw the discarded bones into a six feet deep ditch he had dug after killing the human.

His mouth, arms, and clothes all drenched in the human’s bodily fluids and chunks of his flesh on his chest.

He smelt foul. He knew he did. He wanted to make sure you were okay but couldn’t come to you smelling like this.

He had walked the path he knew like the back of his hand spotting the small watering hole, he stood at the shore of the small lake the moon glowing brightly over him.

Taking off his fur coat he stripped himself of his purple hoodie before slowly bringing up his white tank top over his head revealing his broad v line, toned abs and chest stained with blood.

Unclasping his jeans he slide them down towards his knees kicking off his boots and white socks. Then came his boxers.

He engulfed himself in the lake slowly, it was freezing cold but was used to it. The water has risen up to the middle of his waist, he began to vigorously rub off the dried blood splashing cold water in his face and arms.

Dipping himself under the cold lake he rushed up and breathed out coughing. Moving his wet hair out of his face he caught sight of a dark shadowed figure that stood at the shore. He could’ve sworn it was you. Your pale skin glimmered beautifully under the moonlight.

He didn’t move a muscle, yet he waited to see what your next intention was. A robe you were wearing slowly feel to the ground as you now stood naked your gaze kept on his, you slowly entered the water.

Your figure made your way through the cold water, his eyes never leaving yours he was absolutely stunned. This had to be surreal.

Your hips moved in the water causing ripples to shift outwards, your brown eyes fluttered innocently. He stood in front of you awestricken, you were gorgeous.

He was scared that maybe if he had made one wrong move you’d leave, so there he stood motionless waiting for you to respond.

You were now in front of him, your naked glory he kept his eyes on you out of full curiosity. Your face inches away from his you guided his hands towards your side his warm arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The tension was lingering, his heart was pacing at an irregular pace questions swirling around in his mind but nonetheless, he wouldn’t change a thing.

The two of your lips met in pure bliss, moving in synchronization your fingernails traveling up the back of his neck and into his soft curls his hands gripping your hips lightly not wanting to hurt you without permission.

His lips trailed from your jaw and to your neck where he softly bite and sucked gaining small moans from you in response.

Heavy breathing and moans began to fall from your lips as he held you in his arms his nails digging into the sides of your hips causing you to squirm, the fingers of his right hand gently sliding over your folds.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, he awoke in a panic, his head was spinning and he was covered in blood. His brown eyes scanned his surroundings, the green trees a dim green and the woods ground wet and sloshy from the rain the night before.

It was a dream.

Fuck. It was a dream.

Shivers shot down his spine and throughout his body as he remembered the horny dream he had. God he wished it where real. He observed his clothing. He was drenched in blood. His whole body.

He pondered to himself in confusion then it clicked. After killing the human he had retreated back to the clearing and fell asleep after ... Waking up he knew aside from the perks of his wolf powers one downside was that wolves couldn’t remember events that happen after they detach from their human form.

He licked his chapped numb lips while his ears perked up, sirens could be heard from miles away, holy shit. The police had found his body. Quickly, he stood up and ran left towards large similar oaks trees, lucky for him he knew the woods so it was easy for him. 

Suddenly while his head was turned behind him making sure he wasn’t seen he quickly looked forward and collided with anther body a loud grunt slipped passed his lips as he fell on the hard soil, groaning. 

[yoursinfulurges]

AntiHero

[The Venom Within] <- read part one here.

Description: The events that soon followed your emotional downfall turns dark and horrifying after Hydra gains possession of your freedom. 

1/2 of part 2

Warnings: Abuse. Kidnapping. Angst. 

Disclaimer: In this story' venom has no conscious and is simply just the readers alter, or the readers inner thoughts and insecurities. This takes place after civil war time. So Endgame and Infinity War never happens.

____________ 

You huffed inaudibly, hearing your stomach roar from starvation for the fifth time this minute. You had only gotten twelve blocks away from the tower, which was still very much visible when you turned back. Annoyingly so, you tried to avoid any peripheral contact with it, in fear of changing your mind and running straight back. 

Even trying your very hardest to block out any childhood memories spent there from coming back to you, as the last thing you needed was for more tears to be shed. You felt eerily deprived of sensation, and you didn't know if it was because of the cold New York air or the fact that you left a part of you behind back in that tower. The one capable of deciphering the many layers of the overwhelming apathy you ever so felt reside within you. 

The one able to comprehend and break down your other feelings that remained intacted, yet almost seemed brain dead. As if not computing the sitution that had happened moments ago, defying how your tense heart truly ached. Feeling as though you were just a walking body, an empty shell of the person that once was. You knew your inner subconscious was protecting you from added trauma, and was doing the best thing it could by preventing you from feeling the complexity of it all and only allowing minor details to slide. As said feelings would only send you into a spiralling depth of anxiety.

 And only god knows what would happened if your emotions alone suddenly decided it was time to have a panic attack at this very moment. Despite being greatful for the somewhat unorthodox coping mechanism that was forced upon you, you were at war with yourself. Almost angry that you couldn't process the overwhelming wave of sensations, having to submit to the black cold solitude of your mind till your brain finally decides to open up and evaluate just how badly the damage was to your mental health. 

But till that happens your soul was left to wonder and yield in confusion instead of settling on one dependent emotion.... 

You were conflicted to no doubt. 

You were angry yet, if tried hard enough and dug a bit deeper, pass the wall you built around your heart, you found yourself strangely at peace. Contradicting the forefront frustration you had with the profound perplexity of the situation, confusing you once more. As a part of you almost beams at the sudden calmness that over came you, in contrast to your outbursts merely an hour ago. 

Sure, you felt a myriad of miniscule emotions coincide you, tiny enough not to affect you in any way shape or form, or take away your apathetic structure, (thankfully so). And you knew that you were definitely far from okay as of right now, especially since you were somewhat going through an existential crisis. Yet in a funny defiant kind of way you were fine. It was as if your amygdala had froze, preventing you from registering everything that had happened. Forcing you to rerun the moments leading up to here in order to get to the bottom of what your true emotions and opinions were. 

You made it out of the tower unnoticed, given the fact that you dressed a lot more muted than you'd normally do. Nobody would think that it was Y/n Stark under the hood of one of Steve Rogers' old jacket. Your clothes weren't exactly ideal, but you were in no position to complain, you acted in a panic and grabbed whatever was on the way to the exit. 

That being Natasha's grey hoodie and Steve's oversized leather jacket. Both laid untouched, draped over the abandoned conference room chairs. You saw it the moment you stepped out the elevator, peering through the glass walls just to confirm whether it was really their's. It was a given that the room hadn't been cleaned out yet, being that it had been months since anyone has been in there. But then again, only a few people had conformation to that area of the tower. 

Without thinking, you had scanned your hand onto the access pad, and before you knew it, the glass door slid open. A decision you silently curse yourself on now for doing, since there was no doubt about it that Friday had already informed your dad that your last digital encounter was going into that room. You knew how incredibly smart that AI was, so you even made it an effort to take the route with less cameras. Even purposely running around the building, going to useless area's to confuse her in the future before sliding pass an unsupervised emergency exit. 

Despite the fact that it was 1:30 AM, the streets of Manhattan was as lively as ever. Though there was a lot less traffic at this time of the night. It gave you comfort to know that you weren't completely alone walking the streets. You may be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but at the end of the day, you were still a girl, and that fact alone made you a clear target for some. 

And you doubt you could put up much of a fight, especially with how starved weak (and not to mention injured) you were. You had to be weary of who was around you at all times, stick to crowded areas yet be inconspicuous enough not to be spotted by cameras. As you knew for a fact that Friday was most likely scanning the area. 

Though despite how stress driven the situation was and how fidgety you felt, you weren't completely wandering lost, you had a destination set at mind and it gave you all the hope that you needed to keep moving onward. That location being the small little Chinese restaurant tucked away at a back alley passage seven blocks away from where you were. As you were quite close with the owner, being a regular weekly. So you knew for a fact that if you asked she would let you stay for a couple of days without hesitation. The small cozy family owned business reminded you so much of your old home, back when you still lived with your mother. 

After that night- or more so week spent with Tony, your mother had decided it would be best to stay put in China for a while. Delusions of starting something more than just a hook up with the oh so' brilliant Tony Stark flooded her mind. She wanted to be at arms reach for the man and stay exactly where he left her. Tony told her multiple times over the course of seven days that he'd be back for her, but he never came back... 

As weeks went by your mother had come to the realization that those words were merely nothing but empty promises and drunken slurs. Thus feeding her resentment for the small little child that grew inside her. You weren't a native of China but you were born and raised there up until age eleven or twelve, when your mother passed from cancer. Your childhood for the most part was dry and barren of any affection, having to submit and be degraded to being your mother's personal maid. Despite the mistreatment you had to endure, you couldn't exactly complain because you weren't exactly suffering. You had a roof over your head and all the food and water you could ever want, not to mention access to education. From a young age you had always shown signs of carrying the infamous Stark gene, harboring a profound skill to grasp and master any subject thrown your way. At the age of only six you were already capable of speaking three different languages; English, Chinese, and French. You had all characteristics of being a Stark. 

Except of course the looks.... Which was primarily why Tony didn't believe you were his child to begin with. You knew from the age of twelve that you looked more like your mother rather than your dad, but the contrast was blatantly eye striking next to the man whom was supposed to be your father. You had your mom's features more not to mention her complexion, being that your mother was [your race]. 

(If you're white then imagine y/n is paler or tanner than Tony, I'm Asian so....) 

You had never forgotten the most pivotal and accurate representation of your relationship that unfolded the day you first met... 

🕸🕷🕸 

You ran towards the man stood a few feet away from you, letting go of the woman's hand. Your face beams displaying a blinding smile as you ran towards Tony. 

"Dad!" 

You screamed in joy running towards the male engulfing his mid waist with your arms. The man looked down at you in a fright, his brows furrowing together as he looked at the Stark family lawyer and the social worker. 

He gently yet assertively pulls your arms off of him, not sparing you a glance as you looked up in question. 

"Are you sure she's mine?" 

Your heart drops at that moment as all becomes clear... The smile no longer present on your face as you looked down and distanced yourself away from Tony. Something no one took notice of. 

"We've already done a DNA test on her sir and she's yours..." The social worker lady spoke timidly, clutching her files tightly. 

"Well do two more tests, god damn it!" 

Tony screamed causing you to flinch slightly. A prickling sensation of shame washing over you as you watched him begins to pace, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands in distress. 

"Come here sweetie, let's go get you something to eat, you must be hungry from your flight." 

A woman with ginger hair spoke lightly as she forced out a smile, extending her hand for you before glaring at the man when you took her hold. 

"I want a cheese burger...." 

She nodded briefly, pulling you away from the scene and straight towards the elevator. 

🕸🕷🕸 

And at that day was when you realized that things were only going to get more complicated from there. Because the first moment that you both met, he had already decided that he didn't want you. 

Though contrary to his primal feelings, you were very much aware of your fathers attempts in searching for you, even though it had only been forty five minutes since the fight. It was reassuring but, you weren't in the mood to awe about it. You were still mad at him, and had zero plans of forgiving him any time soon. Or returning any time soon... You wanted him to worry and loose sleep, it was petty but it would be a mere compensation for the suffering he put you through. 

You brush pass a halted group of people, no more than twelve, lightly shoving pass them irritably. Slightly annoyed with their odd behavior, as they all seemed to be watching something you couldn't care less about. You let out an inaudible scoff, as you walked passed them. Your attention devoted to unwrapping the bubble gum you had in hand. Harshly shoving the minty treat into your mouth before putting your bandaged hands into the pockets of the leather jacket. You heaved in relief, finally giving your roaring stomach a somewhat rest after fourteen hours of starvation. The gum was probably months old by now since you found it in Nat's hoodie, but you couldn't care less. It was only meant to sustain your hunger for twenty more minutes. 

You walk at a leisurely pace, stopping slightly to push the pedestrian button at the cross walk. You watched as multiple cars pass by, rolling your eye irritably as you hear the crowd of people gasp in awe again. You normally weren't so easily agitated, but you're currently having a hard time figuring out just what your new normal would be from now on... Tapping your foot on the concrete pavement, you wished time would speed up. 

"What do you think is happening up there?" 

"Who knows" 

"Maybe he's just testing out his new suits.' 

With that, you freeze all movements. It was as if everything stilled at the command of one word. You were scared shitless of all the possibilities it could be, not knowing whether you were willing to look or not, but your anxiety was killing you. Feeling it increase at every breath, taunting you like marionettes on a string, dearing you to look, only to scream no just afterwards. With an in take of air, you pushed back those thoughts and slowly, you turned to view what all the fuss was about. Gasping in shock and horror at the sight infront of you. 

He was insane. 

There stood the Stark tower tall and proud, being lit up like a firecracker with multiple yellow streaks of light ejecting from the building. It looked as though hundreds of missiles were being fired into the air, contrasting the twilight sky. Even with the skyscrapers that surrounded the tower, the sight demanded all the attention. No, those weren't missiles...  

They behaved too smart to be simply just that. And you knew better than to dismiss them so easily. Multiple flew in every direction, some swirling around the tower, and others going straight up. There was at least two or four going north and south, while a dozen takes off headed east and west. It looked as though someone was celebrating New Years early, and doing so extravagantly, except it was the middle of fall... 

The sight was beautiful you couldn't deny that, but you were confused as to what exactly that could mean. Was it meant for you? Was he calling you back? Was that his version of an Amber alert? Or maybe they celebrating that you were finally gone... Images of Pepper, Tony, and Peter celebrating your leave quickly flash through your mind, stabbing you in the back ones more. Quickly, you shake them out of your head, returning your attention once again to the event in front of you. Your brows pulled together in question before it officially clicked. Hitting you hard like a brick, demolishing the wall of protection you built around yourself to stop the flood of overwhelming emotions. Feeling a small tug in your chest, the numbness that guarded your heart slowly dispersed as anxiety crept up your spine. 

He had unleashed the entirety of his Iron Legion's to search for you. 

All 108 suits.... 

Without thinking, you quickly crouched down, seeing one flying low into the street, right towards you. Your hood fell from a gust of wind as your hair blew all around. You screw your eyes tightly, covering your ears at a loud swooshing sound invading your eardrums. Thankfully, it flew pass you. You ignored the cheering of the crowd, quickly trying to run and sprint into an underground sub station. Turning back one last time, only to be greeted by more iron suits taking off from the tower. You frantically focusing your eyes, seeing a blue and red figure swinging from a far. 

      Peter....  

As luck may have it, he swung left, following a completely different road. 

And with that, you ran. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, frantically looking for the 99th street substation opening so that you could hide underground. 

Cut short gasps of panic erupt from your mouth as you hurriedly ran across the street. You closed your eyes tight, feeling tears forming and falling down your face. Oh no, not now... Cold frost bitten air hits your skin as you maneuver yourself around bystanders. Not now, not now, not now. The tears fell more frequently as you squeezed your eyes shut once more. 

You were not going to send yourself into and anxiety attack, not now, and not because of this. 

Your running comes to a halt as you stand exactly where you're supposed to be, eyes quickly looking around in search for the station opening. 

There! 

In a fright, damp cold sweats engulfs your body as you enter and ran down the steps, out from above ground sight. You jump over the turnstile, panting from the tiredness as you took note of how soar your legs were becoming. You gulp, chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked around to see if anyone saw your odd behavior. And to your surprise the station was completely empty, odd... Though that could very well be because the scheduled 1:40 train had just took off fifteen minutes ago. You moved with hesitation and weariness as you looked around for any person in sight. Silently, you plopped yourself down onto a steel bench, trying desperately for your breathing to calm down. 

You didn't know how long it had been or how much time passed since you've sat down, but you stayed put fidgeting for what seemed like hours. Your thighs bounced anxiously as you kept an eye out for any short of movement, the dimly lit grimy station gave you an on edge feeling and it didn't sit right in your stomach. You felt like you were being watched from all sorts of corners and you shook it off as anxiety but something told you to stay guarded. 

Your ears would perk from time to time, hearing loud gusts of winds and cheering from above ground, ensuring the fact that your father's search party wasn't going away anytime soon. 

You hear movement coming in, snapping out of your haze as you felt a presence sit beside you. You peer up meekly in curiosity before gasping in shock and horror at who the person was. 

      Brock Rumlow.... 

"Long time no see little Stark." He spoke voice raspy and sinister as you cringe at the sight of his face. There, half of his profile was burnt and agitated red as one of his eyes was completely titanium white, you figured he was blind there. Wanda really did a number on him as you all suspected that she had killed him.... 

Little Stark.... That was something only Fury called you... 

You swallow in fear as you notice five more men appearing suddenly. You suddenly felt incredibly hyper aware of the situation, your vision tunneling as your heart rate increases. This was really happening... 

"I've waited a long time for this kid... knock her out!" 

Before you could scream in distress a throbbing pain consumes the back of your skull, and then everything turned black...

_____________

I owe you guys an explanation, and to put it simply, I was depressed and felt unmotivated so I took a lot of time to myself... I wasn't aware that so many people were expecting a follow up to a stupid little story I had written in April... I am without of words and am absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of support and love you all have given me. Yet the feeling of being pressured to write came with the notion of so much positivity, thus tainting it. I can't promise when the second half of part two will come out, but know that it is coming......

Tag List:

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[talonwings]

Who We Are - Empires SMP writing

a gift for you, empiresblr, courtesy of my now 5 hours of fWhip headcanons. feel free to kill me when you're done. (also sorry i don't yet have an AO3 i can link to, i've been on the wait list foreeevvveerrr).

CW for slight body horror, angst, and i guess suffocation kind of?

“fWhip? Hello? Are you in here?”

He heard the call--how could he not have, when the voice was hers? Still, he did not move, remaining where he slumped against the wall of the underground room. One of the redstone crystals blooming from the stone was jammed against his shoulder blade, but even the pain could not entice him to rise.

“fWhip, come out!” Gem’s voice was a mixture of frustration and concern, a tone he rarely heard from her--well, the frustration he had heard before, but the worry was new. Gem almost never fretted about anything; it was how she had kept him and Sausage so well in line up until now.

“I’m going to come down there!” The threat echoed down the passageway that separated the secret room from the unassuming shopfront above it. “I know where your lair is, it isn’t a secret! Don’t make me come down there!”

“Don’t,” fWhip rasped. “Please.”

Gem either couldn’t or didn’t hear him. “I’m giving you one minute, and then I’m coming down there whether you like it or not!”

“Please,” he tried again, but his voice would not obey him. It petered out almost as soon as it passed his lips. He licked them, swallowed, coughed, tried a third time. “Gem, please, go away.”

This time, it seemed, she did hear, for she answered, “I will not go away! Nobody’s seen you in two weeks, fWhip! We’re worried sick!”

“I’m fine,” he croaked--a lie.

“You don’t sound fine,” she retorted. “I’m coming down.”

He opened his mouth to warn her off again, but the tell-tale sound of the painting door sliding back masked whatever he might have tried to say. Seconds later, her footsteps started up, the familiar click of those heeled purple boots getting ever louder as she marched along the passageway toward his laboratory.

fWhip’s gaze darted around in a panic, searching out anyplace that would be suitable to hide. He hadn’t moved from his current spot in over twelve hours, and his limbs protested as he shoved himself violently to his feet, teetering off-balance from the unfamiliar motion. Finally, he settled on a small cranny near the back of the chamber, and limped over to it, cramming himself inside just as Gem’s footfalls indicated that she had reached the door to the lab itself. He heard her swing it open, and then her voice, much clearer now, softly called, “fWhip? Where are you?”

“Go away,” he replied, hating the stony rasp that he couldn’t seem to get rid of now. “Don’t want to see you.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she replied. He could imagine the look on her face, and fought against the lump it brought to his throat. He wanted to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to throw himself into her arms.

“Didn’t ask you to come,” he croaked instead.

“No, actually, Jimmy did,” Gem replied waspishly. “Your enemy. You remember him? The one you stole his most precious possession from? He sent me a message three days ago to tell me he hadn’t seen or heard from you in over a week. Mind you, this was after I’d been questioned by Sausage, Pearl, and Shrub as to why you’ve missed the last two alliance meetings. fWhip, even your enemies are worried about you. Where have you been?”

Oh, if only you knew. His mouth twisted with a hateful, bitter little smile. “Busy.”

Gem audibly scoffed. “Right.”

“Leave, Gem.” The order tasted strange in his mouth, when he desperately wanted her to stay.

“Not until I see you.” He heard her start moving around the room, picking things up and nudging them with her feet, rearranging boxes and sliding barrels aside as she searched.

“Leave.” The cranny was small, but he squashed himself further inside anyway, stone scraping against all the places where his skin was exposed.

“Are you back there?” His stomach squeezed with terror as he heard her move toward him, squeezing between two of the suspension tubes where he had once stored specimens he was researching. “I can’t see you.”

“Please, leave, please.” If he couldn’t order her, he could at least beg her. “Gem, please, if you care about me at all, go away.”

“fWhip, I do care about you,” she said gently. “That’s why I’m here in the first place. Please come out. I just want to know you’re safe.”

He could feel his heart ripping itself in half--desperation to hide warring violently with the desire to finally be seen, even if it would cost him everything. It felt like it might burn a hole in his chest, and his hands tightened reflexively into fists as he battled himself for what seemed an eternity.

“Please, little brother,” Gem whispered.

It was as if she had caved his chest in. A sob dragged itself from his throat before he could stop it, but he finally let himself unfurl from the cranny to drape limply across the floor, gazing up at his sister’s blue-violet eyes as they widened in shock, which turned to horror, which turned to sorrow.

“Oh, fWhip…” Gem reached out a hand toward him, but hesitated, drawing her fingers back before she could reach him. “What happened?”

“You really want to know?” He had to shove back another sob with a monumental effort, watching the way her fingers trembled as she gazed at him. “Or do you want to leave, like I told you to before?”

“No, I would never,” she gasped. “Not now. Not like this.” She sat down on the floor, her violet cloak flowing behind her like a pool of silky water, and slid closer to him, although not quite close enough for their hands to touch. “Tell me what happened.”

He let his eyes drift away from hers, toward the ceiling and the red crystals dripping from its shadowy recesses. “Well, it began two weeks ago.”

Two weeks earlier…

fWhip was not a stranger to surprises, but he liked receiving them far less than he liked planning them.

It had been a long elytra flight from the undisclosed location of the Wither Rose headquarters back to his home in the Grimlands, and the multiple hours in the air were wearing on his body--even though he had been wearing his scarlet goggles for the duration, his eyeballs still ached as if the wind had been hammering them, as did his shoulder blades from the yank and drift of the elytra against his own muscles.

“Maybe next time I take a horse,” he muttered to himself as he angled in for the landing. The deepslate roofs of the Grimlands were beginning to glide by beneath him now, and he made for the circular patch of dirt at the back of the manor that was his customary landing site, his eyes trained on it until something else caught his attention.

“I am positive that was not there before…” One hand came up to tap his chin as his gaze caught on the massive outcrop of deepslate that had bloomed at the front corner of the manor gardens, studded with glinting redstone crystals. A darker shadow within the ring-shaped formation suggested there might possibly be a hole there, though how deep was indiscernible from this far above.

“If somebody has been trying to steal from me again--wait.” fWhip narrowed his eyes at the spot, investigating it more closely now, for it seemed more familiar the closer he drew. He could vaguely recall setting a circle of rocks within the closed hedges, and in their center, a red container, filled with--

“Damn! Xornoth again!” His breath huffed out harshly as he realized what had happened. First the explosion, and now this…

Veering off-course from his typical spot, he carefully glided down until he was low enough to snap the elytra closed and drop gracefully to the ground between the wide hedge rows. From down here, the deepslate ring seemed much larger than it had from the air, its jagged edges stabbing into the blue sky. He could tell now that there was, indeed, a hole at the center, exactly where he had placed the shulker-box filled with Xornoth’s corruption.

“Damn,” he whispered again. He edged closer, peering carefully at the hole as he neared in an attempt to see what might be at the bottom. It appeared to be deeper than he was tall, however, and he was forced to maneuver up to the very lip of the hole to get a good look at the bottom. Thankfully, there did seem to be a bottom, lurking maybe ten feet below the surface; the depths of the hole were quite dark, though, only dimly illuminated by patches of glimmering red crystals, and he was unable to determine much more than that.

fWhip wondered, briefly, if he ought to just ignore the hole. Common sense would seem to suggest that it was involved with Xornoth in some way, and therefore worthy of at least being avoided for the time being until he could request the help of his allies. fWhip, however, whether fortunately or not, had always been availed of a strong sense of curiosity--it was how he had developed so many of his gadgets and tools. Besides that, there was something about the depths of the small hole that seemed to call to him, and him specifically.

He glanced around, taking stock of who might be nearby in case he needed to call for help, and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. There was a groundskeeper’s cottage just on the other side of the hedge row, but he had no way of knowing whether anyone might be inside.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

Gingerly, he sat down at the edge of the hole, dangling his legs off the side and exploring for possible footholds. It took him a minute, but his toes finally caught on a ledge, and he was able to hoist himself down and into the vertical shaft. Thankfully, the same jagged-edged property of deepslate that made it look menacing also made it excellent for climbing, and he had relatively little difficulty lowering himself the full ten or eleven feet to the bottom, where his feet landed on solid stone. Looking up, he was surprised how dim the sky seemed to be after such a short descent.

Now what? he thought to himself as he gazed around at the narrow walls on all sides. Surely I didn’t make an ass of myself climbing down here for no reason.

He had but a few seconds to wonder, as a strange hiss caught his attention, echoing from the rock walls. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but the small hole began rapidly to fill with a reddish mist, which, when he inhaled it, made the inside of his nose and throat burn as if he had inhaled fire. He coughed, accidentally inhaled again, and coughed more violently, and still the stuff spewed into the cavern, and he began to wonder whether this was a trap, and whether he had been an idiot for climbing down here, and whether his allies--his friends, his sister--would find his corpse rotting down here. His hands scrabbled for handholds to lever himself back up, but the mist had filled his eyes now, and it stung, forcing him blindly to his knees. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. Lights danced behind his eyelids, and his throat was a tunnel of fire, and then he was unconscious, and knew no more.

Present day…

“And the next thing I knew, I woke up. And...this.” fWhip gestured down to himself, unable to keep his mouth from curling like he had tasted something sour. “Or, well, part of it.”

“Part of it?” Gem cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was just the wings at first.” He tugged at the grey-black appendages, hating that he could feel it when his fingers brushed the leathery flesh. “And to be honest, I thought they were awesome. Who hasn’t dreamed of having wings? Sure, they looked a little gargoyle-ish, but it seemed like a small price to pay for not having to use elytra anymore. And it felt like the redstone magic was helping me, maybe giving me a gift to fight against Xornoth. I thought it might be something good.”

“And then…” Gem prompted when he trailed off.

“And then...the rest started,” he whispered. “I tried to ignore it at first. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, or getting sick, because it started with just my eyes, and I felt like maybe it would go away if I just, I don’t know, pretended not to notice. But then it was my skin, and then my hands, and then...and then my face.” He turned away from her as a visible shudder made its way through him. “I look disgusting.”

“Why didn’t you call us for help?” Gem murmured.

“Because it was my fault it happened!” he growled, shaking his head. “Because I was an idiot and went down that hole and breathed in that gas, and now I’m a monster, and I have no one to blame but myself. Because I couldn’t wait for you.”

“fWhip, no!” He could see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes, and he hated himself even more for it, for making her upset. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen, and you’ve always been an investigator. And now you’ve had to suffer alone, and I had no idea, and…” Her voice caught. “I was so worried. I thought maybe the demon…and especially after those dreams...”

He swallowed. “I...I’m sorry. I just...I didn’t know how to face everyone like this.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, simply listening to their own breaths. Finally, Gem said, “It doesn’t look that bad, you know.”

fWhip eyed her dubiously. “Gem, I look like a gargoyle. Like some kind of…” The word demon couldn’t force itself out, but he could see she understood, for she vigorously shook her head.

“No, you don’t look anything like that,” she said. After a long pause, she quietly added, “You look like my little brother.”

He tried, but couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispered.

She reached over and finally took his hand, and he almost shouted with joy at the touch of another person; her skin was warm and soft, her delicate tiny fingers gentle as they closed around his rough, clawed ones.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Together.”

He nodded, and squeezed her hand. “Together.”

[whatanoof]

Of Angels and Promises

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: ~12.2k

Warnings: fluff, smut, violence, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, daddy boba is a warning all on his own, implied throne fucking

Summary: Promises are bad. They imply attachment and accountability, both  very hard to come by in the maker-forsaken deserts of Tatooine. Falling in love inspires promises that one isn’t able to keep, and you let your guard down with him.

You saw the ship. It soared through the sky, slicing through the air like an arrow. It was the same one that he had drawn for you on the rough sketching paper in your mechanic’s workshop, and it was even more beautiful in person. It was a cloudless day, and the green paint contrasted the sky perfectly. You could track every movement across the blue expanse and expected to watch the ship set down directly by your hut. But it didn’t. It continued, stretching farther away in the direction of the palace with every passing second that you stood, frozen in space and time. 

So you do what every other abandoned lover would. You ignore it and tell yourself that you were mistaken. It’s easy to pretend you’d imagined it. Because if Boba ever came back, he would come back to you, right?

A gentle knock on the doorframe rouses you from the depths of overthinking, and you accidentally slam your head on the shelf in surprise. “Shit! Motherkriffing, dank fucking farri-”

Your first name echoes through the building and cuts through your vicious curses like a bell, and you stop in shock. No one out here calls anyone by name. Your hand drops to your workbench and grasps a heavy wrench. You slowly approach the door and slide to one side of the frame to prepare an ambush. The voice calls your name again, and this time you register that it’s female, low-pitched and soothing. An arm appears through the doorway, and you swing the wrench with all of your might.

You expect at the very least to graze the limb appearing through the doorway of your workshop, but you’re sorely disappointed when you miss entirely. You stumble forward, off-balance from the misplaced strike. A hand seizes your wrist, torquing it violently to one side and forcing you to drop the makeshift weapon. Before you can blink, you’re pinned against the wall with your arm twisted behind your back.

“Let me go!” You struggle against the grip, but it’s too strong, and you grunt at the strain in your joints. “Please, I have water, maybe a handful of credits in the house.”

She doesn’t release you and your name is muttered sharply again. “Is that you?”

“You found me. If you’re going to kill me,” You turn your head enough to spit on the ground, “Tell Bib that I’ll come back to haunt him and shove it where the suns don’t shine.”

“I don’t come on Fortuna’s orders.” She spits the Twi'lek name like a curse. Now you’ve pissed her off. If you weren’t going to die before, you would now. “I come on Boba Fett’s.”

You stop struggling immediately, “What?”

“Boba Fett sent me to bring you to him.” You inhale sharply at the confirmation. 

Betrayal flashes through you like lightning. “Let me go.” The words are an angry hiss, reminiscent of a desert serpent ready to spit venom.

She does so and you turn, rubbing your shoulder. The woman is deceptively small, with dark hair in a long braid down her back. A form fitting leather tunic and coat accents her slim waist and fit body.  She’s wearing a helmet, though you can see dark eyes through the visor, and a long rifle rides on her back.

“Who are you? Are you a bounty hunter?” 

“I am.” You wait for her to reach for her rifle, “But that is not why I am here.” She disengages her helmet lock and pulls it off. She’s too pretty to be a hunter. You wish that wasn’t your first thought, because now you can’t help but stare. You’re vaguely aware that you probably look stupid, but you’re too busy gaping at her smooth skin and fine features. The only indicator of her profession is the stern set of her mouth and perfectly shaped eyebrows, okay you need to stop.

Because you weren’t mistaken earlier. Boba is back on Tatooine, and you’re not sure how to handle that after so much time.

---

“Come on, don’t do this to me right now. No, no no no no n--” A puff of smoke drifts from the comm unit, and you drop the screwdriver with a defeated sigh. Kriffing hell. Weeks of searching for the right parts, the blazing hope within you that you might be able to finally get off this ball of sand when you saw the Imperial signal boosting unit, all ending in a smoking and sparking mess in your hands. Anger flashes hot through your veins, and your hand flies up and whacks the communicator hard, hard enough that the stinging impact chases away the anger momentarily. Then the fury returns, doubling in intensity, and the sheer injustice almost makes your vision white out. 

The distant grinding of the sandcrawler shakes you out of your fervor, and you haul yourself to your feet with a sigh. Trading days always... intensify you. But you can’t afford to get hung up on one comm unit. It has been years of fried comm units. Even if you managed to patch together a working one on your limited knowledge, who would you call? A single name flits across your mind, but you veto it instantly. Even if he was in range, he wouldn’t come to get you.

So, back to the original plan. The long plan, the one that has stranded you on this planet for solar cycles. You busy yourself with the various scavenged parts that you’d collected over the past month, polishing and dusting the pieces until they glint like gems in the late afternoon suns. Every small scratch garners another twelve minutes of debate over whether the rebuilt astromech viewport would be worth the trade for the polished transparisteel, or the additional inhibitor units.

The first thing that’s off is the Jawas themselves. They seem… tense. No, that’s underselling it. They’re always high strung, running around and worrying about different bargains and barters. But today, they’re absolutely freaked out. Dual sun-stroked. High on their anxiety. Which is good for you; they’ll be distracted and maybe they won’t try to barter for your spare vapor consolidator again this time.

So you naturally pay it no mind while setting up your line of wares. You had a good haul this week, enough to make the water taxes this month.

The Jawas crowd out of the sandcrawler deck, and you greet them as you recognize them. A flurry of Jawaese flies around your head as they run about, laying out the wares for you to examine.  One scurries to your offerings this week: random parts and a series of old mouse droids that you had reprogrammed. They examine the small droids while speaking to each other too quickly for you to follow. Finally, they come back with two of the small droids, nodding to each other as they present the desired pieces to you.

“Got any working EC processors lying around in there to trade?”

They look at each other, and one says a single phrase that you translate roughly to, ‘Bring him out.’

“Bring what out?” But you’re too late and the Jawas are already inside, hauling a mass covered in sackcloth down the ramp. “Is that a patch-in droid? Where the hell did you scavenge a whole one fr…”

The second thing that’s off is the human body. They rip the sackcloth off of the form, and you trail off. “What in the kriffing hell is that?” After further examination you confirm that it is probably a he. His eyes are closed, and he’s lying in the sun too limply to be healthy. There are bruises and cuts on the skin that you can see, but he’s draped in dark clothing that has to be sweltering hot in the Tatooine suns. A Tusken gaffi stick lies pinned underneath his body. 

The Jawas erupt in a storm of chattering, waving their arms around their heads as you try to keep up your limited Jawaese. You crouch by the man. He’s breathing shallowly, and you don’t see any visible injuries, but dammit, you don’t know much about first aid. “Slow down, please!”

They don’t slow down, and you’re left scrambling trying to remember the difference between preterite verb forms while continuing to try to check on the man’s health. “He broke into the sandcrawler, killed your warriors, and took a nap?”

More unpleased Jawaese flies around your head, “He broke in, killed your warriors, and didn’t try to escape, just sat down and tried to interrogate you. And then you knocked him out and broke his legs.” The Jawas cheer gleefully in affirmation, and you sigh. A second glance at the man reveals the sunken skin around his eyes and the unnaturally pale color of his skin. There are white scars over his face that look like acid burns. “Maker, how long has he been in there?” The Jawas keep talking, but you’re not paying attention. He won’t last another day without attention, and that is coming from an inexperienced mechanic. You may not know medicine, but you can’t leave him in good conscience.

“I’ll take him off of your hands. Keep the mouse droids.” 

It’s a kriffing miracle that you manage to get him back inside your hut and onto the cot without pulling a muscle. You don’t even know if he’s going to wake up. He just lies there, and the weight of the situation slams down on you in a single crushing moment. “What the hell did I just do?” You rake your fingers through your hair, “Take in a dying stranger, why don’t you? Sign away half of your supplies, half of your food, half of your water, half of the credits meant to get you out of this damned place? Dumbass.”

He groans, and you start. He’s awake. With a heavy sigh, you face the newest burden in your life. “Here, drink some water.” You grab the half-empty jug from the table and kneel beside the cot. “You’re lucky that the Jawas decided to meet me today. If they had gone to Tokonu’s farm, you might not have lived through the next few hours.” You reach to prop his head up.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have tried to touch him. There’s an explosion of movement, and you suddenly find yourself pinned to the ground, arms locked painfully behind your back. Maker, he’s half-dead, and you barely saw him move. “Where am I?” The growl is so deep that you can feel it in your toes, though the roughness of his voice suggests that it hasn’t been used in a while.

You look over your shoulder, and you see dark eyes piercing into you. A shudder runs the length of your spine at the predatory gaze, and you’re feeling less like an unlikely caretaker and more like trapped prey. This is a dangerous man, no matter the state of his health. Then he curses and the weight on your back lifts as he falls to the side and you remember the broken legs.

You shakily roll to the side and sit up, studying the man next to you on the floor, who’s clutching his legs and muttering rude phrases about Jawas and thieves that you’d rather not repeat. He’s older, with creased skin and a dark scowl contorting his features. Scars run the length of his face, adding to the aged appearance. His dark clothing masks most of his body, though you’re sure that the rest of his skin bears similar scars to the ones slicing through his features. 

“You done staring?” The rasping voice makes you jump and look away hurriedly, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment. 

You stand. You have to find a way to splint his legs. “I don’t see many other Terrans out here.” He grunts, and you hurry to your workshop. You need wood, or metal, or something straight. Fuck you’ve never set a broken bone before, but you grab the bacta from the back cabinet. Your gaze lands on the ladder in the corner of the room.

“Hey.” His head lifts when you re-enter the room, lugging the ladder through the door frame. You dump it on the floor in front of him, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Angel, I’m not going to be climbing anywhere anytime soon.”

You ignore the endearment and the sass, “I’ve never set a broken leg before. I need your help if you ever want to walk normally again.”

“You’re going to set my legs?” He asks.

“I’m assuming that you know how to.”

He doesn't confirm your theory, instead tilting his head and looking at you more seriously, “Big assumptions.”

“If you know how to break an arm, you know how to set one.” 

He just leans back and laughs, “You have a tongue on you.” You won’t dignify that with an answer, and his smile only grows. “Break the ladder. I need two straight planks.”

---

The massive palace is dank and cold, the polar opposite of the planet outside. It’s a new world compared to the heatwaves and sand dunes. The silence amplifies your quiet footsteps as Fennec leads you through the hallways. Speaking of which, she is absolutely silent. Her footsteps are nonexistent even on the cold metal floor. She put her helmet back on when you entered the palace, so you can’t even hear her breathing. The only sounds are the ones made by you, and the walls seem to amplify them to the point where you’re sure that wherever you’re going, you will be expected.

You can’t help but feel like you’re walking to an execution, though you haven’t decided if it’s your own yet. It could be. You don’t know if he’s changed. It’s been years. You’ve changed, that’s for sure. Actually, scratch that. You know that he’s changed, because he didn’t come straight to you.

You frown. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing, though you can’t place your finger directly on it just yet. After years of being tied to no one, of being perfectly free and independent, why would he come back to Tatooine?  What is tethering him to this desert of a planet besides his own suffering? 

Out of nowhere, a staircase yawns in front of you, and you hesitate slightly before following after Fennec. The arched ceiling opens into a large room that prominently displays a raised dais, though it all falls away when you see who is seated on the throne. 

It’s been a long time since you’d seen him, and you’d never seen his armor in color, only a sketch. The smooth green and red accents are color combinations that are in short supply on Tatooine, he cuts a menacing figure against the dark throne. He’s splayed out on a throne built for a Hutt thrice his size, legs spread and arms resting on the sides. It might be intimidating if it were a stranger, but you keep telling yourself that he’s not a stranger. It’s easy to imagine that he is, due to the blatant showmanship and armor. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, but this suit of armor isn’t the Boba that you knew.

---

“What’s that?” You’re sitting at the workbench while he’s in a kitchen chair that was dragged into the workshop so that he could have a place to rest. He’s recently become mobile, though he’s only allowed to move under your sharp eye, making sure that he doesn’t try anything stupid that will leave him bedridden for another month. That would be another seven weeks of extreme food rationing and existing on supplies only meant for one. That being said, he mentioned that he was willing to lend an extra pair of hands in your workshop, and you’re not one to deny free help, so long as he promised to not push himself too hard. Your measurement tools were left on the table, and to your surprise, he picked up the stubby pencil and began sketching with it. The rough parchment now shows evidence of a human-like figure.

“My armor.” 

“What color is it?”

“Green.” Another purposeful sketch on the paper and there’s a prominent blemish in the helmet. “And red.” Stars, it’s like pulling teeth.

“Did you lose it?” Maybe you’re intruding, but you’ve been taking care of him for the past month, so you’ll excuse yourself from this one.

“Yes. These--” He waves a hand around his face, indicating the pale scars, “--are from a Sarlaac. When I fell in, I lost consciousness. Woke up without the armor. I need to find it.”

The Sarlaac pit is an execution site for those who oppose the Tatooine crime syndicate. You’ve never heard of anyone surviving either the wrath of the Hutts or the Sarlaac. “It’s important to you.” “The armor belonged to my father.” It’s hard to imagine the toughened man in front of you ever being dependent upon someone else. Though, you suppose that everyone comes from somewhere. You wonder not for the first time where this man came from. “It’s part of who I am.”

---

“Boba?” The name is a quiet whisper that echoes emptily through the chamber.

He says your name in return, but his deep baritone makes it sound so much more full than his did floating in the air. “Just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

“Can’t say that I can make the same observation.” You shift nervously. It’s too empty and cold in here, the absolute antithesis of the world you made your own. You can feel the dampness leeching the energy from the air. 

“That’s fair.” There’s a beat of silence.

“How have you been?” It’s a passive question, nothing more than something to say to break the silence.

“Good. And you?” The conversation is stunted and awkward, though it only used to be stunted. Now, you’re looking at this man and you don’t know him anymore. Even before, he was your friend above all else. Now you’re stuck making basic observations about him.

“You got your armor back.”

The helmet inclines once, barely an acknowledgement of a statement that you feel should receive so much more. “Found it through a friend.”

“Some friend. Am I going to get that story?”

“Later.” It’s infuriating, the distinct lack of personalization. For solar cycles, you had Boba. Then, nothing. Now you have Boba Fett, the bounty hunter.

---

“What’s your name?” You can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ask, though in all fairness, there’s not much need for names when there are only two people around for leagues. You simply speak, and he assumes you’re talking to him. He rarely speaks, so when he does, he’s always talking to you.

He doesn’t answer at first, only continuing to hold the sheet of metal in place so that you can continue welding it shut over the gap in the droid’s body. You don’t mind. If he wants to answer, he’ll answer. Though it would be nice to have a name to place to the stoic face. It would also be nice to have a name to whisper when you touch yourself at night. 

You hadn’t meant for it to end up like this, but you can’t help but admit that you had been setting yourself up to fail. Living with a man, especially one so tall, strong, so… kriffing dominant in how he carries himself? You’re just surprised that it took the dreams half a solar cycle to start up. But now you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel for him to back you up against a wall and pin you to the rough stone with just one of those wonderfully strong hands. 

“Watch it angel--”

You snap back to the present just in time to see your torch drifting dangerously close to your hand. You yank it away, but the damage is done and your glove is burning. He curses, bare hands immediately flying to the thick cloth and yanking your arm forward. A few rough pats later, and your glove is smoldering. Shit. That had been your last good pair. You sigh, pulling the glove off and getting up to find another. You snag a mismatched glove from the bottom compartment of your storage unit and settle back down to finish the job.

You’re two inches into the welding line when he speaks. “If I had known you’d be so distracted by silence I would have spoken.” The tone is dry and sardonic, and your gaze darts up to meet his deadpan one before flicking back down to your work in time to keep the welder from drifting again.

“No you wouldn’t have.” It’s the truth, based on how he doesn’t seem to have a snappy answer.

Finally, he sighs,  “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” This time, you know better than to look away from your work. 

You raise an eyebrow at the sheet metal, “I know.” You finish and click off your torch, settling it carefully down on the work station beside you. “No one ends up in a Sarlaac pit by following the law.” Air puffs out of him a little more forcefully than normal, and you squint. Was that a laugh?

“I wasn’t the one getting executed.”

“Didn’t take you for a clumsy person.” He doesn’t dignify the jab with a response, and you suppose that you deserve that. You examine the weld before pulling the torch back out. It’s a little sloppy. “Do you regret those things?”

“No. The sum of a person’s lifetime is found in his actions. Regrets or none, they are who I am.” That… is shockingly poetic considering that you’d only asked for a name. 

“You’ve killed people.” It’s not a question, there is no doubt in your mind of the answer, but you want to hear it from him.

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Depends.” You inhale slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase this, “I… understand that you don’t have an easy past.” He snorts at that, and you glower at him before continuing. “Tatooine doesn’t need more war.”

“You’re scared.” It’s a pointed statement, blunt and uncaring about the blatant assumption.

“No.” No, a million times no. You had not cowered in fear during the Clone Wars, you had picked yourself up and survived. But ever since Bib Fortuna took over the syndicate, violence had been minimal. You do not need more. “As long as you live here, I do not want you to be the one who brings it back.” You’re on shaky ground here, considering that you really don’t have much control over him or his choices. But this is the only request you have made of him so far.

He grunts in response, a thoughtful silence settling over the workshop. “You really care for this planet?”

“No. I fucking hate deserts. I’m blowing this joint as soon as I can.” You yank the glove off with more force than perhaps you needed. Whatever, it got the job done. You squint down at your calloused hands, “I just don’t want to be the reason that more innocent people get hurt around here. Bib does enough on his own.”

Bib Fortuna. The Twi-lek that currently commands the most powerful force planet-side on Tatooine: the crime syndicate that was left leaderless after Jabba the Hutt died in mysterious circumstances involving a Jedi and a Sarlaac execution. Wait a minute...

 “No violence?”

You shake your head, chasing away the puzzle pieces that just began to slot together. “Only self-defense.” You’re not unreasonable, Tatooine may be more peaceful than during the war, but lowlifes still exist. “And if you get a chance to get off-world, take me with you.”

“Steep price.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I saved your life. You may as well return the favor.”

“Fair enough. You have my word as a…” He slaps a hand over his chest, but trails off before finishing the sentence, as if only realizing then that his armor is not there. He amends, “You have my word as a man.”

An awkward silence settles over the shop again, though there is no logical reason why it should be awkward, giving you the moment to remember the seed of the conversation. “A man with a name?” It’s a fumbling and clumsy attempt to turn the conversation back towards your objective, and you can tell that he picked up on it. 

He looks at you with amusement, “Persistent.” There’s a half-beat of silence as he considers you. “You may recognize my name.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere.” You counter. “Who would I tell?”

“That’s not why I don’t want to tell you.” 

Oh. You can’t really think of a response to that, so you stand and begin cleaning your station. Rusty bits of scrap go into that bin, useful parts go into that one over there so you can tinker late at night when you can’t sleep. 

“I don’t know your name either.”

You turn a prop a hand on your hip, dramatically lowering your voice, “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” There! Another huff of breath, and a halfway crooked smirk from the usually grim-faced and unreadable man. You smile back, “Trade?”

He considers it briefly, “First names only.”

You grin. That’ll do nicely. “Deal.”

“Boba.”

You introduce yourself, “Nice to meet you, Boba.”

---

“Why are you back?”

“Are you not happy to see me?” He sounds amused.

“I am.” You shift back and forth on your feet. “Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to see you. To know that you’re alive and healthy.” He’s avoiding answering. 

“That’s only half of my question.” Your voice becomes small, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“If I had come to the farm, Bib would have sent hunters out again. You know how that ended last time. You have to cut the krayt’s head off, or it will just keep coming.” You don’t miss how he’s avoiding calling the farm his home. 

“You don’t have to pretend, Boba. You have your armor and your ship, you don’t need me anymore. If you came back to take over the syndicate, I won’t be angry.” Even if it means that he’s throwing you away and not looking back. Your heart would heal.

“I--” He hesitates to finish the sentence, and your stomach drops as you expect him to confirm your suspicions. “I didn’t only come back for the throne. I still wanted to see you.”

 “If that were true, you would have come yourself.”

“Ang--”

“Stop making excuses.” Your gaze narrows onto the visor blade, meeting his cloaked eyes, “If you really wanted to see me, you would have come to the farm, not sent your lackey.  You have your armor and your ship. Why are you back?”

---

It’s all he talks about anymore. And it’s not like he talked that much before, so now ninety-nine percent of the conversations that you have with him are about the nearest pawn stalls, or the Jawa trading route, or the ship scrap yards scattered around the planet. He’s been moving about independently for the past two months, each day venturing out further into the sand hills in search of his armor. 

The jug of water is disgustingly lukewarm, but refreshing all the same. You swipe a hand over your forehead as you pace around, propping open all of the windows and shoving the door open. You don’t want to work anymore, it’s too hot for this shit. Late afternoon is the worst, hanging the promise of sunset overhead while continually beating the world into submission with the heat that makes it feel like you’re dragging fire into your lungs. With nothing better to do, you slowly sweep the floor of the house, brushing sand outside just as it continues to blow inward.

The moisture vaporator is functioning passably, your supplies were restocked two days ago, and you made decent headway in your workshop. Nothing is urgent enough to spur you into action. All there is to do is wait for Boba to come home. That’s the brightest point of your day; seeing his figure appear in the shimmering heat waves as he treks through the sand towards you.

He still doesn’t talk much. Neither do you, but there is a comfortable sense of companionship every night when you set the meal down and eat together. If conversation is needed, then it’s needed. But until then, you’re content to sit with him. He’s my friend. The stark realization nearly makes you stop in your tracks. You’re friends with the gruff man who you took in with two broken legs and who leaves you alone for the better part of the day. The man who you imagine on the rough nights when you long for a body beside you.

Finally, finally it’s sunset. You climb to the top of a nearby dune. He’s there in the distance, he always is. You watch the suns sink beneath the horizon and turn to head inside. 

You don’t hear him come in, though to be fair, you never do. You expect him to sit at the table. Instead he appears at your elbow, silent as a wraith but as large and solid as any human. You nearly jump out of your skin, “Stars, Boba, you kriffing scared m--” You turn, but are stopped short because he’s right there, crowding you against the counter and there’s something feral in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, face hovering an inch away from yours and gaze fixed on your lips. Your eyes are glued to his almost black ones. His flick up to meet yours. You can smell him, something spicy and musky that’s drawing you in. Stars, you want to fuck him. 

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and the tension shatters. He shoves past you, planting his hands on the counter. He hasn’t changed out of his gear, and the gaffi stick sways threateningly on his back. The tip is darkened and shines in the dim light of the lantern. 

Dread pokes your heart. “Boba, are you hurt?” You try to look over the rest of his body for hints of injury, but his baggy clothing masks his body. He seems to be moving fine.

There’s a strained silence before he rips himself away from the counter and stalks away with a terse, “I need to change.” He halfway out of the door when he stops, and you watch him carefully as his head turns back halfway. “Meet me in the bedroom.” The ‘fresher door bangs in the distance, and you nearly collapse against the counter. 

You’re not sure how you make it to the room. You’re a trembling ball of nerves, anxious and fidgeting as you stare at the corner of the room. He killed someone. Someone is dead, because of him, and he doesn’t seem to be torn up about it. Only… tense. Like he’s more concerned about the consequences on you than him. You remember his promise.

He’s standing there now, dressed in clean clothes and looking at you like you’re the most complex problem in the room. He seems calmer, though he’s in this mode that you can’t describe with a single word, though you had witnessed it before when you first brought him into your home. There’s a feral intensity about him, almost primal. You don’t know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut.

Finally, he speaks, “I would never hurt you, angel.”

You nod. There’s a shared understanding of this, though it had never been verbalized. He has your back, and you have his. A mutual survival and benefit exists between you two. 

“Will you come here?” There’s an underlying question to read in the rasped question. Will you go to him? There’s also a warning. He’s not a safe man, but you’re willing to ignore your fears about that if it means you'll have him. You stand and walk towards him purposefully, each step sealing your choice. You stand in front of him, barely allowing yourself to breath as he scrutinizes you. A hand comes up and tilts your chin upwards carefully.

And then he’s kissing you, more like absolutely devouring you with how far his tongue is down your throat. It’s sensory overload, because all at once he’s so close and so there right in front of you, pressing against your front so closely that you can feel him hardening against your thigh. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, and you gasp as he yanks your head back. 

“I don’t know if I can be gentle, angel.” His pupils are blown, dark eyes even blacker with desire and boring into yours. You can see the restrained lust in his eyes, and you shiver at the silent promise in them.

You grin, only barely aware that it’s slightly feral, “No one asked you to be.”

His own responding smile is nothing short of primal. “Maker, you’re fucking perfect.” His hand roughly smooths over your hair, and you melt into his touch. “Now strip.”

You can’t yank your shirt off quickly enough, but he stops you as soon as the offending fabric flutters to the ground. A hand traces over your collarbone, the rough calluses scraping over the crisp outline of the ink. “What’s this?”

You hesitate before answering, “It’s, uh, it’s artistic.” He makes his skeptical face at you, and you step in closer to him, pressing your body against his more clothed one, “I saw the design in a shop and liked it.”

The distraction seems to work, because he crushes his mouth to yours again, his hands removing the rest of your clothes so that you stand completely bare before his piercing gaze. You fight the urge to cover yourself. He has this way of making you feel like an open book even when you’re clothed, and now you feel that he can look into your soul without any other barriers.

“Beautiful.” The compliment is growled into the tension filled air. Blood rushes to your face, and you duck your head shyly. A hand tilts your chin back upwards to meet his eyes, “Get on the bed.”

He pushes you backwards gently so that you land on the mattress, bouncing slightly as you watch him remove his coverings. With every delicious inch of skin revealed, you feel another shot of heat between your legs. You hadn’t seen much of his body since that first day, and it’s like watching a gift unwrapped in front of you. When he pulls the last of it off, your eyes unavoidably drift between his legs, and your heart stutters at the sight. Stars he’s thicker than you’d expected. 

You don’t get anymore time to overthink because then Boba is caging you to the mattress with his body. Your breasts heave, nipples brushing against his chest with every inhale. One thick finger slides through your folds, and you almost cry at the contact. Maker, you’ve wanted this for so long. He pushes into your heat and you swear your body seizes at the sensation. 

Boba grunts, “Angel, you’re so tight.” His hips jerk seemingly of their own volition against your leg, his erection sliding over your skin. “Want to be inside of you. But--” He adds another finger, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, “--I think I’d break you.” 

The heel of his hand grinds into your clit, “Boba. Please, fuck. Told you not--” He curls his fingers against your g-spot and you gasp, “--not to be gentle.”

He pulls his fingers out with a growl and flips you around to your hands and knees. You shiver in anticipation as you glance over your shoulder while he aligns his hips to yours. He barely gives you any time to prep before he sinks into your heat. 

Oh shit.

He is so much thicker than you expected. The stretch burns so good, and-- you spare another glance over your shoulder as it just keeps coming. Your arms give and you collapse to your elbows with a whine. Your teeth clench as you focus on taking him, and your hand slaps the mattress as you tense. He stops behind you, “Angel, you need to relax.”

You exhale shakily. Fuck, you can’t relax, it’s too much. He’s going to split you in two. You’d told him to be rough, but you hadn’t been prepared for this. So you crouch on the bed, trying to breathe enough to allow yourself to form words. 

“I can stop.” His cock inches marginally out of you, and you panic. 

“No! Fu-- keep--keep going. I can do it.” He’s holding himself back. You can tell in the tiny quiver of his hips as he inches further into you. All you can focus on is the feeling of him rubbing against the inside of your cunt. His fingers rub your clit, and a garbled moan escapes your throat as your hips press backwards into him. The pain mixes with pleasure, a bone-deep one that you feel through your entire body as it arches against the bedsheets.

When his hips finally fit to yours, you let out a breathy moan. But he doesn’t continue. He just rests there, which is ridiculous considering how every nerve ending in that region of your body is firing with pleasure and how is he staying so still when this feels like fucking paradise? You might go insane just lying here with him bottomed out so deep inside of you that you can feel it in the back of your throat. His hand leaves your clit to grasp your waist. He eases out of you, the satisfying fullness retreating until the head of his cock hovers at your entrance, just barely inside of you. He’s teetering on a cliff, all of that potential energy built up behind his body as he hovers there, waiting for something. He’s trembling, Boba is trembling as he waits for something that he never asked you for. There’s molten lust creeping through your veins, you need him to move, to fuck you nine ways to next week. “Move. Please. Need--need it.”

He rolls his hips forward and you swear the world implodes behind your eyelids. He doesn’t stop this time, just yanks you closer on the bed and fucking wrecks you. The pace is unforgiving and rough, and the obscene slapping sound of skin on skin echoes through the small home, making you ever more grateful that there are no neighbors for miles.

A whine escapes your throat before you can help it, and you clap a hand over your mouth. He chuckles as he pushes back into your dripping pussy, “Oh, you like that angel?” His hand seizes your hair and drags your back flush against his body, “Ah ah ah. Take it off your mouth.” You do so, your hand trembling, “I want to hear every.” Thrust. “Beautiful.” Thrust. “Noise.” Thrust. You could almost feel him in the back of your throat with that last one, and a strangled cry is ripped from you. “Understand?”

You whimper and nod at the velvety purr against your throat and he hums in satisfaction. “Good.” He shoves you back down onto the sheets, one hand pinning you to the cot by your neck, the other curling around your waist. Without your hand to muffle the noises, your sounds come without you intending; choppy moans that are only broken by the force of his thrusts. He’s anything but quiet himself, a series of soft grunts and curses coming from the general vicinity of his head as he continues to slam into your body.

Your orgasm peaks without warning, ripping through your body before you can think to prepare yourself for it. The climax ripples outwards from your center, white flashes appearing behind your eyelids as you keen high in the back of your throat. Your floor muscles clamp down on Boba, and his rhythm stutters.

“Angel--” With a curse, he rips himself out of you, painting your ass with his release. You’re in a daze of pleasure as you come down from your high, the sheets smooth beneath your cheek and his cum warm on your back. He pulls the sheet, and you whine in protest as he yanks the comfortable bedding from underneath you. He cleans you up with the cloth, tossing it to the side into a random corner of the room.

It’s dark now. The only light in the room comes from the flickering lamp in the corner. Boba pulls blankets over your cock-dumb body, and you snuggle down into your bed, fully expecting him to leave. He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he naps on the floor with a blanket or two. You don’t expect him to climb into bed behind you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you close to him. You drift before finally surrendering to peaceful sleep.

You wake when he moves behind you. The sunrise glints through the window, spraying warm light around the room. You’d have to get up soon, but not yet. He doesn’t have to go. You turn and look at him.

Your voice is raspy with sleep, but it cuts decidedly through the silence of early morning. “I trust you. You know that, right?” You don’t wait for an answer, because if you don’t say it now, you probably won’t have the courage to do it later, “It’s not hard to earn my trust. It’s hard to keep it, and even harder to regain it.” He’s quiet, and you can feel his deep, even breaths against your front and how his arms tighten fractionally around your waist.

He rolls over, and you feel the mattress dip as he stands. “I need to cover another sector by tonight.”

You turn on your side so that you can’t see the door. Best not to get attached anyway.

---

“Should I be calling you a title or something?” You’re hesitant to refer to him as anything in your mind. He’s just Boba. Not your boyfriend, or your lover, because you only name things you expect to endure. If you find a super cute loth cat, but you can’t keep it, you don’t name it, that's just a rule of life. Don’t label it if you don’t want to keep it. Don’t get attached to something that will not stay. “Lord Boba? King Boba? Master?”

He snorts, “Not necessary, Angel. Though I wouldn’t mind that last one.” You blink at the old nickname, the familiarity of the endearment stirring up emotions that you’d thought had long since been buried. “I’m still me.”

“Are you?” The question slips out before you can think to restrain yourself, the tone more accusatory than you expected. 

“Do you want me to be?”

Now you’re the one caught off guard. You had thought about it, in the empty silence while he was gone, when the bed was too cold and empty after so much time adjusting to his weight on the other side of the mattress. No decision had been made. But once, in the darkest hours of the morning, right after you’d made yourself cum on your own fingers that couldn’t hope to measure up to him, you’d wished. You had wished that you had labelled it when you had the chance. Because maybe you had wanted the relationship to stay. 

---

“Why do you call me that?” The words are whispered into the darkness of another early morning. He’s curled around you, the heat of his body keeping you warm despite the freezing cold desert night. You need to start thinking about getting up soon. It’s a new day, a fresh start, a time to restart. Chores are waiting, like they always are. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to want to move when he’s at your back.

He shifts, breathing in the scent of your hair, “Call you what?” His arms tighten around your midsection and you wiggle slightly in his grip, your hips pressing back against his half-hard length. “Ohhhh, angel you’re going to start something that you won’t be able to finish.” 

You turn so that you’re facing him in the darkness, his features just a ghost of an outline against the early dawn rays glowing faintly through the doorway. “That. Angel. Why do you call me that?” He grinds against you, and you stifle a whimper at his heavy erection against your thigh. “Stop distracting me.” 

He sighs heavily, but he does stop and allow you to regain your focus,  “I call you angel because of that first day. Do you remember?”

You roll your hips against his, “Hard to forget.”

“Yes.” His teeth sink into the bare flesh of your shoulder, licking and sucking until you’re sure that there’s a mark. “I was in that sandcrawler for days, it’s a haze in my memory. Just blinking in and out, hoping that the sound would stop, that the world would stop moving, that those damn creatures would stop jeering at me for just a few minutes.” Your hand slips down and grasps his erection, and he inhales sharply, “And--and then. They’re grabbing me and dragging me out of that hell. And you’re there, standing above me, framed by the suns. And my first thought was that you--” He grunts as he thrusts up into your fist. His cock is leaking profusely over your hand, and you swipe your thumb over his head, “-- you must be an angel. How could you be anything else? You saved my life.”

“Bold of you to think that I’m from heaven.” With a wicked smile, your other hand drops to fondle his balls, massaging the flesh in your hand as you continue to slowly jerk him off. He snarls quietly, hand anchoring in your hair and tugging your head back so that he has access to the bare flesh of your neck and shoulder. 

“Now, you’ve become more of a devil in my bed, my angel of death.” His teeth sink into the juncture of your shoulder, no doubt leaving a mark. You were prepared for the pain, but you weren’t ready for his hand zeroing in on your sensitive clit, rubbing with the exact amount of pressure that could cause you to come in seconds, and you have other plans. 

You roll on top of him, swinging your leg over his hips and positioning his head at your entrance, “So you try to break the arm of every angel you encounter?”

“That was your fault.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hands reach to grasp you around the waist. “For pushing me, like you are doing now.” His hips roll up, and your eyes roll back. The day can wait.

---

The surge of emotions only serves to make you more frustrated, and that’s not going to help matters. You may have a long fuse, but once your anger ignites, it burns hot and long. He knows this, and yet he continues to push you. “I came down here because I owe you one, for saving my ass. So you better talk if you’re going to keep me here.”

“I saved your beautiful ass twice in return.” He’s amused, and that only serves to make you angrier. “So you owe me two, one for coming and one for staying while I explain.”

Hell no, he doesn’t get out of this by throwing in a shabby compliment, though you furiously fight the rising embarrassment all the same, “No, the first one repaid me for dragging your dying carcass out of the sandcrawler. And the welding incident hardly counts, so you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“Angel--”

“No, you are going to stop with this pretentious bullshit and tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing.” Your arms are waving in the air, you’re on the verge of hyperventilating, your voice is rising in pitch and you’re vaguely aware that you shouldn’t be working yourself up like this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, because he’s there. And you’re here, at the foot of the throne.

“Why are you so angry, angel?”

A laugh explodes out of you so forcefully that your throat stings, “Your fucking audacity, is pissing me off. You leave without explaining. You come back, and don’t think to come to find me yourself. You send your incredibly attractive, what are you, his sidekick?” Fennec raises her chin in response, though you don’t know if that’s a confirmation or not. “You drag me down here where I find out that you’ve killed Bib Fortuna and become Tatooine’s newest crime lord. And yet, you still haven’t shown the basic decency of telling me why I’m here. Do you have to kill me because of some new fucked up bounty hunter code? Because you know that I won’t go down easy, whether you have me two to one or not.” You’re scarily aware of Fennec’s gaze boring into the back of your neck.

Silence screams into the empty air as Boba freezes on the throne. “You know.”

“That you’re a bounty hunter? I’m not an idiot. It was smart to not give me your last name that first time I asked. As soon as the hunters told me, I knew. Jango Fett was your father.” The name drops a bombshell in the center of the throne room.

“What do you know of Jango Fett?”

“Not much. Only what Hondo told me.” Hondo Ohnaka. The pirate, the outlaw, the man who had morals enough to take in a starving child rather than leaving her to die.

“Hondo Ohnaka.” He leans forward, clearly interested once he recognizes the name. “But you’re not Weequay.”

“Fortunately, the man cared for children. He wouldn’t abandon one in need. He fed me, essentially raised me.” You’d been caught picking his pocket. Instead of killing you, Hondo took you in. You feel the corner of your mouth quirking up at the memory of the old pirate and the small-time smuggling jobs he’d allowed you to help out on, with your small size and quick fingers. “He’d always remind me that he used to be a feared outlaw throughout the galaxy, and that he wouldn’t be as soft the next day.”

“But he kept you anyway.” 

You shrug, “He lived by a code.”

“The pirate code?” There’s skepticism in his voice, and you don’t blame him.

“Hondo… didn’t exist by societies’ laws. He was honorable, but never good. Told me to be the same.” The advice was the best that you’d ever gotten. It allowed you to move on from guilt, to live isolated from the chaos of the galaxy. It taught you to live on your own and to be independent, to not feel for the suffering of the collective galaxy. But it also commanded you by the morals that saved your life. Don’t steal from the poor, but the rich won’t miss a handful of credits. Don’t hurt a sick child who’s just trying to eat. Don’t kill a helpless enemy, even if he hijacked your ship and crashed it onto a desert planet in the middle of nowhere. Leave him to die in the sand instead. 

“I was stranded on Tatooine a few years ago. I had no money, and no ship. I found the abandoned farm, and put together something so that I could save enough to escape one day.” No communicator either, and you’d only just struck out on your own too. Hondo was lightyears away by the time you’d thought to try to comm him, and none of the technology was current enough to reach that far. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have come to pick you up anyway. “Whe--” Your voice breaks, and you curse your emotionally sensitive vocal cords. You clear your throat, “When you left--” “You think that I could have taken you with me.”

“You could have!”

“It was dangerous, angel. I hated that I had to leave the way that I did, but--”

“You smeared bacta on me and disappeared. Was I supposed to feel happy?”

---

The day he left started the same as any other. The moisture filter needed replacing, but you didn’t have the credits yet. So you had a date with an ancient filter and your multitool. You look up, flicking hair out of your face when you hear the footsteps behind you. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer, as per usual, but he nods and rubs your hair with a gloved hand. “I’m scouting towards the flats today. Only a day trip, I’ll be home before dark.”

“Sounds good. See you.” You turn back to your multitool. You’re too focused on tweaking the settings to allow for a greater flow rate to see him smile, a rare one-sided grin before he turns to leave. His path takes him south, so he doesn’t see the three dark shapes in the heat waves approaching from the north.

The vaporator beeps loudly, protesting the absence of the filter and loudly proclaiming that it needs the filter to harvest water from the atmosphere. You tune out the obnoxious sound. After a ten minute struggle, you snap the filter’s frame out of place, exposing the internal wiring. You’re going to need a smaller drill point to reach the last resistor knob. You walk towards the workshop, wiping the sweat out of your eyes, fiddling with the screen as you do so. You’re too distracted by the tech in your hands to notice the figure slipping around the outside wall of your hut.

You grab the smaller bit and unlatch the last knob, absentmindedly walking outside to get better light into the inner workings. Despite the heat, Tatooine’s afternoons were perfect for mechanics, with the twin suns illuminating all but the tiniest crevices. Unfortunately, with your attention elsewhere, it doesn’t reveal the crime syndicate members waiting outside your door. 

The air rushes out of you as something slams into your midsection, effectively knocking you onto your ass on the sand. The filter flies out of your hands, but you’re focused instead on the helmeted figure standing over you, vibroblade levelled at your throat. “Where is he?”

Your hands are shaking as you raise them in the air, attention fixated on the masked figure. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you almost don’t notice the second one hanging back near the wall. A third, the only unhelmeted one, stands beyond the first, smiling nastily. The blade grazes your throat, and you whimper at the cool metal against your skin. “I said. Where is he?”

“Who? Maker, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fett! Boba Fett!”

Your stomach drops at the surname. The hunter curses viciously, holstering the weapon and grabbing you by the front of your shirt. You’re yanked to your feet, “Intel said that he’s here, so I’m guessing that you’re his little pretty piece on the side.” An arm presses over your throat, and you gasp as your airway is almost cut off. “Where is he?” The question is purred into your ear silkily. 

He must be insane if he thinks that you’re giving him that information. “I don’t know, he said he’s going towards the Dune Sea today. I swear, he’s gone. Left an hour ago.” You inhale sharply as the blade stops against your jaw.

“You’re pretty.” Your stomach turns at the sneer, and you fight the urge to bite him. Better to bide your time. “But an awful liar.” The angle changes so that the point is pressing into your skin and you cringe in anticipation of the cut.

A sharp command rings through the air and your captor stops. You exhale shakily, but don’t allow yourself to feel any hope. Boba’s gone and will be all day. They’re going to kill you, or use you as leverage when he returns. Or both. You’re not getting out of this alive, but you’re not going to lay down and die. Your eyes fix on the knife in front of you, but you’re visualizing where the hunter’s holster is.

Blaster fire explodes behind you, and you duck as sparks shower down onto you and your captor slumps to the ground. You don’t waste a second, ducking to rifle through the hunter’s pockets, snatching the blaster. Boba is there, features contorted in rage. He’s standing over a body, blaster in one hand and his staff in the other. Your eyes lock, and for a moment, you can almost hear him asking if you’re okay. You nod your head almost imperceptibly, but he gets the message.

A laugh rings through the air, and the moment shatters. There is a single hunter left, the one who was hanging by the hut while the other one threatened you. The cocksure swagger tells that this is the one in charge, the one who gave the command to keep you alive. And yet, the favor doesn’t hold any value to you as the helmet tilts up at Boba, “Boba Fett. You’re a hard man to find.” Boba doesn’t answer, instead jerking his head and you move towards him, “Bib Fortuna wants to talk.”

Now Boba responds, “I don’t.”

“150,000 credits to me says that you will.” Another blaster(fucking blasters) points at you, and you stop in your tracks, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s only a few meters away, a dead shot if he decides to let his finger slip.“Because he may want you alive, but not her. And she lied to me. Drop the blasters, or I shoot her now.”

You slowly lay the weapon down, eyes fixed on the barrel. Boba does the same, his hands raising placatingly as the shiny metal plops into the sand, “She’s nothing to me.” 

“You can try to tell Bib Fortuna that, but he’ll believe it even less than I do. I’ll cut you a deal. You come with me, I get my credits, she gets to live.” You focus on Boba’s face, trying to steal some of his stony calm. 

Boba smirks, “You’re even stupider than you look.” Then he’s moving, eating up the meters between them faster than you can blink. The staff arcs up, the wicked point glinting in the sun before smashing into the hunter’s helmet, crushing the metal with stunning ease. Your mouth is still hanging open when white-hot pain flares through your shoulder. Fucking blasters. You drop to the sand, curling in on yourself as your entire body seems to throb in agony. There’s no blood on your hand when you pull it away, but the smell of burnt flesh almost makes you vomit. The suns are too bright and you blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in your vision.

A form crouches over you, blocking out the light. Someone is saying your name repeatedly, slapping your face gently as they support your head and neck, “Wake up, stay with me. Gotta get bacta on that shoulder.”

You blink blearily. The world is swimming before your eyes and nothing is focusing correctly. It’s a struggle to stay awake, never mind focusing on what Boba is saying to you. The sand is so warm. Sleep would be nice. You wouldn’t have to stay awake and focus on the implications of what just went down. You wouldn’t need to feel the hole burned in your shoulder. Fuck, Boba had been shot before? How did he bear it?

He turns away, but he’s instantly back, gloved hands ripping apart your shirt at the shoulder. You mutter, “Leave it. Self cauterizes. Best way to get hurt.” The suns blend into twin slurs of light across the sky. ‘Meteors,’ you think, ‘They look like meteors. Or shooting stars.’ People make wishes on those, right?

Boba snorts, “Bantha shit.” He smears the bacta on the wound, and you shudder as the pain lessens marginally. He starts talking as he works, though it’s a struggle to understand anything when you’re so distracted by the world spinning beneath you. “Angel, I have to leave. They’ll be coming for me. I can’t stay here with you. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.” 

Okay. Okay, you tell yourself it’s okay. You’ve been expecting this day for some time. He’s a dangerous man, it was right to assume that he’s wanted by someone, you just didn’t expect the someone to be the resident crime lord of the planet he is kriffing living on. It’s hard to stay in one place for some time, but he did. For you. And now it’s your turn to let him go, to sacrifice for him because he sacrificed for you. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. You have to settle for a shaky breath and a tiny nod. 

He lifts you and carries you inside, arranging you on the bed. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, a second of tranquility before he turns and begins gathering supplies. You fight against the encroaching sleep, resolving yourself to watch and savor these last moments. He won’t be coming back, not while Bib Fortuna holds the bounty on him, and Bib has a long memory. 

So you commit every detail of him to memory. His grim and stoic face and the deadpan sarcastic humor that you’ve grown to love. His broad shoulders remind you of the first time you met him. It was absolute hell fitting his massive frame through the small doorway of your home, only for him to flatten you to the ground when you moved wrong. His careful and smooth gait that you observed every time he walked out into the dunes and away from you. His lips, which sometimes wear that devastatingly attractive sideways smirk that promises trouble, but more rarely wear a genuine smile that you’ve only seen once or twice. His powerful legs that pinned you to the mattress more than a few times. And you wish on the twin meteors outside that this wouldn’t be your last memory of him.

You try to summon words to your dry throat, but they come out as a raspy cough on your first attempt. “Boba.” 

He’s by your side instantly, so quickly that you would do a double take if you had any strength to do so. “Here.” He offers the water jug to you and you sip, remembering the first day that you met him.

But there’s no time to reminisce, “I know that you have to go. I know that I probably won’t se--” Your voice breaks, but there’s no need to finish the sentence. “But I’ll be here. If you ever come back.”

---

“You broke your promise that last day.” 

“It was self-defense.” A huff of air echoes through the modulator, and he sits back on the throne, “Angel, everytime I kill, I kill for a reason. It’s not senseless.” No, that’s not what you’re talking about.

“You broke your promise when you left Tatooine without me.” You took a chance on him. You trusted him to hold to his word. And he’d betrayed that trust.

“I was trying to protect you. You couldn’t come with me, it would have been too dangerous. You have an entire life ahead of you. Coming with me off-world would have thrown it all away.”

You laugh scornfully, “So what, you just made that promise without ever intending to keep it? Is that all your word as a man is worth?”

“I made the promise intending to keep it.” His voice is stiff, mirroring his posture as he regards you with all of the bearing of a king lording over his subject. You hate it. “But my loyalties changed, angel.” You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, “I couldn’t bring you into my life within good conscience. I promised to save you in any opportunity promised. My way of saving you was leaving you here.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“Angel, if you had come with me, I would have been violating both aspects of the promise. You would have seen killing, pointless and meaningless death. And it would have destroyed you, whatever good hope for the universe you had left.”

You scoff, “I am not a good person. I have flaws, Boba, you just refuse to see them.” You tear your collar open, revealing the tattoo inked into your skin. You’d told him that it was artistic, and it was the most beautiful reminder of your old life that you had. It’s the mark of a thief on your home planet, curling into your skin and reminding you everyday of what you had run from. “I lied and cheated and stole my way through life. I am not too naive to hear the real reasons for you coming back.” Because that’s why he didn’t tell you. He thought you were too pure to know about his job. He thinks you’re too innocent to know why he’s back. Well, you're done with him handling you with kid gloves.

“If you ever cared about me, you’ll explain why you’re here now. Because I won’t stay.” You stare down the emotionless visor, knowing that you can’t hold your ground. Your anger is still burning white hot, but it’s beginning to subside for lack of fuel. You’re exhausted, and you have no power here. You inhale, ready to continue to ream him out except the breath catches in the back of your throat and comes out a strangled half-sob. You continue to stare at him, but all you can manage is a little, “You promised.”

The suit of armor staring back at you holds the power, and he could kick you out in an instant without a backwards look. What’s a few solar cycles compared to a lifetime of independence? But someone is going to have to give ground here, and you’re almost convinced that it’s going to be you when he speaks. 

“Fennec.” Without a single word, she turns and leaves. You watch her retreating back, not knowing if you should feel relieved or trapped. “Do you want to know why I came back today? Or that day?”

A rebellious tear slips down your cheek, and you scrub it away angrily. “Pick one first.”

He’s silent again for several heart breaking moments, and you’re terrified that you’re going to have to leave, “I didn’t break my promise at first. I didn’t leave Tatooine that day.”

“What?” The tears have stopped, and that’s one little victory you won’t have to fight for here.

“The day that I left.” His hand rubs against the visor of his helmet, and you can almost imagine that he’s rubbing the visor of his helmet, right over the bridge of his nose the same way he always used to when he was stressed. “I went to Bib and bargained. A year of my service to leave you alone. I had no choice, it was the only way I could try to protect you after they came after me.”

Your heart drops and rises in your chest simultaneously, making you feel both like you’re plummeting off of a cliff while bound to a torn parachute. Puzzle pieces click into place too quickly, laying out a picture that’s still unfinished, but one that you understand primitively. The next command from Boba is unexpected, slicing through your problem solving.

“Up.” 

You blink, “Excuse me?”

“Come here.” You stand and walk to him. “Give me your hands.” His grip is gentle, guiding your fingertips under the lip of the green painted beskar. His hands stay on your wrists as you carefully lift the helmet, inch by inch, and it’s a good thing that they did because without his support your hands might have been shaking too hard to get the damn thing off. 

He looks the same as when he left all that time ago. Same strong chin, stern mouth, and scarred skin. But you look at his eyes, and you know that he did change in the time away. There’s a soft look in his eye that you had never seen before. 

“What happened to you?” Your hand grazes over his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“I fell into a Sarlaac pit.” The familiar sardonic smirk appears, but you don’t smile along with him. It vanishes, “I--” He breaks eye contact with you, looking down and licking his lips as if he’s trying to gather the words to explain, “I met a man. And a child.” He looks back up, and you almost melt at the muted shine in his eyes, “They reminded me of what is important. I came back.”

You gently set the helmet on the ground and raise your hands to cup his face. “Boba--”

“I came back that last day because I realized that I loved you. I turned around and came back to tell you, and it’s a good thing I did.” His hands come up to cover yours, and there’s the wicked spark of humor in his eye. “I wanted to stay, angel. I wanted to stay so bad, but you were safer if I didn’t.” Your eyes slip closed as you lean down and graze your forehead against his, the way that he taught you. His hand leaves yours to plant on the back of your neck and holds you there. “We couldn't be together until Bib was dead. I was wrong, to come here first and to send Fennec for you. But I needed time to… prepare.”

He had to prepare for the possibility that the bargain didn’t work, or that you had moved on. He hadn’t needed to worry, because you promised that you’d be here. You slip onto his lap, straddling his thigh without moving your head away from his. “I’m here.” 

“Are you still upset?” A hand comes up and ghosts over your hair. You lean into the touch almost subconsciously. 

“I’m working through it.” You pull back and fix him with a stern gaze. “This isn’t resolved.”

“But?”

“We’ll work through it.” He nods, his mouth hanging slightly open in a look of contemplation.

“I won’t stay.” What? You freeze, dread spiking through your chest. He must feel the tension in your body because he rushes to clarify, “I-- uh I, ah shit that was a bad way to put it.” He pulls away and meets your eyes, “I will leave this. I’ll be Boba. Not Boba Fett. Not king of the crime underworld. I’ll be anything for you. We’ll escape off-world together or some shit. We can go find Hondo, if he’s still alive.”

You snort, “That old man is too tough to die.” You tap his nose with your fingertip, “Like one other that I know.”

He snaps his teeth playfully at your finger, and you squeal happily. “My point is--” He looks up at you with such peace in his eyes that you want to curl up against his chest and never leave, “We can do whatever you want. Just the two of us. But I want to stay with you, this time around. That past life is all done. We’ll find something else to do, besides hunting bounties.”

Your eyes track towards the doorway that Fennec disappeared through, and his gaze follows. “Fennec will be fine. I’ll release her from my service. Hell--” He chuckles dryly, “Maybe I’ll leave the throne to her.”

That’s a terrifying thought that you’re not quite ready to consider just yet. “You’d give this all up for me?”

“Angel, that’s what love is. Sacrifice. I just didn’t learn it soon enough.”

You kiss him, a real one this time, melting into his lips, “Love can be compromise. And this is a point I’m willing to give on.” 

“What?”

“I’ll admit,” You tilt your head, a mischievous grin sliding across your face, “Queen of the crime underworld has a nice ring to it after being a moisture farmer for several years.”

He smiles, the real one this time, “I like the title on you.” His hands attach to your hips, holding you down on the hard ridge of his thigh as he grinds the leg up into your cunt. “Makes me wanna act out, Your Majesty.”

You gasp at the surge of wetness between your legs. Stars, it’s been so long that you almost forgot how much you loved the feeling of his body beneath you. “Boba--”

“Ah ah, is that any way to address your king?” So this is how he wants to play? Fine.

“No, Your Royalness.” Wrong answer. One hand comes down hard on your ass, and there’s going to be a mark for sure. “Your Excellency?” Nope, and another spank burns on your butt. “My king?” You brace yourself for another, but the hand stays. 

“Hmmm, I like that one.” His grip tightens, and you know that you’re going to have finger shaped bruises on the pillowy flesh. He captures your lips against his, and you roll your hips downwards onto his thigh. His erection rests heavy against the inside of your thigh, and you purposefully angle your hips to create more friction against it. “Angel, I want nothing more than to take you now, but--” He stands with a grunt, easily hoisting you into the air with his hands supporting your butt. 

“--I’d rather taste you first.”

A/N: Okay wow this took me so long. This project has literally been in the works for months, and I found a way to finish it finally! I’m not sure if the Boba Fett craze has passed yet, but either way here we have Boba. Some throne-fucking for those of you who would care for it. 

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross​

[orangerosebush]

Craquelure

[ao3 link here]

From the author Myles na gCopaleen and the playwright Samuel Beckett, Artemis Fowl I had taken the names he would give to his twin sons. By naming them in this fashion, the Fowl patriarch borrowed from the wit and prosperity the writers had blessed their home country with.

And what beauty there was in those writers’ success — to be beloved for the words one scratches onto a page. That was the purest milk and honey; a writer can claim better than most that his success is the result of the magic within his mind, rather than the tools lent to him by another man or the work appropriated from another.

Years before the twins were born, Artemis Fowl I would bestow his name upon his firstborn. To give someone your name is a gift that can only be given once, and once it has been passed down, it cannot be revoked. In this sense, the process of name-giving is like cell division; where there once was only the one, now stood Artemis Fowl I and Artemis Fowl II. The creation of an heir is a second act of reproduction that produces the child — although Artemis was first born as a son, the gift of his name brought him forth into the world as the heir.

Perhaps Artemis’ own intelligence reinforced this fate. From the moment Artemis could speak, he effortlessly adopted the mien of his father. And how could he not? His was a mind, ravenous, whose desire to consume the world around him would always be whet, never cloyed. When the stream of cruelty refuses to be struck by drought, it is no wonder when a carnivorous lamb is produced.

Did this mean Artemis was wicked at his core?

No — though what he was at his core, not even he knew. The only thing that could be said with any certainty was that he was not enough his father for either of their tastes. When Artemis was a child, he’d not yet learned to treat the world as his thing to plunder, and when the water of the Murmansk Fjord rebaptized Fowl Sr.’s heart, Artemis had grown too cunning and cruel to ever fully kill the vampire he’d become. He was both too little and too much, both too early and too late to match the pace of his father’s moral waltzing.

All of this was readily apparent to Myles.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

It is a terrible thing to be born to replace another. However, Myles knew in his heart of hearts that such a statement wasn’t wholly applicable to his situation. When you replace something, you expect it to be gone forever. “Forever” was an absolute that could never apply to Artemis. Myles was nothing more than a temporary replacement, for his brother’s return had been expected.

The problem at hand had nothing to do with love.

Of course Mother and Father loved Artemis, just as they loved Myles and Beckett. If anything, Myles could quietly revel in the small victory of love, for Father, despite his best efforts to appear neutral, loved Myles more than his older brother — or at the very least, was able to love him more openly, more easily.

During the first few years of his life, Myles got to have a taste of the difference between love and a legacy. While Artemis was missing, Myles, unwittingly, played his role. It felt like the world’s most exhilarating inside joke; to know of the grand plan that was your future, unbeknownst to all the people around you who didn’t understand. Myles should have known this was never going to last, however. If Father truly believed that Artemis had died — if Father had believed in Myles — then Myles wouldn’t bear the name he currently bore. Rather than having the name of a decently respected author tacked onto him like an afterthought, he would bear the legacy of his father. He could have been, should have been, Artemis Fowl III.

(Was this an immature understanding of the depth of the grief felt over Artemis’ loss, or was it Myles’ left-over instincts from his days as the heir to be attuned to the water of his father’s crocodile tears?)

But Artemis returned.

Oh, how Myles hated him! How quickly this return relegated Myles to the role of merely being a son once more. Artemis, the prodigious-rather-than-prodigal son. Artemis, with his capacity for miracles and endless belief in his own abilities. Artemis, who when their Father talked about the past, was a figure that ambiguous represented both Artemis Fowl I and II. Artemis, who left for three years and came back with an eye that no longer resembled Father’s eyes.

Ever since Artemis returned, Myles dedicated himself to the cause of tearing down false idols — he disavowed the faulty flying machines of da Vinci just as he mocked the hypotheticals of Einstein’s Big Bang. These intellectual titans were frauds waiting to be unmasked by Myles — Myles, who held all the answers, and who wasn’t afraid to proclaim that he did.

What did the gift of getting to play with Father on uneventful Sunday mornings with Beckett matter when compared to the gift of being seen as an equal?

Perhaps the real source of Myles’ petulant rage was the fact that even more than the recognition of Father, he craved the recognition of Artemis. His older brother, his dead-and-alive sibling, his kin who was both the father and the son — Myles wanted so dearly to belong to the world of magic made possible by some unknown, special quality that seemed to suffuse Artemis with a brightness noticeable to all.

When Myles had tentatively tried to explain these sentiments to Beckett, his twin had been mystified. Beckett, who had always been more like Angeline, found the tale of fathers-sons-and-brothers inscrutable. Mystified by his brother’s frustration, Beckett had countered Myles’ confession with the facts he had available: Artemis loved the twins, and Beckett knew that Myles loved Artemis in turn. They were family, Beckett had argued, and they all loved each other — Myles simply got confused because he overthought things so often.

It was the worst response Beckett could have given. The fact that Artemis got to slide neatly back into his old life, sending the family dynamic into free-fall, wasn’t fair — Artemis shouldn’t get to just win . Every moment Artemis spent back home was a moment he was cheating Myles out of what had been his. For Myles to care for his older brother all the same… it was the most humiliating defeat he could have been served. Maybe if Myles had been born first, if he’d gotten to be the second rather than merely Myles, things would be different.

If Myles had just been allowed a fair shot, perhaps brotherhood wouldn’t feel like rivalry.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

From Ovid's "Metamorphoses"  trans. Charles Martin.

Daedalus and Icarus

[Daedalus warned:] “Listen to me: keep to the middle course, dear Icarus, for if you fly too low, the waves will weight your wings down with their moisture; and if you fly too high, flames will consume them; stay in the middle and don’t set your course by gazing at the stars”…

And while [Daedalus] was instructing him in flight, he fit the untried wings to the boy’s shoulders.

…[When Icarus] audaciously began to play and driven by desire for the sky, deserts his leader and seeks altitude. The sun’s consuming rays, much nearer now, soften the fragrant wax that bound his wings until it melts. He agitates his arms, but without wings, they cannot grip the air, and with his father’s name on them, his lips are taken under by the deep blue sea that bears his name, even to the present.

And his unlucky father, now no more a father, cries out, “Icarus, where are you, where, in what region, shall I look for you?”

And then he saw the feathers on the waves and cursed his arts; he built his son a tomb in the land that takes its name from Icarus.

Daedalus and Perdix

As [Daedalus] entombs his child..., he is observed, from where a rank ditch drips, by a chatty partridge, who chirps cheerfully and makes his wing tips flutter in applause: A novel and unprecedented bird, and one who’d only lately been transformed, O Daedalus, because of a misdeed that, for a long time, will be held against you.

For, as it happened, the inventor’s sister, quite unaware of what the Fates intended, entrusted her own son[, Perdix] to Daedalus’ instruction, a likely lad of twelve, who had a mind with the capacity for principles and precepts; … Daedalus envied him, and headlong hurled this lad of precepts from a precipice, the steep acropolis Minerva loves, and lying, said the lad had slipped and fallen.

But Athena, who takes care of clever people, snatched him from harm, changed him to a bird, and covered him with feathers in midair. His former brilliance, like his former name, he kept, although the former was transformed into the swiftness of his wings and feet.

...

[note: Perdix is the word Greeks had for “partridge.”]

[shadowsinger11]

Golden Snitches And Old Wounds

Pairing: James Potter x Insecure Reader

Word count: 2787

Request: Hi! I hope you and your loved ones are safe and well. I wanted to ask you if your requests open. If so can i request a james potter imagine with a very self conscious reader? Thank you!

Warnings: Suggestive themes, references to anxiety and depression

A/N: I actually like how this one turned out. It's way sadder than intended but I hope you enjoy! If you want to be tagged, let me know! Requests are open!

Masterlist

Lily and you were sitting on a bench right on top of one of the twelve colorful towers around the massively wide pitch, waving your Gryffindor flags in excitement.

The scene before you represented a blur of scarlet and green and you struggled to spot your boyfriend of two years, James Potter, among the fourteen players. 

His leather-gloved hands gripped the handle of his broom tightly as he was swiftly avoiding bludgers and students, rushing to catch the quaffle.

"Potter, on your left!"

On instinct, James drifted to the right a mere second before his head managed to collide with a bludger. The boy kept soaring high up in the clear spring sky, eyes focused forward.

"Brilliant! Potter tossed the quaffle into the ring!" the speaker roared, "The score is 120:120. Will Gryffindor's Chaser be able to score another goal and give their Seeker an opportunity to catch the snitch?"

"Oh, I sure hope he does," you muttered, sitting on the edge of your seat, eyes focused on the Gryffindor Chaser.

The commentator excitedly shouted, "Robertson passes the quaffle to Smith, he passes it to Potter- no! It was stolen from Taylor, that Slytherin son of a-"

"Joshua!"

"Sorry, professor," the boy sheepishly smiled at McGonagall though he wasn't sorry at all, and returned to retelling the match. "Potter's caught the quaffle! He's swooping down, the three Slytherin Chasers on his tail…"

Over the noise you heard Lily exclaim, "What's he doing! He's getting further away from the ring."

"I don't know, I think he's trying to get rid of the Slytherins, distract them maybe?" you shrugged. You really hoped James was doing this for a reason but yet again, when has he ever thought things through?

Meanwhile you noticed Sirius, a Beater of the team, covering his buddy, making sure to guide the bludgers in the direction of team Slytherin. You had no idea if those two had planned this beforehand or if Padfoot was just improvising.

"A bludger knocked Taylor off his broom!" Joshua happily announced. "That's the moment for Potter to strike!"

And exactly then James swiftly turned around and sped up towards his aim. He threw the quaffle with all his might, the ball piercing the air and going right through the ring.

"Yes!! He did it! What a brilliant attack!" the commentator screamed. Lily and you squealed and clapped, cheering him on. "Now it's up to the Gryffindor Seeker to catch the Golden snitch and that'll be the end!"

James tried to spot you in the audience and when he did, his grin grew even wider. He threw a wink your way but he didn't have much time to celebrate because his task now was to make sure Slytherins didn't score another goal and maybe get another 10 points himself while he was at it. He drifted between teammates and opponents, the summer wind ruffling his hair. He prevented numerous attacks from the opposite team, winning a good couple of minutes where the score was even and Gryffindor had a chance to win.

"Where the hell is the Seeker!" Lily groaned, "It's a matter of time until Slytherin strikes a goal."

You understood her frustration but had faith. You always supported your boyfriend and his team during matches regardless of which house they were up against. You were aware of how much stamina James had, especially when it came to Quidditch, and even more so now that he could almost graze the win with his fingertips.

Suddenly, the Seeker emerged from the depths, a small ball shining in his grasp.

"He's caught the snitch! Williams got the Golden snitch, Gryffindor wins!" Joshua roared, rising to his feet.

The air shook with the screams and cheers of Gryffindors and Gryffindor supporters. Some students hugged each other, squealing in euphoria, others whined and screamed in frustration. The audience turned into a sea of scarlet flags, the iconic lion on display for everyone to see. Professor McGonagall smiled, something rare for a woman as stern and serious as her. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement.

Lily and you high-fived and rushed down the stairs, impatient to greet the boys. When you ran along the pitch, the team was already surrounded by fans and you saw Sirius carrying James on his shoulders, their other teammates doing the same with Williams. Slytherins were quick to exit the scene, muttering curses and complaints.

"Not trying to steal my boyfriend, I hope?" you asked Sirius and laughed.

"Boyfriend?" he feigned being shocked, "Why didn't you tell me there was someone else, James?"

James only rolled his eyes and his friend let him down. Potter walked up to you, standing tall in all his red leather glory. His chest heaved with every breath he took, his spiky hair was disheveled beyond recognition and his uniform was wrinkled and covered in dirt. He was a mess but still managed to look so perfect in your eyes, he was absolutely irresistible.

"Did you enjoy the show, babe?" he smirked as he placed his gloved hands around your waist, pulling you close. You giggled and pecked his nose, "Indeed I did. You're such a show-off."

"But you love me nonetheless," he mumbled, out of breath, and leaned in but you pulled away before he got to kiss you.

"I suggest you shower first, you're quite sweaty."

He frowned and pouted his lips but couldn't help but grin, caressing your cheek. You were staring into his hazel eyes and when they focused on yours, your cheeks turned the same color as his uniform. James was incredibly confident, charming and charismatic and he never failed to make your heart flutter every time you caught him glance at you.

He seemed perfect to you and your expression suddenly darkened when poisonous thoughts clouded your mind. He was perfect, but what about me?

Before James had the chance to ask what was wrong, his friends pulled him aside, "The coach wants to talk to us." He couldn't do anything except for giving you a sad smile and a wave as he left.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your trance.

"Let's go to lunch, I'm starving."

You nodded and followed Lily out of the now empty pitch.

Prodding your salad with a fork, you were still processing your thoughts from earlier, replaying them over and over in your head. You couldn't get rid of the image of James. You were smitten by his messy hair, goofy smile, the way his uniform clung tightly to his body, highlighting his broad shoulders and strong biceps. His physique looked way more impressive and massive and the sight made you lick your lips.

Your daydreaming was interrupted when the doors of the Great Hall opened wide, the winning team walking through. The Quidditch players were greeted with loud cheers and clapping which some of the teachers joined too. Even in just his plain Gryffindor cloak James managed to look astonishingly handsome and he did it so effortlessly. His black robes were flailing freely behind him as he made his way over to you and sat down on your right.

"Clean and fresh just for you," he smirked and pressed his lips to yours, lingering for a bit more than you expected. After that, you proceeded to eat your meal while he placed a steak, some salad, sauce and other different kinds of food on his plate.

"You did an amazing job up there, really."

He smiled, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, "Did you ever doubt me?"

Ah, that cockiness. It might have sometimes gotten on your nerves but it was a part of what made your boyfriend unique and you adored it. You laughed, trying to cover up how flushed he had made you, "Absolutely never, Potter. You're one of a kind."

"So are you."

His compliment caught you somehow unprepared and you slightly froze. You looked at him only to find him already staring at you with such loving eyes, it made you shift in your seat.

"What?" you giggled, dumbfounded.

"Thank you for being there. It really matters to me," he gave your hand a light squeeze.

Seriously, what did you do to deserve this guy.

He's amazing in so many ways, I just can't compare.

You noticed students sending you dirty glances from across the hall and you wished you could shrink in your seat. You lowered your gaze and silently finished your meal.

"Seriously, what's the difference between Felix Felicis and liquid luck? The professor crossed off "liquid luck" and replaced it with Felix Felicis! That's not fucking fair," you groaned, checking your graded essay. You were pretty sure you'd get an Outstanding but you only got Exceeds Expectations which you were slightly pissed about.

Lying on your boyfriend's bed, you were rambling on and on about school work, earning occasional chuckles from James as he was getting changed.

"I mean, Remus always gets the best grades, how on earth does he do that! I swear, he's like a walking encyclop-"

Your words got stuck in your throat at the sight of a half-naked James. His shoulders, toned arms, back and abs were on display while he paced around the room, trying to find his sweater. His muscles flexed under his flesh with every move and you could feel your mouth begin to water.

Once James found the clothing, he turned around. He grinned when he saw your blushing face and didn't miss the opportunity to put on a show for you - he slowly put on his sweater, his jeans falling low around his waist when he raised his arms above his head.

James wasn't only caring, loving and talented. He was also extremely hot. A kind soul wrapped in a pretty package.

Your mind started to wander and you thought about all the girls and boys who would die to be in your place; to be able to date the infamous Marauder and see him shirtless all the time like you got to. You knew many people envied your relationship and you tried not to care that much but you still somehow did. You always did.

"Are you alright, love? You're doing that again."

"I-uh… what?" you stuttered, embarrassed.

James, now dressed, sat in front of you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, "You tend to space out from time to time, you stop listening to me. What's on your mind?"

You shook your head and started to rearrange your books, attempting to appear busy, "Yeah, I do that sometimes, sorry. It's nothing though, I just get lost in my thoughts."

James was eyeing up and down your stiff figure and his heart stung when you lied. One of the things he despised most was being lied to and it hurt him immensely when you did. He knew you meant well but he wanted you to trust him and talk to him like he did.

The boy abruptly but gently grabbed your trembling hands and you froze.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, looking into your eyes for a sign, any sign to reveal how you were feeling on the inside.

Your nervous smile faded and you dropped your gaze to where his hands held yours.

The room was ghostly quiet and you felt trapped, unable to run away or escape the situation.

You opened your mouth to speak but your lower lip quivered and no words came out. James simply stood there, patiently waiting for you to say something while soothingly rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. After taking a deep breath, you choked out.

"Why do you like me?"

He seemed slightly confused but his expression remained calm, "What do you mean?"

You chewed on your lip, considering how to proceed. He deserved honesty and he was genuinely worried so it wasn't fair to keep secrets from him.

"It's just… I am…" you sighed, frustrated. "You're amazing, James. People love you. You're smart, athletic, outgoing and your personality lights up the room. You charisma is undeniable."

You stopped to inhale again, your throat tightening as tears blurred your vision. Your voice was shaking and so were your hands. James only listened. "You're an exceptional person yet you're with me. I-I don't get it. You could choose someone more impressive, someone whose abilities can compare to yours… Someone who's not me."

A tear rolled down your cheek and it pierced through James' heart like a burning blade. He brought your hands up to his face and softly pressed his lips to your knuckles. James let you cry it out first before he dared to speak, knowing you needed this moment to simply let yourself feel before anything else. There was time for figuring things out, but it was not now.

You sobbed and he reached to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, "I've got issues, James. I'm hard to deal with. I struggle with many things and I'm afraid I'm just being a burden to you."

James immediately pulled you into his embrace, arms wrapping around you as you hugged your knees. He rested his chin on top of your head which was leaned on his chest. The boy could not believe a person as breathtaking as you would think so lowly of themselves. You both stood there for awhile, not talking at all. James needed time to take it all in just like you needed time to calm down.

"What makes you think like that?" he hesitantly whispered, voice trembling.

You stared off into the distance, tired eyes unseeing. 

"I don't know. I just do. I've always been looked at as if I'm a disease, as if I'm wrong to feel happy," you muttered, using your sleeve to wipe your nose. "Something's wrong with me and I have no idea what. I'm just scared... and exhausted."

You heard James sob.

"How long have you been feeling like this for?"

You swallowed and took a breath, "Years."

James' arms tightened around you, sheltering you from the cold world. You took peace in the vulnerability, you had no strength to hide or pretend, you were free to simply exist.

"At some point I gave up on happiness. That was until I met you," you explained. "You gave me hope and though it was painful and risky for me, I decided to trust you. You never let me down but I'll always be afraid you'll leave me for someone less troubled than me. Like most people did."

"Then I'll always be here to remind you that I'm not going anywhere. I'll be by your side to help you."

You held onto his sweater, scared to let him go, "Thank you."

James rubbed your back up and down and pressed a kiss to your head, "You wanted to know why I love you?"

You hummed, turning to him.

He took a look at your bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face and he fell in love even more.

"I love you because of your pure soul. No one has ever treated me with such sincerity. You always support me, guide me and ground me when my head's up in the clouds. I'm far from perfect, I'm flawed just like everyone else. But you don't only make me a better person, you make me want to be better. For you."

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, this time from gratitude and love.

"I'm amazed at how torn you are, but still willing to give a part of yourself to those who need it. Your kindness knows no limits and I admire that in you. You might hate the hurt, damaged side of yourself, but I find its rawness to be astonishing. Because I love you. All of you."

Warmth spread throughout your body and for the first time you felt truly safe.

James slowly kissed your chapped lips. He stood still, just letting the moment take place. You savoured the feeling of his lips on yours and were surprised to feel something wet drip on your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw his glossy eyes.

"I love you too," you replied softly and nestled back into his lap. James hugged you, relieved to finally know what was going on with you. He vowed to himself to help you in any way he could and to constantly remind you that you're not fighting your battle on your own. You, on the other hand, were way calmer as well. It was refreshing to be understood and accepted, to not be judged or blamed for a change. You didn't have to act a role or lie. You let down your defences and let the rotten wound inside you bleed. And you smiled.

Reblog if you enjoyed my work!

Tag list: @self-ship-love

Masterlist

[secretlysheikah]

Numbed

Ah the next chapter is finally completed! I hope you all enjoy, no major TWs for this chapter. I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my little fic. This is a labor of love and it makes me happy that people are enjoying it. Love you all and I can’t wait to see you all in the next chapter. 

Read the new chapter on A03 here Just as a reminder I hold no claim over the Linked Universe, that honor belongs to @jojo56830, check out the original comic, it is really good. 

Start here: Legend was such a liar, Twilight thought to himself as he walked about an unfamiliar forest. He should have guessed that that stupid tea of Legend’s wouldn’t actually work. He could already tell by the odd looking trees and the way they blew in the non-existent breeze that this couldn't be real. He walked up to one of the large trees and eyed the trunk thoughtfully. There were odd markings in the wood, strange, thick, stubby horizontal lines that cut deeply into the bark. He leaned in closer and squinted at them, they looked a bit like claw marks but they were too far apart and clean for any normal beast. He hummed thoughtfully not really knowing what the strange markings could mean though he kept their existence in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t do any good to be caught unawares by a beast, even if it was a dream.    

The woods looked ancient and wise, with the tall tree tops being obscured by impossibly low hanging clouds. He cast a glance down towards the ground and found that even the land below was covered in a thick layer of misty clouds. Faint music played somewhere far away, peaceful and a bit mournful but beautiful all the same. He didn’t know why he was here, or even where this place was supposed to be but he didn’t get the feeling that he was in any danger. For now anyway. So he kept moving forward, occasionally stopping to carve out a piece of bark below the other odd markings from a tree to mark his path as he walked just in case. 

The landscape shifted in subtle ways, rocks forming high walls around him before disappearing in a blink to be replaced by an open field lined by trees. Rivers sprouted up from the ground and carved out new waterways only to have everything shift back to the oddly ancient forest once again. Everything around him shifted and changed  so frequently that If he really paid attention to it he might have felt unnerved, but as it was he didn’t really care. He just kept walking, choosing to  enjoy the faint music and the light scent of wood smoke that warmed the air. It had been a while since he just enjoyed a nice hike, it was relaxing in a way, even though nothing around him was real he still found a smile stretching across his face.

There was a giggle from somewhere deep in the woods and he paused in his hike to look out into the gloom. He couldn’t see anything in the depths of the trees and fog but he knew for sure that he had heard something. Cautiously he stepped off the trail, marking the trees with heavy notches as he passed. Hidden twigs cracked under his feet, the fog swirled around his legs obscuring the ground below even as he walked. 

“Hello?” He called out tentatively not really knowing who he was calling out to. It had sounded a bit like a girl but there was no way for him to actually be sure. He strained his ears focusing hard on the ambient noise around him, waiting for a response. He stopped walking for a minute and waited. The silence stretched on and just as he thought that whatever had made the noise had run off he heard it again, a delicate tinkling laugh not too far off in the distance. 

“Hey! Who's there?” He called out again before he began to trot forward again, further into the gloom. Only faint sounds of tinkling laughter answered him and he could feel his heart begin to flutter with apprehension. The trees that once started out open and inviting now started to grow closer together making him slow his pace. He eyed the dark trees around him with distrust as he went and he couldn’t stop himself for noticing how they seemed to be crowding in closer, almost as if they were leaning in and whispering secrets to each other. The thought made his breath come out in short gasps as a chill ran down his spine. 

“I’m here! Just a bit closer!” A small voice said not too far ahead of him, making him jump at the unexpected call. Suddenly shaking with an emotion he couldn’t quite place he started forward once again into the gloom. His heart beat a tattoo against his ribs as he moved forward, making his fingers twitch against the bark of trees as he squeezed past them. Sucking in a deep breath he set his jaw, clamping down the fear that made his legs slow. He only had to squeeze past a couple more trees before he practically fell out into an open field, with a large pond at its center. He felt a pull at his back as air seemed to be displaced and he spun around, eyes wide and found that there were no trees at his back but a wide open field. 

He felt eyes on his back, and he slowly turned back around and saw a very small figure standing in the center of the water. He moved a few steps closer to get a better look, and to his surprise it looked like a small girl in a white dress standing on top of the water as though it were solid ground, rather than in the water. Small ripples moved out from where her dress gently kissed the mirror surface of the pond and she looked completely at ease. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her blonde hair drifted in the breeze as she looked his way. She looked very young, maybe around twelve, with wide blue eyes and red hair band in her hair. She looked slightly familiar but he didn’t know why that would be. He coughed a little before he found his voice to call out once again.  

“Excuse me?” Twilight called out delicately, she brought a hand to her mouth and giggled and he felt a flush spreading across his face. He coughed again and moved closer to the water’s edge. 

“Ma’am? Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need help?” He said and was graced with a little shake of her head. He felt water on the tips of his shoes, heard nothing but the faint music and lingering sound of a girl’s laughter. He swallowed, feeling a nagging sense of apprehension creeping up in his chest again. She must have noticed because she beckoned him forward with a wave of her hand. He felt his eyebrows raise as he looked at her, then to the water that lapped around her bare feet and then finally at his own shoes. Surely she couldn’t be serious. 

“I need to show you something,” She said with a small laugh, still continuing to beckon him forward. 

“I’ll sink into the water, surely you can show me from here on dry land. Just walk over,” He called back to her only to be met with a quick shake of her head. 

“Not this time, come here!” She yelled back and Twilight felt confusion hit him. Again? What did she mean again? He pressed his lips into a tight frown. Cautiously he stretched his foot out over the surface of the water, pausing for a moment before stepping on the flat surface. He expected his foot to pass right through the mirror-like surface but it held firm, holding his weight easily as if  it were ice.  He took a few moments to admire the ripples that spread out from his feet before he began walking forward albeit very slowly. He heard her laugh and he joined her shakily, not entirely trusting the surface of the water to continue to hold his weight and prepared for the moment the spell was broken and he would be plunged into the water below. When he was about five feet away from her he stopped and waited for her to address him. 

“You came back, I’m glad,” the small girl said and once again he felt another wave of confusion. He didn’t know how to respond to her comment so he just inclined his head. 

“You said there was something you wished to show me?” He asked bluntly and the smile that had been on her face shrunk just the smallest bit. She bit at her lip and nodded before inclining her own head to match his stern posture. He could feel a subtle wave of nervousness pulse off of her despite her act of playing it tough but he made no comment on it. 

“I do, and I hope for your sake you remember this time,” she said and he felt an unnerving coil of dread beginning to unspool in his stomach. What did she mean by remember? He didn’t recall anything like this happening before. 

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice becoming a bit strained as he tried to force the words out. The girl tilted her head to the side, considering before she slowly shook her head. 

“Who I am is not important, what is important is finding out where they are,” She said as she lifted a finger and pointed it towards the space between them. Twilight tightened his jaw, he didn’t like this, but nonetheless he moved his eyes to look into the depths of the water at his feet. Slowly an image began to bubble up on the surface of the water. A deformed castle with turrets poking out at odd angles and walls that seemed jagged and too tall sat in what looked like a center of a gigantic lake. The waters around the castle looked like the surface of a black mirror, and just to the front of the warped gate there was a seemingly dead tree. It’s mangled limbs stretched high and ended in sharp tips that reached for a sky dotted with purplish black clouds.

“I don’t understand, what is this?” He asked in a bemused voice, crouching down to get a better look at the opposing structure. He hesitated calling it a castle, it was just too odd for such an ordinary word. As he continued to look, the more he examined it the more it seemed like there were multiple versions of Hyrule castle smashed together rather than anything that mortal hands could have constructed.��

“This is the center of the in between, the home of Dark Link. It is also where your brothers are, well one of them at least,” The girl said leaning forward so her hair was just brushing the surface of the water. 

“What? How? Wait, who is in there? Are they okay?” Twilight asked quickly, head shooting up to look at the little girl. He met her familiar blue eyes and he felt a pang of recognition but shoved it aside. He had a lot of questions and he didn’t know how much time he had to actually get the answers. 

“The one you call Sky is there, but as for Wild I don’t know,” She said sadly and he felt himself jerk at how quickly she answered his unasked question. He swallowed hard and looked back down at the enormous structure. He felt his breath hitch as the picture seemed to change from the imposing ‘castle’ to a black nothing. 

“You heroes must act quickly for dark forces are at work, even now your friend is…” She stopped and Twilight looked at her expectantly. She was giving him a look that he didn’t much care for. 

“What is happening, what’s wrong,” He asked tersely and the girl straightened and hugged herself. He could see tears in her eyes and she was shaking her head very slightly. 

“Please, I don’t want to see it again,” She whispered and he felt his heart sink. What had she seen to make her so upset. 

“Please this is important, I need to know he’s okay,” He implored, he had to know. He couldn’t bear the curiosity and blind worry anymore. The girl must have seen it in his eyes because she gave a little hiccup before she wiped at her eyes with the heel  of her hand. When she got a hold of herself she made a gesture to the water and turned her back on him. 

Twilight’s eyes shot down to the water below and gasped in horror. Sky was sitting against a wall in a dark room, curled in on himself. His wrists looked raw and swollen. Looking closer he saw the skin looked blackened and cracked in places while other parts wept red. He was rocking back and forth, his hands pressed to his ears. Twilight tried to peer around his arms to see his face better and somehow whatever magic that was being used obliged and tilted the angle. Sky’s eyes looked wide and terrified while also seeming dim and lifeless. The skin around his eyes were red and puffy. He could see Sky’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. 

“Sky, by the Goddess,” Twilight whispered, he could feel tears tracking down his face. Sky looked absolutely wretched, his fingers dug into his hair, and now that he seemed to be closer he could see the extensive bruising that covered his hands and the dried blood that darkened his sleeves. He felt as though his heart was being cleaved in two, his fingers pressed against the water’s surface, wanting nothing more than to grab hold of Sky and pull him close. 

“Please” he begged, “you must know where, where is he, where is this castle?” Twilight said as he got to his feet and ran over to the girl. She only shook her head and refused to turn around. Twilight felt a sudden frustration take hold of him and he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around before dropping to his knees so they were face to face. Her eyes shone with tears and he could feel misery coming off her in waves. It was practically contagious and he had to grit his teeth and force the words out. 

“I don’t know who you are, but please you need to help me,” He said as he felt tears bubble over his lashes, wetting his face and making his vision blurred. He opened his mouth to continue his plea but a bout of dizzy confusion suddenly sprouted up in the center of his mind and he felt himself sway. The sensation crawled across his mind and he blinked rapidly, dropping his hands away from the girl’s shoulders and looked at his shaking hands. What was he doing? He racked his brain but he came up with nothing. He wiped at his face and found it wet but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why that would be. Was he just crying? But why was he crying? He got clumsily to his feet and gripped the sides of head as a spike of pain flared behind his eyes.   

“No! Not yet!” The girl cried, and to Twilight’s ringing ears her voice sounded echoey and hollow. He felt his eyes growing wide and he shook his head suddenly terrified. What on Earth was happening? Where was he? A girl, (where had she come from?) let out a whine and made a sweeping gesture with her hand and Twilight found his eyes following the movement. They landed on the smooth surface of the water before he even knew he was doing it. He felt her grab on to his arms with a firm grip before she pulled his hands away from his head. 

“You have to listen to me, remember please!” She cried and Twilight could only nod dumbly. It was like his mind was drifting, forgetting even as he listened to her speak. He blinked at her, trying to round up his wandering thoughts but found that they were becoming well and truly scattered. He watched her face as she narrowed her eyes and her lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn’t realized he was staring off into the far distance until she gave him a little shake to bring his attention back to her. 

“He won’t last long on his own,” She said, directing his attention back to the water below with a gentle wave, and he felt a morbid curiosity pulled at his heart as he followed the motion of her hand. There in the water was Wild, face bruised with his left arm hanging loosely at his side, like it was dislocated. Twilight leaned forwards slightly and could see blood staining the pale tan tunic Wild wore. Twilight felt his breathing stop as he looked, moving closer despite himself. 

Her voice was still an odd echo and suddenly he watched as Wild snarled and drew a sword from a twinkling swirl of blue lights. Twilight let out a gasp, his blood ran cold and he cried out as Wild raced forward only to have something wrap around his ankle, causing him to crash to the ground. He couldn’t tell what had caused Wild to fall but he did notice as a heavy black boot stomped down on Wild’s wrist forcing him to drop his sword. 

“No,” Twilight said, his voice sounded thready and broken to his own ears. He fell to his knees and pressed his hands to the surface of the water, as if he could somehow push through the surface and grab hold of Wild and drag him back through. The vision shimmered and disappeared and Twilight let out a frustrated yell and pounded his fist against the water. 

“No! No no! Bring him back!” He shouted even as he felt the memory begin to fade away in his mind. He shook his head and pressed  his hands into his eyes, trying to hold on to the vision even as it faded to be replaced with a numbing tranquility. He looked back at the girl, focusing on how she was holding on to his arms with a tight grip. He breathed heavily through his nose and grabbed on to her arms. 

“What do I do? Quickly now,” Twilight commanded as he felt a numbing calm clamp down around his mind. The girl’s face hardened as she nodded and stood, pulling him to his feet. 

“Open your eyes, tell your mentor what you can remember,” She said, gesturing for him to lean down so she could whisper the information into his ear. He obliged and leaned down so she could whisper to him. The world around him began to shimmer and fade as he slowly worked his way towards waking. By the time she pulled away from him she looked little more than a blotch of bright yellows and reds against a painfully white background. 

“Remember and open your eyes, there is no time to waste.” She said, her voice becoming airy and faint. Twilight nodded, feeling himself coming back to wakefulness. He felt his body grow heavy and stiff, a groan worked it’s way from his dry and sore throat as he came back to wakefulness. Even his bones seemed to ache with cold and fever and his mind felt dulled and hazy. It took way too much effort to open his eyes and he struggled to even crack them open a sliver. He didn’t know if that was due to the fever or the tea that he had drank earlier but either way it was a challenge that he wished he didn’t have to deal with just then.  

When he finally managed to open his eyes, he found the world blurry and out of focus. He squeezed them shut before he opened them again to the soft voice of Time calling out to him. He tried sucking in a deep breath and could feel the way his chest stuttered and bubbled and he let out a burst of wheezing half choked coughs. When the fit passed and he was able to catch his breath he shook his head trying to keep the fog away from the words the girl had told him. He could feel Time’s eye on him, waiting for him to speak and after a moment he was able to find the elusive words that the girl had whispered to him.

“Can’t forget, don’t forget,” He mumbled, as he tried to get his eyes to stay open, he couldn’t let himself fall back into dreams, not yet. He heard Time say something but it sounded muffled and far away. He focused harder on Time’s voice, desperate to cling onto something. Fog swirled around just behind his eyes and he felt himself start to slip. 

“At the center of the in the in between, where it all began, where he, no, it first appeared,” Twilight said quickly, trying to blink away the fog. He could almost feel himself starting to forget already and the thought startled him. It was like his thoughts were a tangled ball of string being quickly unraveled and eaten away. He hadn’t even known he had closed his eyes, hadn’t even felt himself drift until a warm hand gently patted his cheek. Once again it took far too much effort to open his eyes again, and even more of a chore to get his mind to focus on the concerned eye of Time where he sat next to him.

“What is the center? What are you talking about?” Time asked gently, and Twilight felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. He had to tell him, he had to make sure someone would remember. A shock of pain ricocheted through his skull just behind his eyes, making the world spin in a sickening spiral and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from getting sick. A firm hand landed on his shoulder grounding him just enough for him to pry his eyes open. It felt like his eyelids were glued together, constantly trying to remain closed despite his best efforts. The pull of sleep was growing stronger and it was all he could do to cling on to consciousness.  

“He is there, at the center, with a tree, there, there was water, and.. a…” He began but felt his mind becoming clouded and muddled, the thoughts spooling away even as he tried to hold on to them. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and mud and it made speaking difficult. He tried to pull the thoughts back from the nothing, to keep them close so he could explain but it was like trying to hold water in a sieve.

 A motion in the fog just behind Time caught his eye and in the mist stood a small girl. Her eyes were pleading, mouthing something he couldn’t make out but deep down he knew she was begging him to hold on just a bit longer. He couldn’t slip away not yet, this girl, no, Sky and, and Wild, they needed him to remember what she had told him. What was it she had said? Time’s hand shook his shoulder firmly, bringing his attention back to his worried blue eyed gaze. 

“Who is there? Twilight, who is there?” Twilight heard Time ask and even to his fever-addled brain he could hear a note of curiosity and desperation in his mentor’s voice, though he could be just imagining it. Twilight swallowed hard, reached back through the haze and grasped at straws but found his memory was lacking.

“Wild? No, uh, S-Sky? D-ark, he, I think has him there, but Time I don’t, I don’t know how to ge’to them. Don’ know ‘ow to ge’them back,” He was losing it now. The tenuous grip he had on consciousness was well and truly gone. He felt himself drifting even as he looked at Time. He couldn’t tell what was real and what was the newly forming dreamscape. 

He felt Time pull him close, could feel the hum of his chest as he said something that just wouldn’t connect in his mind. He was so tired, so sore and weak and sad. But why? Why did he feel sad? He felt sad for some reason but he didn’t know why and somehow that made his heart race with fear. There was a pressure on his back as someone rubbed his back. He could smell the scent of wood smoke and wild flowers and he closed his eyes and just breathed. The world spun around him like a whirlpool and he tensed at the sickening motion before the floor seemed to open up beneath him and he was falling away into nothing. 

....

Legend was such a liar, Twilight thought to himself as he walked about the unfamiliar forest around him. He should have guessed that that stupid tea of Legend’s wouldn’t work.  

*****

A sweet melody drifted through the warm air of Twilight’s house, mixing gently with the faint pops of the fire that burned in the hearth. Time let himself lean back against the mound of soft blankets at his back as he played. He could feel Twilight’s gentle breathing underneath the pile, could hear the nearly silent groans as he shifted in his sleep. He stopped playing, resting the old ocarina in his lap so he could lean over and rest a hand on Twilight’s forehead. It was too warm, and the skin felt slightly clammy to the touch. 

Time could feel his eyebrows knitting together with worry, the pup had pushed himself way too far this time. Even in sleep Twilight’s eyes looked slightly sunken and tired. His breaths while smooth for now, but held the promise of bone rattling coughing when he awoke. 

He watched as Twilight’s calm expression twisted for a moment before he let out a soft gasp and curled ever so slightly inward. Time held his breath, waiting for him to wake but let it out slowly when the moment seemed to pass and Twilight relaxed, face going slack once again. He felt a shiver emanate from the mound of blankets and Time leaned closer and tucked the blankets up higher around Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight groaned a little louder this time, his breath quickened and he started to squirm, writhing around as his face twisted. 

“Hey, calm down pup, it’s alright,” Time soothed as he adjusted the blankets once more to allow Twilight a little more freedom of movement. He was still breathing heavily and Time could feel lightning zinging through his limbs in worry. He made more shushing sounds as he moved in closer and placed a heavy hand on the pup’s forehead, focusing on radiating a calm presence as he did so. 

He could see the start of tears at the corners of Twilight’s eyes, could feel as his breathing was ramping up to the start of crying. Worry and sorrow clamped down hard around Time’s heart as he watched, feeling helpless to do anything. Tears leaked out from Twilight’s eyes and he leaned forward and wiped them away. He didn’t know what could be making him so upset in his sleep but whatever it was he wished he could do something other than just sitting there feeling useless. 

Then as suddenly as the tears started, they simply stopped. Twilight’s face fell slack once again, his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. It was startling to say the least, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Time’s hands shook slightly and he leaned back and carefully put his ocarina away, not trusting himself to hold it, let alone play. 

“You really did a number on yourself this time,” Time sighed, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. He looked off towards the fire, letting his mind empty as he listened to it’s soft popping. Feeling agitated he rubbed at his face and leaned back with a sigh, feeling himself growing more antsy with the worry as the time ticked on. 

“I should have known you were pushing yourself too far,” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he felt heat building up behind them. He sighed and looked back at Twilight who was still sleeping peacefully for the moment. 

“Damn it pup,” Time snapped suddenly as he stood, no longer able to sit still and do nothing. His heels clicked angrily against the floorboards as he stomped around the lower level of the treehouse. Occasionally throwing a glance back at the sleeping form of Twilight, checking to make sure he was still sleeping soundly.  

“I told you, I told you that you needed to take care of yourself, but did you listen? No, of course not, none of you kids do,” He let out a frustrated groan and stamped back over to the couch, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His emotions felt like a whirlwind of worry and frustration. He wanted to shake Twilight awake to yell at him, while another part of him also wanted to wrap him up in the tightest hug he could manage and soothe the worry in his own chest. 

He settled on running his hands through Twilight’s damp hair, working his fingers through the snarls that had formed in the dark blonde locks. Twilight’s face was still flat and emotionless even as his fingers twitched and grasped at the blankets. Time let out the breath he had been holding, knowing that even if he raged and screamed it would do nothing to fix the current situation. Twilight’s eyes moved rapidly under his closed lids and his breath quickened again before his eyes blinked open. It was clearly a monumental effort on his part and Time felt his hand slow to a stop in Twilight’s messy hair. 

“Pup?” He asked softly, moving to Twilight’s side in a moment and knelt down so he was eye level with the ailing hero. Twilight sucked in a breath and promptly began hacking and wheezing and Time felt himself wince in sympathy. He waited for Twilight to get himself back under control. Twilight shook his head from side to side as if trying to clear it all the while muttering something in an airy whisper. Brows furrowed, Time leaned in closer to try to get a better idea of what was being said. 

“I can’t forget, don’t forget,” He whispered and Time leaned in even closer. 

“Don’t forget what pup? What's happening?” He asked and watched as Twilight blinked slowly and groaned, clearly trying to gather his thoughts into something more coherent. 

“At the center, in the in between, where it all began, where he, no, it, first appeared,” Twilight said fervently, his misty blue eyes landing on him with a quiet plea. Time didn’t understand, and he gently placed a hand on Twilight’s cheek when he saw that his eyes had started to drift close again, and he tried to keep him focused. 

“What is the center? What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion filling his voice. Twilight winced and squinted his eyes shut, he almost looked like he was in pain. Time shuffled closer and  grabbed Twilight’s shoulder firmly to get the other’s attention back on him. Twilight huffed and opened his eyes again but it was slower, like his eyelids were too heavy. 

“He’s there, at the center, with a tree… There, there was water, and.. a…“ Twilight said but trailed off as his eyes settled on something behind Time’s shoulder. He looked around but saw nothing but the empty room behind him. Unnerved, he turned back around and gently patted Twilight’s cheek again, drawing his fogged eyes back to him. There was a dim light behind his eyes but he could see the light fading fast. 

“Who is there? Twilight, who is there?” He asked and he could hear his own desperation in his voice. He couldn’t understand why, but he knew this was more than just a normal fever dream. 

“Wild? No, uh, S-Sky? D-ark, he, I think has him there, but Time I don’t, I don’t know how to ge’to them. Don’ know ‘ow to ge’them back,” He slurred and Time could hear the heartbreak in his decedent’s voice. Time a pang of despair shot through his own heart and he pulled Twilight into a tight embrace. He could feel the way Twilight was shaking but he doubted it had much to do with being cold, or the fever that pulsed heat through his shirt. Twilight tense slightly for a moment before he relaxed and Time closed his eyes as he held him.  

“We will find them, you said the center is where it began, so we'll just have to figure that out. We can do that,” Time murmured, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat and squeezed just a touch tighter but felt nothing in response. He shifted slightly and he felt the way Twilight’s head lolled and how his body felt heavy and boneless in his arms. He placed a hand on the back of Twilight’s head before he slowly and carefully laid him back down on the cushions, making sure not to jostle him too much as he did so. 

Twilight was out cold once again, obviously losing his fight against the pull of sleep. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyelids flickered as he dreamed. Twilight heaved a sigh and tugged a little at the blankets. Time tucked the blankets around Twilight’s shoulders before he placed a hand on the pup’s chest; reassuring himself that he was okay with every heartbeat he could feel underneath his palm. 

He stood like that for a minute or two, feeling how Twilight’s breathing seemed to be just a bit too strained. Worry chipped away at his thoughts as he mulled over the possibility that maybe the near drowning was worse than they had originally thought. An unfound worry grew in his mind, that Twilight would just stop breathing and no one would notice. He shook the thought away, unwilling to let his mind travel down that line of thought. Worry like that had no place in a sick room.  

Twilight was starting to shiver again and Time hastened to pull up the blankets just a bit more, determined to make his protégé as comfortable as possible. When he was sure that Twilight was sleeping peacefully once again, he sat back on his haunches and looked around the room. His mind thinking back to when Twilight had been distracted not minutes before. A chill ran down his spine and he straightened suddenly feeling like he wasn’t alone in the small house.

His hand came to rest on his sword as he slowly moved away from the couch and the sleeping warrior buried the under blankets. He heard his footsteps creak as he stepped on older floor boards and he couldn’t help but imagine that the floorboards were screaming at him. His eyes continued to scan the room around him. The hairs on the nape of his neck began to rise and his hand tightened on the handle of his blade. Just as he felt his heart begin to well and truly and race; the door behind him slammed open causing him to let out a startled cry before he whipped around, sword drawn and ready to defend and pointed it at the front door. Wind stood there with a bag slung over his shoulder and he stopped mid-conversation with Four when his eyes landed on him. 

“Uh, is everything okay here?” The young boy asked as he stepped inside the house, trailed close behind by a worried looking Four. Time felt his heart beating out of his chest and he forced himself to lower his sword. 

“You scared the Hell out of me, don’t come barging in here like that, Twilight is trying to rest,” He scolded in a harsh whisper, resisting the urge to grab at his chest in an attempt to soothe his racing heart. He leveled a glare at Wind who nodded his understanding and squinted at Four when he noticed a small smirk flit across his face. 

“Something funny, Smithy?” He growled and he noticed how Four wouldn’t meet his gaze, turning his face away with a light cough. Though Time could see how his shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter. Feeling the adrenaline slowly leaving his veins Time bent down to one of the chairs, took up a pillow and chucked it at Four. It hit the smaller man on the side of the head, nearly knocking him off his feet and made him stumble mid-step. 

Four looked around at him shooting him a glare from where he had stumbled, but Time could see the mirth that danced behind his odd eyes. Four snorted and picked up the pillow, sending it flying back Time’s way and he side stepped easily and watched it sail by harmlessly to land on the floor. 

“Sorry for the scare old man, Wind was just telling me about the soup he wanted to make for Twilight,” he said as he jerked a finger towards Wind who had made his way over to the small kitchen table and was rummaging around in the contents of the bag.      

“My grandmother would always make it for us when me or Aryl were sick, it worked like a charm. I was even able to find most of the ingredients in town,” He said as he pulled out a fresh fish wrapped in paper. He replaced the fish back into the bag and cast his eyes towards Twilight. 

“How is he doing?” He asked softly, his brows knitting together in concern. Four had made his way over to the couch, placing his hand on Twilight’s forehead and humming as he judged the fever for himself. 

“He has been sleeping, though he woke up not too long ago actually,” Time said, making his way back towards the couch. He couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the room around them. Even though there were more people in the room he couldn’t help but feel like they weren't completely alone. 

“Is that so?” Four asked as he fidgeted with the blankets, smoothing them and pulling at nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. Time could tell he was worried, and he rested a hand gently on Four’s shoulder. 

“It is so, and he said some interesting things, I wonder if you would be able to help me figure them out. You are rather good at figuring out puzzles,” Time said and he smiled as the smithy looked up at him with a curiosity that burned like coals behind his eyes. Time could recognize the desperate need to do something, anything to help and he gave the small hero a determined smile. 

“Hm, how can you be sure it wasn’t just fever induced mutterings? What did he even say?” Four asked skeptically and Time was about to answer when the door suddenly flew open again this time revealing a wide eyed Legend as he panted and clutched at the doorway. 

“We saw him, we saw Wild in the spring,” Legend gasped, and Time felt frozen in place. He couldn’t mean, there was no way. He glanced around the room, at the wide eyes of Wind and Four, then to the sleeping form of Twilight who surprisingly, still hadn’t stirred in all the commotion.  

“Take us to him, Four, stay here with Twi, make sure he’s okay,” Time commanded and the smallest hero nodded quickly, and Time noticed how he grabbed the hilt of his sword. Wind was by his side in a moment and together the three of them jumped down to the ground and ran off towards the spring. 

****

Hyrule felt distinctly off kilter and not really sure what to do. The sound of falling water was his only companion, the white noise filling his head with a lightheaded emptiness. He was still reeling, they had seen Wild, and he looked okay. That realization in and of itself was enough to make him want to faint. 

It had been about a day since Wild was tossed through that portal; but even in that short amount of time Hyrule hadn’t realized just how much stress and worry he had been carrying around on his back until it had been suddenly pulled away. The sudden relief was enough to make his head swim. He took a few steps forward, not really knowing what he was doing. He couldn’t even say he was actually processing anything, he was there physically but mentally he felt a million miles away. 

He tried to focus on the water that sloshed around in his boots, the feel of the rocks under foot and slowly worked at calming the white noise that filled his mind. Wild was okay, at least for now, and Legend would be back in a few minutes he just had to keep calm. He found himself shaking with the rush of different emotions, he wanted to laugh in giddy relief and cry all at the same time. He took a shuddering breath, dipping a hand into the water and splashing his face with the cool liquid. 

“Get a hold of yourself ‘Rule,” He muttered as he raked his hands through his mussed hair. He could feel hysterical laughter boiling away in his chest and he beat it down with a vengeance. 

“Yes please, you look like a fool pacing around like that. You’re supposed to be a hero for the love of Hylia, maybe it’s time you start acting like one,” a bored voice drawled out from behind him. Hyrule froze where he paced, anger mixing with horror as he slowly turned to face the waterfall. There in the water of the falls stood Dark, he had a wide smile on his face as he eyed him up and down. 

“Surprised aren’t you? My apologies, I just thought you’d like some company while you wait,” He said kindly, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for a response. 

“Where is he? Where is Wild?” Hyrule demanded taking an angry step forward, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Dark rolled his eyes and offered him a lazy smile. He looked like a cat that caught a mouse and was now fixing to have some fun. Hyrule bared his teeth in defiance, hand tightening on his sword. 

“Honestly, whenever I talk to you people you are always so on edge. Always demanding something,” Dark started as he began to pace back and forth in the waterfall’s reflection, hands waving about as he affected a mocking tone. 

“What have you done? Where are our friends? I’m going to kill you!” He said in an nasally voice and tossed a sneer in his direction. Dark’s eyes dropped to look at Hyrule’s hand that was clasped tightly over the hilt of his sword, 

“Oh please, you act as though you can hurt me, be a dear and drop the sword. If you do maybe I’ll take mercy on your friends. After all, I have one standing right in front of me as we speak.” Dark said, just as Wild appeared back in the waterfall, as if to illustrate his point. Hyrule could barely contain the rage building in his heart but allowed his hand to drop away from the sword. He couldn’t risk angering Dark and getting Wild hurt in the process.  

“Just give us our friend’s back and I’m sure we can work something out,” Hyrule hissed, as his hand tightened into fists at his sides. He had to keep a level head, it would only make things worse if he lashed out now. Dark leaned back and let out a loud bellowing laugh. 

“Oh I don’t think so, they both have something I want. Not to mention the sky child has become one of my favorite playthings. I dare say we're practically brothers!” Dark said and Hyrule couldn’t help but notice how he said the word ‘brothers’ like the word itself was a slimy curse. 

“Bastard,” 

The word slipped between his teeth before he could stop himself. Dark raised an amused eyebrow and smirked at him and somehow that simple gesture made Hyrule’s blood run cold. 

“I didn’t know you could swear, I thought you were better than that. Pity really, I guess that Vet’s proclivity for fowl language is rubbing off on you.” Dark said before a light seemed to jump into his eyes. He snapped his fingers and looked at him with a wide toothy grin. 

“Speaking of the Vet, I hope he realizes how foolish it was to leave you here alone. Hasn’t he ever heard of the buddy system?” He said with a sigh, like he had really expected better from Legend. There was another snap of his fingers and suddenly Hyrule felt cold, wet tendrils wrapping around his wrists. He gasped and tried to jerk his arms away but they were thoroughly trapped. To his horror his feet were quickly enveloped in the watery grip as well and every inch of him squirmed in alarm. He struggled and Dark chuckled at his ineffective attempts to free himself. 

Hyrule snarled and opened his mouth to spit out an insult but another cold tendril shot out and wrapped itself around his neck stopping the words dead in his throat. He let out a choked cry as the grip tightened and the tendril slowly wrapped around his mouth. He clamped his mouth shut quickly and worked harder to try to free himself. 

Hyrule could hear Dark laughing harder and he shifted his focus back over to the waterfall and watched as the flat surface bulged outwards in the shape of a man. Dark seemed to be using the water itself to give himself a body and he casually walked out from the falls and towards him. Fear and frustration poured through Hyrule’s veins as he continued to struggle. The water that surrounded his mouth felt like it was trying to pry his lips open and he forced them closed as hard as he could. 

“You know, I have come to realize that there is something that I want from you as well.” Dark said as he moved closer, circling around him as if looking him over. When he worked his way around him, Dark slowed to a stop and inclined his head and looked down his nose at him. Hyrule glared at him and jerked himself forward as if he could break free from the grip and throttle Dark himself. The water tightened around his throat and he felt his breath growing shallow as his airways were squeezed. 

“I have always been impressed with how well you can heal,” Dark started and Hyrule squinted his eyes at him, even as a thrill of fear rushed through him. Was he to be taken too? If that were the case he wasn’t to be taken without a fight. Hyrule jerked forwards again and Dark smirked. 

“I can see the look in your eyes, and no, I’m not going to snatch you away, I’m not really up for more company at the moment. Though I am in need of a healer,” He said as he moved in closer and Hyrule felt his very soul recoil at the proximity. He didn’t know what Dark was getting at but he was sure he didn’t like it. Dark just hummed and scrutinized him with cold, calculating, red eyes. He made a sharp gesture and Hyrule felt himself being leaned back slightly, his arms pulled back so he couldn’t bend forward, forcing his chest to be more exposed. 

Oh he really did not like that. The primal side of his brain screamed danger and his more rational side was inclined to agree. He tried even harder to break the water’s grip but he was being held at such an angle that it made it impossible to get any leverage, he couldn’t move an inch. He was trapped, stuck and completely helpless and the thought of it filled him with rage and fear in equal measure. His chest was heaving and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the hand that was raised, the fingers growing long black fingernails as Dark smiled softly at him. 

“You know, I was always amazed at how well you could heal.” Dark said distractedly as he lowered his pointer finger to just above Hyrule’s heart. He felt something in his chest stir and twist, like the magic that was held there was getting anxious just by the proximity of Dark’s finger. 

“Given the fact that your very blood holds the key to release that fool Ganon, who would have guessed that you would even be able to heal anyone at all,” He said as he very slowly pressed the sharpened tip of his fingernail through his shirt and into the soft skin above Hyrule’s heart. Pain raced down all the nerve endings in his body and he sucked in a pained breath through his nose. 

“I should have guessed that you would have somehow turned that curse into something helpful, maybe I should give you hero types more credit,” He mused and Hyrule felt something latch on to the magic that was stored in his very soul. His eyes went wide and Dark gave him a lazy grin and slowly withdrew his hand. Hyrule could feel as his magic was leached and pulled away. He watched in awed horror as a delicate strand of silver and gold wrapped around the long pointed black fingernail and somehow he knew this wasn’t just Dark absorbing some of his magic, it was like he was taking it away. As Dark moved his hand back further he could feel his own hands growing numb. 

“How interesting, I didn’t think your magic could be this pure,” He said as he worked the fine filament between his thumb and forefinger. Hyrule couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the horror. He felt something warm beginning to drip from his nose, the world blurred and darkened at the corners and he was struck with the idea that maybe he was dying. Dark looked back at him and gently patted his face.   

“Aw, don’t pass out on me now, it’s just a bit of essence, I’m sure you have plenty to spare,” He said kindly. Hyrule could barely feel anything, he wasn’t even sure if he was standing or laying down. His chest spasmed and a wet cough forced itself out from between his lips. Judging on the metallic tang that coated his tongue he imagined the red that must be coloring the water around his mouth. 

“Or maybe not,” He said as an afterthought though Hyrule didn’t think he really cared. He could feel his eyes trying to roll back in his head, was he breathing? He didn’t know. Dark just leaned back, pulling the strand of silver and gold until it was taught and Hyrule felt his soul scream in agony. Tears dripped from the corner of his eyes, and Dark’s grin grew savage. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t take all of it, I still want you alive. And for what it’s worth I’m pretty sure you won’t notice much of a difference,” Dark said as he grabbed at a section of the thread and began to worry away at it. He could feel his magic growing thinner and thinner before it finally snapped away. Hyrule arched back his eyes slamming closed as he felt the connection hiss and writhe at the break. 

He heard a cry from somewhere and he just managed to open his eyes just enough to see the shape of boomerang slice through the figure standing in front of him before he was falling, crashing into the cold water underneath him. He couldn’t do anything as the water parted around his numbed body and instantly flowed back over top of him. Didn’t even register the cold shock of water rushing into his lungs. The only thought that made it past his numbed and aching mind was the feeling that something dreadfully important was missing. His mind glazed over and he watched the ripples in the water above him as he let himself drown.

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01| 02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Light swearing, Soobin being a cutie pie, me not proofreading. I think that’s it??

A/N: This does include the writing that was part of the preview post I made, but it is the first official chapter of Windflower! Please know that genre and warnings will change with every chapter I post! I also don’t quite have an upload schedule, sorry about that!! Hope you all enjoy nonetheless! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Your car groaned in protest as you turned into the parking lot of the quaint diner. Giving the dashboard two loving yet harsh hits with the palm of your hand seemed to do the trick. Now silent, the beat up blue car seemed to quietly thank you as you settled between the white painted lines of a parking space and shut off the engine. It was a gray, overcast day but humidity hung in the air wherever you went, making your hair puffy and the back of your legs stick to the cracking leather of your driver’s seat. Heaving a sigh at the uncomfortable stickiness, you pulled down the mirror from the roof of your car to survey the reflection staring back at you. 

It’s a startling thing, to look at yourself in a mirror and barely recognize your face. Your skin was dull and starting to break out, the bags under your eyes had seemingly never been more prominent than they were in this moment. Your fingers danced over the darkened skin, wondering at what point of your trip you began to look so worn down. Was it the moment you left your apartment? The twelve hours of mindless driving with no destination in mind? Or had this degeneration begun the moment you found yourself completely alone in life? 

You snapped the mirror back up against the roof and rubbed your hands over your face. Mindlessly, you pushed through the items littering your passenger seat until you clasped the familiar quilted fabric of your wallet. As soon as you stood up outside of your car, a wave of dizziness sent you grasping at the top of your car for support. You needed food more than you had originally estimated. Your legs were still a bit shaky from disuse as you walked toward the small white building. Portions of the paint had peeled off in jagged strips to expose the tightly stacked brown bricks waiting underneath. The simple clear door displayed a sun-faded open sign with handwritten hours of operation. As soon as you pushed the door open, the smell of grease and fresh apple pie invaded your senses and your face involuntarily shrunk up in disgust. Another thick paper sign attached on a tarnished metal stand boasted a cheerful cursive that read “Please Seat Yourself!” You could hear a radio playing faintly from somewhere in the building.

Almost every booth in the rectangular dining area was vacant, save for one elderly couple sharing a plate of fries. The floor was sticky under your feet as you made your way to a booth, and whether the texture was a result of the humidity or a lack of cleaning, you couldn’t tell. Sliding into the booth was familiar, almost comforting as you thought back to all of the times you had slid into booths with your friends at dinner, or slid yourself into a booth at the coffee shop near your apartment to work on a paper. Well. Your old apartment. The thought of adjusting to past tense created a scowl on your face as an unsuspecting waitress approached your side. She cleared her throat and caught your attention. To your surprise, she was fairly young, maybe in her late 30s; and she stood in her bright blue blouse and skirt uniform with a cock to her hip and a serving tray tucked under her arm. 

“Hi, hun. My name is Melissa, what can I get ya?” the woman’s tone was deceivingly cheerful, given the slow restaurant and heavy air. You heaved a sigh and looked down at the thin paper menu. It wilted in your hand as you picked it up and you soon abandoned the idea of even trying to read through it. 

“Hi. A vanilla milkshake and fries, please.” The order was so simple that Melissa didn’t even write it down, just nodded and turned to head into the kitchen to relay your order. A dull buzz warned you of the beginning of a headache but you expertly pushed the feeling aside and decided to ask for a glass of water when she came with your order. Mindlessly, you began searching your phone for places to stay in the tiny town you had stumbled upon. This hadn’t been the kind of place you expected to end up for the summer, but you were never one to plan anything. Enthralled in your scrolling through motel listings, Melissa scared you as she set your order down in front of you. She caught a look at your phone and your face flushed in embarrassment. How much of an obvious tourist could you be? You asked for a glass of water in an attempt to shoo her away, but when she came back with a glass covered in condensation she didn’t leave. 

“Not from around here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her props for trying to ease you into the conversation. You shook your head, not really caring to elaborate on where you came from as you shoved a few fries into your mouth. 

“I don’t usually talk to customers like this, but; well, we’re dead today and I saw you looking at places to stay on your phone. I don’t recommend any of them. Especially not to a young pretty girl like you. Most of them are way too pricey for their rooms. And the Moonlight motel is literally run by a druglord. He’d gobble you up,” she shivered at her own words. 

“Well, where should I stay, then? Unless I missed a Best Western on the way in, I don’t have many other choices,” you deadpanned, hoping to hide the nervousness that was rising in your stomach. If you didn’t stay here, where would you go? But then again, why do you want to stay here so bad in the first place? You took a slurp of your milkshake as you contemplated. 

“Look, it’s sort of a town secret, but you remind me of my niece, so I’ll just tell you now. There’s this estate- gated, two story house, old timey stuff, gorgeous garden” Melissa waved her hands around as she spoke, chipped red fingernails putting on a show of their own. “It’s called the Flower House, actually. It’s been passed from generation to generation, since the town was founded. The boy who owns it now is just about your age, but he’s been living there alone since his cousin moved away for college years ago. He’s a lovely boy, we love when he comes into town, it just isn’t often.” you raised your eyebrows at her, trying to figure out how this mysterious boy and his ancestral house had anything to do with your housing predicament. “Long story short, he came around a few weeks ago looking for anyone who would be willing to help him keep the house and yard clean. No pay, but it’s free living in a beautiful home. And he’s not bad looking either.” she winked suggestively. “If you want, I can give you the address and you can go talk to him?”

You looked into her eyes, sparkling with hope of giving you a helping hand. “Okay, yeah. Sure, what have I got to lose?” Melissa hurried away to get writing materials as you continued eating with renewed vigor. 

As Melissa cleared your minimal dishes away, she set a ripped piece of paper in front of you that simply read;

“Choi Soobin, 476 Gardenia Dr.”

After paying and being sure to leave your helpful waitress a generous tip, you hopped back in your car and began your journey to discover the mysterious Flower House.

The drive through town was oddly peaceful, even with the grumbling of your car to accompany you alongside the pop songs on the radio. Air whipped into your windows as you drove by houses, small restaurants and one single chain grocery store where everyone seemed to be shopping. Stopping at an intersection with a single blinking stoplight, your phone instructed you to turn left. You passed the town’s schools, elementary and highschool; all huddled onto one campus with a large parking lot separating the two. The electric sign posted reminders of the last day of school for the students as you sped by. The farther you got away from the school, the older the houses became. Some were rotting apart, others covered in creeping vines. The street gradually slanted upwards as you continued to drive towards your destination. At the end of Gardenia Drive stood a towering home with a multitude of windows circling the entire building. A large chimney stood out on the top, one of the only signs of the home’s age; as the outside was wonderfully kept. The most impressive feature was of course the garden, for which the house gained its nickname. Your mouth hung open as you tried to fathom the sheer amount of flowers that were in full bloom on the front lawn. Blues, pinks, purples, reds and whites all stitched together in a beautiful quilt of florals. Some ivy was growing up the old wrought iron gates and the trunks of a few towering trees. While the growth made other houses look dated and worn down, the ivy here only added to the elegance that took your breath away. With your car parked on the road right outside, you exited your car to approach the gates. 

Fumbling with your hands, you navigated over the brick path leading up to the intimidating 10 foot tall gates. Despite the obvious history of the metal, a modern doorbell buzzer and camera system was installed just to the left of the entrance. It was harder than you’d like to admit to raise the courage for pressing the button. Your mind blanked as you performed the action, not knowing what to expect. A voice crackled through the speakers and made you jump. 

“Who’s there?” a smooth voice inquired. Suddenly you were unsure of what to say.

“I, uh. I’m Y/N. A waitress at Russ’ Diner told me to come talk to you about an um.” your mouth was suddenly going dry. “A living arrangement?” A small exclamation of understanding was music to your ears. 

“Okay! Hold on, I’ll be right over to the gate!” The static disappeared with the voice. You looked down at your phone out of habit and realized you had no reception. Figures, as you were sort of in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter right now anyway. You put the device in the back pocket of your shorts just as the gate began creaking open and welcoming you onto the property. You could faintly make out the shape of a body making its way toward you through the dense trees. 

When he stepped into your line of sight, sunshine managed to peek through the thick blanket of clouds that had been permeating your entire visit and bask him in a wash of gold. He was tall, with long legs covered in the material of light wash skinny jeans. The knees were a bit dirty, and you recognized the stains as a mix of grass and dirt. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that clung perfectly to his wide shoulders and showed off his defined waist. 

Not only was he dressed in a way you definitely didn’t expect, but his looks threw you even farther into surprise. His face was evenly tanned, and not a single blemish could be found. Suddenly, you became all too aware of the dismal state of your own complexion and fought the urge to bring a hand up to cover your face from him. Dark, hooded eyes examined your form as you stood awkwardly on the path and waited for his next words. He seemed amused by your lack of introduction, and chuckled a little as he asked, “Y/N?” 

Hearing your name broke the spell that his beauty had put you under and you nodded. His face lit into a smile as he beckoned you further onto the land with a waving hand. You followed him closely and caught his words as they floated in the wind back to you. “I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-great uncle and his wife. Well, wives.” He chuckled to himself as he led you into a gazebo. Soobin settled into one of the wooden chairs situated around a matching table and gestured for you to sit in the one across from him. A pit of nervousness built in your stomach at the close proximity between the two of you. The table was only three feet wide, and Soobin’s long leg stretched in front of him and decreased your distance even more. Up close, you could see the permanent upturn of the corners of his mouth, and the sparkle in his brown eyes.

His honey brown hair ruffled in the breeze that passed you by and he closed his eyes at the feeling for a moment. “So,” he began suddenly, “you were at Russ’? Who sent you my way for the job?” He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the new structure. He blinked owlishly as you took a deep breath. 

���Yeah, I just came into town for the summer. Melissa served me and she told me that all of the motels here are pretty shit,” Soobin laughed and nodded at that, and your heart skipped a beat. “So she gave me your info. Said you might be able to give me a better place to stay if I helped you out.” 

“Ah, I see. Melissa is right, though. Those motels are awful. I definitely wouldn’t want to see you staying there.” He appraised your face for a second while he paused. “If you want the job, it’s yours.” He stated as if it were the most casual thing in the world. You sputtered. 

“Wait, what? That quick? You don’t even know anything about me! I could be a murderer!” He laughed openly at you now, and the sound stirred an emotion in your stomach you hadn’t felt in months. 

“Well, are you? A murderer?” 

“No! Of course not.” Soobin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“So, can you clean? Cook a decent meal? Drive to the city for groceries? Water some plants?” You nodded at every question he raised and watched as his smile upticked more with every bob of your head. 

“Then you’re perfect. Welcome to the Flower House.” He stood, frame towering over your still sitting being and offered you a strong looking hand. Ticking his head toward the massive home behind him, he grinned. “Tour?”

[sunmoonandeddie]

i’ll be home for christmas

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 4,019

summary: Bucky made a promise to his girl, and Steve helps him keep it.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.

a/n: So like.  I just slapped this together when the idea came to me last night.  Let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes was tired.

And not the tired that came from being on your feet all day, no.  He was the kind of tired that was bone deep.  It sunk down underneath his skin and took root in all the small crevices of his body.  It lingered in the lines on his palms and the soft skin behind his knees.

He let out a groan befitting his true age as he got up off the bed, moving to his dresser.  A picture frame sat on the dark wood, an old engagement ring sitting next to it.  His eyes rested on your face for an extra minute or two as he took in a deep breath.

It was a picture of you from 1942.  You were wearing that pretty green dress that brought out your eyes, your hair perfectly curled.  From a first glance, the photo looked so serious, but he could see the twitch of a poorly contained smile at the corner of your lips.  It was a photo your mother had taken with your family’s color camera.

A luxury, in those days.

Your family had been one of the ones a little better off after the stock market crashed.  You weren’t thrown into the same kind of poverty that he was.

Your family was old money and old money didn’t crash and burn because it didn’t believe in the banks.  Your father kept your family’s fortune in a safe in your house.

When the banks had failed, you guys had stayed afloat.

Not that your family hadn’t helped out others.  You’d been so kind.  Your father had given him a winter coat when he’d seen that his was several sizes too small and worn thin.

Bucky had been eighteen and still wearing the coat he got when he was twelve.

Your father had also been his boss when he worked at the docks, and had subsequently been the reason that his family had survived those harsh years.  They hadn’t been able to survive on his pa’s savings forever, especially not after his ma lost her job when she broke her hand.

But that was so long ago.

“We’re doing some pretty big things today, darlin,’” he said as he pulled on his jacket.  “Stevie’s going back in time to take the Infinity Stones back.  He’s gotta take them to the exact moment in time they were taken or it’ll create alternative timelines or something like that.  It was a lot of words that even I couldn’t understand, and you know how much of a nerd I am.”  He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair.  “I miss you, baby,” he whispered as he pressed two fingers to his lips before gently touching the glass of the photo frame, right where your lips were.  “I love you always.”

“BARNES!”

Bucky looked up to see his supervisor, Davies, calling him over.  He wiped his hands on his jeans as he headed over, calling out, “Yes, sir?”

“We’ve got a new shipment coming in late tonight.  Is there anyway you could come in?” Davies asked, at least having the decency to appear a little apologetic.  “I’ll throw in a coupla extra bucks for ya, kid.”

He sighed, glancing down at his shoes.  They were his one good pair and they were starting to wear through.  There was no denying that he was going to need a new pair in the upcoming months, and that’s not to mention how fast Becca was growing.

She’d need a new dress within just a few weeks, he was sure of it.

And Christmas was coming up.  Fuck.

As much as Becca insisted that she didn’t need a Christmas present, that she understood how rough things were, he still needed to do something for her.  He needed to preserve that little bit of normalcy, that idea that Christmas was special.

Maybe a new pair of stockings.  Or some mittens.  Something small and simple that he might be able to afford.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I can do that,” he said.

“Thanks, kiddo,” Davies said with a grin.  “You’re the best damn guy we got working here.  Keep it up.  Maybe there’s a promotion in your future.”

God, he hoped so.  With how bleak everything had been, his family could really use the knowledge of knowing that he had a secure job and secure pay, even if it wasn’t a lot.

The chatter of the men around him died down a little with the sound of heels clacking on the wet docks, and he turned to see you walking towards the main office, a bag in your hand.  You wandered the edge of the docks, eyes on the water that crashed up against the concrete walls.

You didn’t seem to notice the way the men were staring at you, or if you did, you hid it well.  You burrowed down into your thick winter coat, the mink fur lining the color keeping your ears warm.  Your hair was styled in a sleek French twist, a style his ma used to do a lot for Sundays at church.

You were beautiful.

But Bucky watched almost in slow motion as your heel slipped on the ice that covered the docks, your eyes going wide as you fell into the icy water with a crash.

The other men were frozen in place, not sure what to do.  They were torn between wanting to help and not wanting to risk the icy depths.

His heart pounding, Bucky ran for where you’d disappeared, tearing off his threadbare coat along the way.  The men shouting at him sounded like buzzing in his ears as he dove in.

Eyes stinging from the salt water, he felt his heart jump as he saw you struggling to swim to the surface, bogged down by heavy skirts and your coat.  He grabbed you by the waist, holding you close to his chest, before pushing up to the surface.

Blinking away the water in his eyes, he was greeted with men surrounding the area that he’d jumped from.

You were sputtering in his arms, coughing up water and clutching onto him for dear life.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his legs working in overtime as he worked to keep both of you afloat.  “It’s okay.  I’ve got you.”

“SOMEONE GIVE ‘IM A HAND!”

Bucky passed you off to one of the men, waiting for you to be pulled up onto the docks before he allowed several hands to pull him up.  He collapsed on the cold concrete, staring up at the sky as he tried to catch his breath.  He pushed himself up, grabbing his coat from where it’d fallen.  “You’re gonna catch your death,” he said as he threw it over you, trying to shield you as best as he could from the wind coming off the water.

“FLOWER!  FLOWER!”

He looked up to see the big boss man, the one who owned the docks, running towards them.  His eyes widened as he realized that you looked remarkably like him.

“D-Daddy,” you stammered, coughing up more water.

“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” her father said as he fell to his knees in front of you.  He held your face in his hands as he checked you over for any sort of injuries.  “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you insisted, holding onto him.  “Thanks to him.”  You nodded over to Bucky, and it was then that your father finally seemed to notice him.

He swallowed as the man’s eyes fixed on him.  “You saved my daughter?” He asked.

Bucky slowly nodded.  “It was nothing, sir,” he insisted.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he insisted, helping you up.  He held out a hand to Bucky, who gave him a look of bewilderment.

It wasn’t often that rich men held out their hand to poor boys like him.

“She needed help, and I wasn’t going to leave her in there,” he said with a shrug as he shoved his hands into his pockets.  He tried to play off just how cold he was, his wet clothes sticking to his skin and starting to turn to ice.  If he looked closely at his fingers, he could see them starting to turn blue.

Her father seemed to notice his predicament and took off his coat, pulling it around his shoulders.  “Come on into the office.  We’ll get you two nice and warmed up,” he said.

Bucky didn’t know what else to do, so he just nodded and followed him.

“Thank you.”

He looked over in surprise to see you looking up at him with pretty eyes, a flush in your cheeks that he suspected had nothing to do with the cold.  “It was nothing,” he repeated, glancing down at his feet.

Steve would have a field day about how he’d done something stupid enough to warrant a scolding from his ma, something that the blond was usually on the end of.

“You saved my life,” you whispered, holding his coat tightly around you.  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

The others were waiting for him down by the time travel thing.  He could never be bothered to ask the actual name.  He knew that the others had used Pym Particles to go back, but the actual contraption didn’t seem to have a name other than ‘time machine’ and it seemed like such a lame name for something so fucking cool.

Steve was getting ready to go, chatting with Sam idly as they stood there.  Banner was messing with the controls.

He’d seen photos of the Hulk before, but the weird mix of both Banner and the green rage monster was… unsettling, to say the least.

Steve sighed as he walked over to Bucky, eyeing him slowly.  “You know, Buck, I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing,” he teased, a sly smile creeping up on his lips.

He laughed, shaking his head in slight amusement.  “I want you to come with me on this.  Help me out.”  He wrapped an arm around him.  “You didn’t get to do the whole time travel thing with us, and we have more than enough Pym Particles.”

Bucky looked at him, trying to get a read on his eyes.  Finally, he let out a chuckle.  “Okay.  Sure.  I’ll go with you to help with the Stones.”

And within two minutes, he had one of those fancy contraptions on his wrist and a quantum suit had materialized around his clothes.

Returning the Stones was easy.  And time travel was exhilarating, to say the least.  In all of his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined anything like it.

Steve took an extra long moment when they returned the Tesseract to the seventies, stealing a moment to observe Peggy in her natural element.

She was a force to be reckoned with, but she always had been.

Bucky knew what Steve wanted to do.  They’d talked about it the night before.

His best friend wanted to go back to the forties to get his life with the Brit, with his first love.

And he got it.  He really did.  He understood the longing to go back, to steal back the life that was taken from him.

But Peggy had a life ahead of her.  One that Steve wasn’t a part of.  She had a husband and children and grandchildren.

“We got one last stop,” the blond said as he turned away from the window he’d been observing her in her office through.  His eyes lingered on the photos of her family on her desk as he typed new coordinates, and with a flash, they were gone.

“Where are we?” Bucky asked as he glanced around.

But even as he asked, he knew.

Brooklyn.  1940-something.

A thin blanket of snow covered the ground, but there was already more coming down.  It coated his lashes and his long hair in a white dust.

“The war ended in September,” Steve said, leading him down the alleyway.  “Figured it’d be best to drop you off where there wasn’t a war going on.”

“Drop me off?”  He took in every sight, smell, and sound like it was a drug.  He’d missed this place so much.  As much time as he spent in the twenty-first century, it never felt like home.  He always felt like he was on his toes, like he couldn’t relax.

Steve stopped in front of a familiar townhouse, a sly smile on his lips that was barely visible in the dim light of the streetlamp.  “If I remember correctly, you made someone a promise.  And I intend to help you keep it.”

“Stevie–”

He shook his head, his eyes fixing him in place.  “Listen, jerk.  I’m not going back to Peggy.  I did some thinking, and it’s not right,” he said.  “She’s got her own life, her own love.  Maybe mine is out there.  But yours…”  He looked up towards the window that Bucky knew peered into the kitchen, a soft light illuminating the flowers lining the sill inside that you were nicknamed after.  “I know you’ve read her file.  You know she never married, never moved on.  That’s the love of your life, and you have the chance to be with her.”

“But what about you?  And Sam?” He asked, his voice cracking with emotion.  His eyes burned as he tried to hold the tears back.

Steve smiled warmly as he slung an arm around his shoulders.  “Sam and I are gonna be just fine.  He’s gonna need someone to listen while he rants about how the shield is more trouble than it’s worth more often than not and how people expect Captain America to be Mr. Apple Pie,” he said.

Bucky nodded, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes.  “Tell him I said bye, okay?  And that I’ll miss him.”  As much as he didn’t like to admit it, the man had grown on him.  He considered him one of his best friends.  They gave each other shit, but he knew he’d take a bullet for him.  “And he’s an ass.”

The other man let out a chuckle, nodding as he pulled him into a tight hug.  “I’ll miss you, jerk.”

“Yeah, I’ll miss you, too, I guess,” he said, squeezing him for an extra moment.  Everything he’d been through in the past seventy years felt like it was all coming to a head in this moment.  “I love you, punk.”

“I love you, too.”  Steve pulled back, pulling a letter out of his suit pocket.  “Give this to Peggy.  She’ll know what to do.”

With a nod and one last hug, Bucky turned to go up the steps of your townhouse, his hands sweating as he knocked on the door.

January 4th, 1945

My dearest Sunflower,

I’m still alive.  I know you’re ready to kick my ass for not writing to you in a few weeks, but we’ve been unable to find a post office.

Steve is good.  The other guys are good.  We’re doing alright for ourselves.

We’re somewhere in Austria right now.  I can’t tell you exactly where, and they might redact it anyway.

It’s cold as hell here.  Even colder than the water I jumped into to save you that day we first met.  Remember that?  I thought you were the prettiest gal I’d ever seen.  Still do.

To be honest, darling, I don’t think even your father’s coat could keep me warm here.  We have to keep fires going at all times  One of the men got frostbite in his fingers because he didn’t wear his gloves.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for Christmas.  I know that you looked mighty pretty in whatever dress you wore though.  I bet it looked real good with that ring on your finger.  Becca said in her letters that you never take it off.  I just want you to know how often I think about that.  It gives me a little happiness, knowing that you’re going to be my wife when all of this is over.  I keep your picture right over my heart.  The one your ma took a few months before I got drafted.

A lot of the other men aren’t so lucky.  They don’t have a gal to go home to.  Definitely not one was pretty as you.  When your letters arrive, I let them read them as long as they promise not to mess it up.  They really liked that hair ribbon and the photo of you and Becca you sent me.

I think it gives them hope, knowing that there’s still love in this world to give and to receive.

For Christmas, there weren’t many gifts.  Steve did give me an extra few pairs of socks.  I gave him an extra blanket I found lying around.

I know you’re going to say otherwise, but I can’t stop feeling like I failed your pa.  The one thing he asked of me when he left was that I look after you and your ma and I promised him I would.  I told him I wouldn’t come over here and risk my ass.

I ran into him a few weeks ago.  He was going around with some of the other higher officers, talking to the troops.

Needless to say, he was surprised to see me.

He looked so mad when he pulled me into his makeshift office, I thought I’d die right there.  You know how much his opinion means to me.  I’d never had a good father figure until I met him.  My pa was never like him.  Never treated my ma or my sister with the respect and love your father has.  I never knew fathers could be kind until I met him.

So I told him everything.  I told him about getting drafted, how I’d tried to get out of it.  I hadn’t even told Steve that.  Only you.

Thanks for not telling him I was over here.  I know it was awful of me to ask such a thing of you, but he swears he’s not upset with you and he understands.

He cried when I told him I’d been drafted, that I’d done my best to stay home and keep you and your ma safe.  I cried, too.  I’m not ashamed to admit it.

He was a little upset with me for not going home when I had the chance, but I told him I had to stay with Steve and make sure he stays safe.

But I promise you, I’ll be home for Christmas.  I don’t know if it’ll be this Christmas or the next or the next, but I’ll make it home to you, okay?  I pinky promise.

I have to go.  Steve’s just got word that Zola is on the move.

All my love,

Your Jamie

You took a long swig of wine as you read the letter for the eighth time tonight.  No matter how much of the bottle you drank, it didn’t numb the pain.

He never came home.

You’d held onto that letter, rereading it so many times that the paper had gone soft.  Some of the words were blurred from tear stains.

It was the last letter you ever received from him.

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

You looked up in surprise, glancing over at the clock.  “Who the hell is knocking on my door at midnight?” You asked yourself as you pulled on your robe to cover your nightgown.

Which, it wasn’t like you were sleeping.

After spending Christmas Eve cooking with your ma, Winifred, and Becca, you were exhausted.  But you were all determined to get it done so you could spend Christmas Day relaxing.

A pang twisted your heart as you glanced down, your ring catching in the light.

Even after two years, you didn’t have the heart to take it off.

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

You huffed, tying your robe tightly.  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”  Flicking on the front hallway light, you didn’t bother to look through the peephole at whoever the hell was at your door.  Wiping away a few lingering tears, you flung open the door, ready to chew the person out, but the words caught in your throat.

James Buchanan Barnes was standing on your doorstep.  Even though he looked a few years older, with his long hair and thick beard, there was no doubt in your mind that it was him.

“J-Jamie?” You stammered, tears pricking your eyes.  “Is it really you?”

“It’s really me, sunflower,” he said, shuffling his feet.

The smile he gave you was so boyish and charming, so Jamie, that you fell to your knees.  Sobs wracked your body as you tried to catch your breath.  “I-I thought you were dead!  They told me you were!”

“I promised you I’d be home for Christmas.”  Bucky fell to his knees with you, gathering you up in his arms.  “It’s me, baby.  It’s me.  I’m here.  I’m home.  And I’m never leaving you again.”

Sniffling, you grabbed his face in your hands, pushing his hair back.  “Your hair,” you laughed, toying with the silky strands.  “Your hair is so long.”  Your fingers moved to cup his jaw, a giggle breaking through the sobs.  “And your beard!”

He let out a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.  His hand found your left, running over the stones on the ring that he’d given you with a promise to come home years ago when he’d been shipped off.  “I have so much to tell you, my love.  But I’m home.”

The feeling he could never find in the twenty-first century was back.  The weariness in his bones disappeared as he held you against his chest, smoothing down your hair as he rocked you back and forth.  The feeling of being home at last bloomed in his chest.

You rested your head on his shoulder, blinking away tears as you stared out at the snowy sky, holding him tight.  You didn’t care that you were half inside and half out, or that the neighbors could see you.

But you were startled to see Steve Rogers leaning against the streetlamp, his arms crossed over his chest.  He looked like he’d been put through the ringer just like Bucky.

And he looked so much bigger.  You’d seen the newsreels of him, but nothing compared to seeing him standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you,” you mouthed to him.

He gave you a nod, a teary smile on his face, before fiddling with something on his wrist and disappearing into thin air.

Grabbing Bucky’s face in your hands, you pressed sweet kisses all over his hair and his face.  “You’re never allowed to scare me like that ever again,” you said, leaning back to look in his eyes.  Even though they were sparkling with delight, there was a hauntedness to them that you had no doubt had something to do with the metal arm that was currently holding you.  But you were sure that would be explained later.  Right now, you were just grateful to have him home.  “You hear me?  I’ll…  I’ll put you on house arrest if I have to!”

He grinned, basking in your kisses like they were summer sunshine.  “Trust me, darlin,’ I’m not going anywhere.”  He pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, his flesh hand holding the back of your head.

It felt just as good as all the kisses you’d gotten from him before, maybe even better.

“I gotta ask you something,” he said as he leaned back just enough to brush his nose against yours.

“You can ask me anything, Jame, long as you stay here with me,” you murmured, kissing him once, twice, three more times before letting him speak again.

An impish grin tugged at his lips.  “Where the hell are your decorations?  I come home and I don’t even get some mistletoe to kiss you under?”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned your forehead against his.  You relaxed as you felt his steady, strong heartbeat under your palm.  For the first time since he’d been deployed over to Europe, you felt complete.  “I don’t need mistletoe to kiss you under, Sarge.”

[ohemgeeitscoley]

"Do you want the room or not?" Ben asks, pushing his hands in the pockets of his sweater. It's so jarring to her. Every story she has ever heard that involved Ben centered around his confidence, his anger, the way he could just command a room.

None of it matched with the image in front of her.

"Yeah," she finally responds. "Yeah. I do."

----

In which Ben learns Rey's nightmares, her favorite tea, and how to sneak into her heart.

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: None of this would ever have been written if it weren’t for @andyouweremine​ Not only is she a fabulous beta who makes my writing better, but she’s the one that sent me the post to Reylo Week and said we should write something for it. Also, she listened to me go on and on about this song and all of the feelings it gives me. Seriously, I have no idea what I have done in my life to deserve such an amazing and supporting friend, but I love you a whole lot. Thanks for being my shipping soulmate and spiraling with me on this. 

This was written for  Day One of Reylo Week 2020 Favourite Song Lyric or Quote. "For Island Fires and Family” by Dermot Kennedy is the inspiration behind this, so I definitely recommend listening to it.

Read on AO3 or below.

But she’s bringing the moon and stars to me

Damn permanent reverie

*** 

“What do you mean Ben Solo says he has a room I can rent?” Rey asks Poe. “This is the same Ben Solo that seems to personally enjoy making your life a living hell?”

“He’s a defense attorney. I’m a prosecutor. That’s literally his job,” Poe explains, shrugging. “He’s just… annoyingly good at his job.”

“Thanks Poe. I really needed that brilliant explanation as to how the adversarial American legal system works.” 

“I’m just saying,” Poe wraps a glass in a piece of newspaper before placing it in the box next to him. “He’s also one of my oldest friends and despite… well, anything you’ve probably heard about him, I know he’s a good guy.”

"And he just happens to have a room available to rent out to a grad student who can barely afford ramen?"

Poe's smile is more like a grimace as he raises his hand to awkwardly scratch at his neck. "That's what he tells me."

Rey grabs a stack of plates from the cupboard, setting them down on the counter to start wrapping. "I still don't know why you would ask him. We barely know each other."

"I was with him when you texted me," Poe holds his hand out for Rey to pass him a plate. "And he offered. 

"Why would he do that?" Rey asks, crossing her arms across her chest. "He doesn't even know me."

"Like I said," Poe shrugs, taping the box closed. "He's a good guy."

***

 "That can hardly be considered fair rent for living here, Ben," Rey argues, her eyes wandering around the apartment. It is in a much better location and is at least three times the size of her last apartment. 

It also isn't in a building that is being condemned. 

Ben blushes, looking away from Rey. "It's the friend of a friend discount."

Rey snorts. “I would think the friend of a friend discount would be letting a complete stranger move in with you on, like, twelve hours’ notice. Not offering a bedroom and free reign of the rest of your apartment for less than what I was paying for an apartment that is being condemned.”

“I really don’t need the money,” Ben says shyly.  

“They pay you pretty well to make sure the bad guys remain on the street?” Rey asks. She regrets it as soon as she sees Ben tense, the bashful look gone from his face.

"Ben, I didn't… I'm sorry," Rey sighs, glancing at the floor. She counts to three in her head before looking back up at Ben. She ignores the way it almost hurts her to notice that he's stepped back away from her. "I didn't mean it like that. It's your job. And I'm sure not all of your clients are actually guilty. But even if they are you're still just doing your job."

Ben doesn't say anything. Rey is working her way through her mental list of friends that she could call for a place to crash at least for the night. Certainly Poe and Finn wouldn't mind her staying just one night. And even if they did, it was Poe who thought that her staying with Ben would work out and clearly it wasn't going to work. 

She reaches in her purse to grab her phone so she can start looking for hotels. She tries not to think about how she decidedly cannot afford to stay in a hotel for any length of time. 

"Do you want the room or not?" Ben asks, pushing his hands in the pockets of his sweater. It's so jarring to her. Every story she has ever heard that involved Ben centered around his confidence, his anger, the way he could just command a room.

None of it matched with the image in front of her.

"Yeah," she finally responds. "Yeah. I do."

***

Rey has nightmares. 

Ben doesn't mention them and he doesn't ask questions. But he does make sure to brew the coffee extra strong the next morning and to hand her a cup first thing when she walks into the kitchen. He doesn't know her yet, but he knows enough to know that Rey isn't comfortable talking about herself or her past. 

And he knows enough about nightmares to know that they are rooted in the past.

So he stays away. He wakes up when he hears her rustling around the kitchen, hears the soft whistle of the kettle when she makes tea. 

But he stays away. 

Rey doesn't mention anything to him and he knows that she would if it was something she wanted to talk about.

The more he gets to know her, the harder it is to stay away. She opens up to him slowly, small glimpses into her past when she talks to him about her day while he makes dinner after work or when they are walking around the farmer's market on the weekends planning meals for the week.

He wants to know everything about her. He enjoys being someone that she's comfortable with to talk to about her days, her dreams, and her past.

But he doesn't want to push her. He doesn't want to be too much. 

He's always been too much. 

He's never had a roommate before and he isn't quite sure where the appropriate boundary line lies for these kinds of situations. 

He's scared of pushing too hard and crossing it.

It's just past three am when he hears her whimpering in bed. He stays quiet in his room, rolling over in bed to his side. He listens as she walks out of her room and he hears her sob, and he can't stay away. 

She isn't alone, she doesn't have to be alone, and he needs her to know that. 

He holds her and she cries against his chest. All he wants to do is comfort her, to bring her peace the way she does for him without even trying.

So he takes her to the roof and opens himself up to her.

***

Rey curls her feet under herself as she settles into the couch. Ben moves around the kitchen, pulling a mug from one cupboard and honey from another. Her eyes follow him, taking in all of his small movements, the way he squints his eyes in concentration to make sure he is squeezing just the right amount of honey into the bottom of her cup before adding hot water and tea. She still doesn’t quite understand exactly how she got so lucky to fall into being his roommate, let alone someone he cares about.

There was a time when Rey’s only knowledge of Ben had been what she had heard from other people, stories of a rather closed off defense lawyer, all tall, dark and brooding. Full of anger. Rumors that Rey knew were based in truth, but did nothing to actually describe who Ben was underneath the facade that Snoke had helped create. If Poe hadn't offered Ben and Ben’s apartment as a lifeboat when Rey needed a place to stay, Rey never would have known anything different.

Ben had only been a part of her life for six months, but the thought of not knowing him hurts her. The idea that she could have gone about her life without knowing the depths in which he could care, the almost constant actions he took to ensure that the people he cared about knew they were cared for threatens to overwhelm her. Rey spent her entire childhood bounced from one bad foster home to the next. Believing that people cared about her isn't natural, but she believes Ben.

Ben who knows what kind of tea she likes to drink after a long day and knows how much honey she adds. Ben who teased her for her odd precision the first time he watched her make tea after she moved in, but remembers it all the same.

Ben who now makes the drink perfectly for her, because he notices without her saying a single word that she's had a bad day. His reaction is to make her feel better, even when Rey knows that Ben's day has been worse.

He first takes care of her.

“Tell me about your day?" Ben asks, stirring the tea a few times before he walks out of the kitchen and holds the cup out for her to take.

“Or," Rey begins, taking the cup from him, "you could tell me about your day instead." 

Ben stares at her, eyes narrow as he sits next to her. 

"Don't look at me like that." Rey blows on her drink and presses her feet against his legs. "You made me tea for my day, which has already made it infinitely better. You can tell me about your bad day first."

"And what makes you think I had a bad day?" 

It's the way he says it that sets her off. The self-deprecating tone of his voice, the attempt to hide from talking to her by pretending that everything is okay.

As if she can't read him as easily as he reads her. As if she didn't hear the clipped way he ended their call when she called asking if he needed anything when she stopped at the market. Like she didn't notice the lack of grammar and unusually high amount of typos in his messages to her at the end of the day. 

Or the way he moved around the kitchen making her tea. His shoulders tense and his thoughts loud. The way he kept brushing his fingers across her ankle as they talked. 

How when she walked into the apartment he looked at her like she was something he wasn't sure he deserves. And how he only looks at her like that when he is convinced that there are two versions of him: the monster he is at work and the person he is with her at home. When he starts to believe that maybe he's nothing more than a monster and she just hasn't noticed. 

Or that she hasn't had an opportunity to leave him for it yet. 

She doesn't tell him any of that though.

"I know you," she summarizes. "Tell me about your day."

"You don't need to hear about the things I do at work." Ben's laugh is hollow. "Some days you're the only person who looks at me like I could be something more than I am."

"I hate when you do that," Rey admits, shaking her head. "When you act like what you do at work makes you a bad person."

"I am a bad person." It's an absolute truth when Ben says it and the clear intensity in which Ben believes it breaks her heart. 

"The things I do, Rey," Ben shakes his head, his sentence trailing off. “It’s not something that’s up for debate.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ben Solo,” Rey whispers, glancing down at her tea for a moment before back up at Ben. “I hate watching him try to convince you that you are one.”

"Rey," Ben sighs, "It isn't that easy."

"But it is Ben," Rey says, her voice soft. She knows that she can't push, that every time she tries to push him on this he snaps and shuts down and that she hasn't and won't get anywhere that way. And she knows that she has to get somewhere. She refuses to even think about what will happen if she can't. "It is that easy."

***

Ben knows that something is wrong as soon as he walks into the apartment. For starters, the apartment is almost completely silent. He can hear Rey’s footsteps, but there is no background noise.

Rey hates silence. 

Usually when he gets home he can hear whatever movie or show Rey is playing in the background, or, if she’s studying, he can hear music coming from her bedroom. Or, he’ll hear Rey mummering to herself as she reads through her notes or textbooks, or she’ll be humming under her breath.

But he’s taken off his jacket, and hung it on the coat rack by the door, and he’s toed off his shoes and slid them next to where Rey’s are and all he has heard are Rey’s footsteps.

The second sign: Rey is pacing.

Ben has only ever heard Rey pace after a particularly bad nightmare. It’s barely 6:30 and Rey is pacing in silence. She hasn’t shouted at him asking how his day was or what he’s making for dinner.

For the first time in six months, Ben is apprehensive about what he is going to walk into when he finds Rey.

“Hey,” Ben says as he walks into the living room, a tight smile on his face. 

Rey stops pacing in front of the TV, which is on a news channel, but the volume is muted. Ben doesn’t need to hear the words to know that the coverage is focused on the trial he won earlier in the day.

The case itself was a high-profile case. It’s the reason the results of the trial are being aired on the news. It doesn’t take a lot to sensationalize a brutal murder and sexual assault. Hux had originally been the attorney Snoke had assigned to handle the case. It was reassigned to Ben after a case review when Ben pointed out the inconsistencies in the interviews Hux had conducted with the detectives about when, or even whether, the arresting officers had read the client his Miranda rights. 

Ben hadn’t wanted the case. Ben usually was assigned the more white collar crimes, embezzlement, fraud. Occasionally, Ben would get assigned the larger drug trafficking or prostiution rings. But the homicide and violent offenses were hard for Ben to stomach.

But at the end of the day, Ben doesn’t choose his clients. He represents who he is told to represent. 

And in this case, Hux overlooking the inconsistencies in the interviews had just been the start to the amount of holes and deficiencies in the prosecutor’s case.

“How do you do it?” Rey asks, her voice almost cracks and Ben knows that this isn’t a conversation he wants to have with her. “How do you represent people like him?” She points back toward the television. “He murdered that girl, Ben. He tortured her for days, he raped her, and then he murdered her. And he just, he gets to go home?”

“Rey.” Ben leans against the wall behind him, folding his arms over his chest. “You say that he did those things, but 12 of his peers returned a not guilty verdict.”

“Because you convinced them to,” Rey shouts, throwing one hand up in the air. “Your job was to convince them that he was innocent and you did it. And I just, Ben, I don’t understand how you can do it.”

“It’s my job,” Ben shrugs. “He is innocent until proven guilty. And there were procedurally a lot of issues. It’s not my fault that the investigation that led to his arrest was flawed.”

“Is that how you justify it?” Rey asks, shaking her head as she steps toward him. “The investigation was flawed? Some human made a mistake while investigating a horrific crime scene and somehow that’s justification to allow a murderer back into society? Is that what makes it okay Ben?”

“Yes,” Ben argues, watching as Rey moves around in front of him. “I did my job. Maybe next time the police and the state will do theirs better.”

“You mean the next time this guy decides to take another girl and kill her?” Rey glares at him and Ben knows that he should walk away now before the conversation goes any further. He’s angry, and she’s angry, and nothing good is going to come from this conversation. “How is that blood not on your hands too?”

“That’s not how it works,” Ben yells. His voice is too loud, too demanding. He flinches when he sees Rey flinch and pull herself back from him. 

In that moment Ben knows that he is everything everyone says: too loud, too tall, too stubborn, too proud. He’s everything everyone says he is. 

He’s never hated it more. 

“That’s just not how it works. I am not out committing crimes or, God, Rey I’m not murdering people,” Ben says, his voice lower and more controlled. “I don’t disagree that the system we have is flawed. But my job is to advocate for my client and to protect the constitutional rights he is afforded. That’s the society we live in, one that believes that it is better for ten guilty men to be free than for one innocent man to be jailed.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rey throws his words back at him with venom. “And you know it Ben. You take advantage of a broken system.”

“I do the best job that I can for those that I represent.”

“You represent monsters.”

“And does that make me one, Rey?” Ben asks quietly, his fingers pressing at her chin to stop her from looking away. “Do you think I am a monster now? Just because of what I do?”

“I don’t know,” Rey responds and Ben drops his hand, taking a step back. “I don’t know what that makes you.”

Ben takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. 

“I have to go,” he says after a moment, taking another step back from her before turning around to walk toward the entryway.

He hesitates at the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. And he waits for her to call to him. For her to follow him and to keep the conversation going. He’s almost certain that she will, that she won’t let him leave thinking that she believes him to be a monster.

Only she doesn’t. 

Ben’s standing in the entryway in silence again, and when he opens the door to walk away, he’s pretty sure a part of his heart breaks.

***

"I thought I would find you here."

Rey refuses to turn her head to look at him. Instead she focuses on the moon shining bright in the sky, on the feeling of the hard cement under her fingers.

She tries not to think about how Ben knew where to find her because he was the one to show her how easy it was to pick the lock to the roof. She tries not to focus on how it made her feel to be a part of something secret with him. 

It’s too much. 

The constant reminder that the Ben she knows, the one that she knows she is starting to fall for, is the same Ben that passionately advocates on behalf of deplorable people who commit horrific actions.

She can practically hear Poe telling her that it’s his job. And she knows that people aren’t defined by what they do for a living. She's told Ben countless times that his job didn't define who he was as a person, and she never thought that she could be someone who would hold someone’s job against them as a fault. But she can’t quite wrap her head around how Ben, her Ben, can be someone fighting for the wrong side.

How is it possible that the same person who knows without her saying anything that she's had a bad day and makes her favorite tea and sits with her in silence until she chooses to open up be the same person who represents murderers? And does it well enough that they walk away free of a guilty verdict to go back to society to commit the same crimes. It doesn't make sense to her.

She isn't sure she wants it to make sense. It shouldn't make sense.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Ben says and Rey finally looks back at him, taking a deep breath as she takes in his appearance.

He looks like a wreck.

She hates it. Hates that their fight is clearly affecting him. She hates that they are fighting at all. 

She looks away, pulling her knees up closer to her chest, and says nothing.

It's a beautiful night. 

The sky is clear of clouds and the moon is bright. There's too much light pollution for her to really make out too many of the stars, but she can imagine them and it's comforting in a way. 

The first time Ben showed her how to get to the roof had been after a particularly bad nightmare two months after she had moved in. She had thought that she was doing a better job at hiding them, but Ben proved that he noticed her more than she thought. 

He walked out of his room while she was making tea and hugged her. He just held her until the kettle started whistling. 

He didn't say anything about the tears on her face when he pulled away, just finished making her tea and asked if he could show her something and took her to the roof.

He stayed up with her, sitting on the cold cement without any complaints, talking to her about the stars and the stories behind the constellations. He talked to her about his childhood and his own nightmares.

“You left,” Rey notes, breaking the silence. She doesn't say how that hurt her. She knows that she doesn't have to. It's almost painful how well Ben knows and understands her.

“I came back,” Ben points out, sitting down next to Rey. “That counts for something, right?”

Rey nods, because it does matter. 

Ben doesn't say anything, just sits next to her in silence and looks up at the sky. 

"You aren't a monster," Rey says after a moment. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have even insinuated that you are. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Ben reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with her. "I understand. There is truth to what you said. The work I do sometimes has consequences. And the clients we get at First Order… you aren't wrong about the kind of people I represent."

"Why do you do it?" She asks, turning her head to the side to look at him. "Is this really why you went to law school?"

"No, I went to law school because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. But I had to do something. Crim law was interesting and it was kind of romanticized, protecting people from the over zealous reach of police and the state, all humans that can be wrong and corrupt. And being recruited by Snoke was prestigious and I liked that." Ben sighs, "Plus it pissed my mom off, which was a pretty big deal to me when I was 25."

Rey rolls her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “'I guess I get how you ended up here. I just don't understand why you stay or even how you can stay. You hate your job, Ben. I know you do."

"I do," Ben admits, looking away from Rey. "But it's all that I know. And I'm good at it. What if it is all that I'm good at? What if I leave and I fail? What if I am only good at defending criminals?"

"That's Snoke," Rey interrupts him. She moves until she's kneeling in front of Ben. She cups his face with her hands, her thumb caressing his jaw, and she waits for him to look at her. "You are so good, Ben. You would be great anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"I do. You're smart, and you listen. You could never be anything less than successful. I absolutely believe that."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. And you, Ben Solo, are a good person."

Ben stares at her, resting his hands on her knees, and his expression is so open and vulnerable. His eyes full of wonder and hope. He looks at her like she's something that he cherishes. 

Rey leans forward and presses her lips to his. The kiss is chaste at first, then Ben pulls her into his lap, deepening the kiss as he wraps one arm around her waist, the other in her hair. 

Rey pulls away first and Ben grins, his sharp and crooked teeth on full display, and he has never looked more gorgeous.

She has no idea where they go from there.

***

Ben still can't believe that Rey agreed to come with him. 

She had been apprehensive about going with him to the Christmas party. But she's here, talking with one of the firm's new associates, champagne glass in her hand. She stands tall with a confidence that Ben knows is all her own. The red dress she spent hours picking out sparkles under the light.

She looks like she belongs. 

Rey smiles when she notices him. It's small and private, really it's barely noticeable.  But Ben notices and for a moment the room seems brighter. Her smile brightens as he walks toward her and his breath catches in his throat. He has no idea what he has done to deserve for Rey to look at him the way that she does. Let alone for her to smile at him alone.

“Where have you been?” She questions, raising her glass to her lips to finish off her drink. “You spent weeks convincing me to come with you tonight and then you leave me alone with the wolves minutes after we get here.”

“I don’t know that all of my coworkers are wolves,” Ben jokes, trying to get away with not answering Rey’s question.

Rey notices. He knows that she does.

“Wolves. Lawyers. Same thing right?” Rey sets her glass down on the table behind her. “Dance with me?”

Rey knows that Ben doesn’t dance.

But Rey asks, and Ben finds that when it's Rey asking, he isn't very good at saying no.  

And so they dance. 

Ben places one hand across her back, grinning at her as she mumbles something about his height. She's teasing and he knows it because no one has ever quite fit into his arms so easily before. 

Ben's not a terrible dancer. Dancing isn't his favorite thing and he doesn't particularly enjoy the attention that actually dancing brings on, but he can dance. He knows all of the steps and movements for the basic dances. It had been important to his mother, making sure that he knew what to do at all of the different events she needed for him to attend. 

If Rey asked, Ben is confident that he would be able to lead in whatever dance she requested. But she seems happy to just sway with him, her cheek pressing against his chest. 

"You were gone for awhile." Rey's voice is soft, Ben almost doesn't hear her over the music. "Where did you go?"

"I left my two weeks' notice on Snoke's desk," Ben responds just as quietly, pressing his hand against her back, holding her to him. 

He doesn't need to see her face to know she is proud of him. 

It's clear in the way she says his name anyway.

"We might actually want to get out of here before he finds it," Ben laughs, enjoying how easy it is to smile with Rey in his arms and the weight of his job off his conscience. "I know you were looking forward to dinner, so we can stay, but--"

"I don't care about the food," Rey interrupts, matching his smile with one of her own. "Let's go home. Maybe I'll even make you dinner."

"I just quit my job Rey, I don't have a death wish."

Rey swats at his shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she glares at him.  Ben's smile grows.

***

"Mmmm, no, stop" Rey says, trying to yawn away the sleep in her face while grabbing the books back from Ben's hands. She sets them back down on her desk, rapidly blinking her eyes as she tries to take in her surroundings. 

"I wasn't asleep," she lies, glancing up at Ben, trying to ignore the concerned look on his face. "I couldn't have been. Because my final is in three days and I am not ready and I need to keep studying and--

"And you need to sleep," Ben interrupts her, placing his hand on her shoulder. Rey tries to resist the temptation to tilt her head toward him, but his hand is so warm and there and-- "You've barely slept all week. You're going to do great. But only if you sleep."

"What if I don't?" She whispers, looking back at the desk and the stack of notes and highlighted sections of books she still hasn't gotten too. "What if I fail? And I don't graduate? And I never become a social worker? Then what?"

"Then you'll figure something else out," Ben says like it's the most obvious answer in the world. "And you'll be great at it too."

"And if I'm not?"

"I'll still be here to support you, to take care of you."

Rey's heart races at the promising look he gives her. 

"It's not your job to take care of me."

"It could be," Ben smiles at her, running his thumb along the side of her face. "It's not like I've got another one at the moment."

***

Rey stretches her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes toward the television. The documentary that Ben is watching is playing and even though Rey has been there the entire time it has been on, she really has no idea what the documentary is playing. 

Ben is sitting on the couch behind her, running his hands through her hair. It's nice, the way he massages her scalp with his fingers. Rey hums her contentment, pushing her head back further into Ben's hand.

"You're squirmy," Ben points out as he tugs on a piece of her hair.

Rey grins when Ben separates the piece of hair in his hand and starts braiding. "Is that a problem?"

"Only if you want me to finish braiding your hair.  It's hard to do right with all the moving."

"You'll figure it out." Rey leans her head back flat against the couch, her smile growing as she watches Ben huff. He takes apart the braid he had started. 

"Brat," he says under his breath, his fingers combing through her hair again, pulling the strands stuck underneath her head out, so that he can start another braid. "Give me the hair ties on your wrist?"

Rey pulls the hair ties off of her wrist and hands them to him. Then she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Ben's hands in her hair, the comfort of having him so close to her. She wishes all of her days could be spent like this. 

"Your hands are magic," Rey says after Ben finishes the first braid, right when he's starting on the second.

His hands freeze. Rey smirks, but keeps her eyes closed. She doesn't need to open them to know the expression on Ben's face, or to know how his eyes would be darker than they had been before.

Rey has been more and more blatant with her flirting with Ben since she kissed him, waiting for Ben to kiss her again, or make a move, or, really, to do anything. 

Ben resumes the second braid, carefully pulling strands of Rey's hair apart and weaving it through the other strands.

Rey knows that she could have brought the kiss up, but she hadn't. She mistakenly assumed Ben would bring it up and that things would progress from there.

Only he didn't and Rey had felt too awkward to bring up the kiss or her feelings for him.

Which she also knows is stupid because it's Saturday afternoon and she is sitting on their living room floor pretending to be interested in some documentary she couldn't care less about just because he asked her to watch it with him. And his hands are in her hair and all Rey can think about is how nice it feels and how badly she wants to kiss him again. 

Ben finishes the second braid and Rey immediately misses the feeling of his hands in her hair. She regrets not moving more and making Ben start over again and again. 

She sits up straighter, pressing her back against the couch. 

She tries focusing on the documentary, which really should be over but is somehow still going on, but her thoughts keep drifting back to Ben, and the kiss, and her hands.

And, God, how she really wants to find out just how magical those hands could be if he would just touch her the way she wants him to. 

Rey pulls her legs up, twisting around until she's resting on her knees and facing Ben. She's mostly eye level with him with the way he's lying on the couch. 

"Do you like me?" Rey blurts out. She grimaced at the awkward silence that follows, crinkling her nose as she imagines all of the ways she could have approached that better. "I just, I'm sorry, that's not quite how I wanted…"

Rey groans, closing her eyes. She presses her hands into the couch and stands up, moving away from Ben. If she wasn't so focused on being mortified by the situation she put herself in, she probably would have found the speed and awkwardness of the way he got off the couch and followed her amusing.

"Do you like me," Rey repeats in horror, shaking her head. "I sound like a teenager getting ready to ask the pretty boy in school if he wants to go to steady."

"You think I'm pretty?" Ben asks, placing his hands on her waist. He's smiling at her, and it's that same stupid smile he gave her after she kissed him, and Rey would give anything for that smile to stay on his face forever. 

"Yes," Rey answers honestly. "I think you're very pretty."

Ben laughs. "So, is this the part where you ask me if I want to go steady?"

"Maybe." Rey teases, rolling her eyes, while Ben pulls her closer. She places one of her hands on his chest, smiling as she feels how fast his heart is beating. "I guess that depends on what your answer would be."

"I think that you'll find when it comes to you, Rey, my answer is always going to be yes."

***

“I love you,” Rey says without much thought one morning while Ben is placing pancakes on two plates next to the stove. She knows exactly which plate is hers, because the stack of pancakes is at least twice the size of the other. 

She isn’t surprised with the way she just blurts out the words without any context or pretense. Honestly, she’s surprised that she’s managed to keep from saying them so many times before. Because she loves him with such an intensity that she feels like she could burst at any moment.

He freezes for just a moment, before he resumes making them breakfast, pouring more pancake mix onto the griddle. 

“Ben?” She asks, tilting her head to the side. 

“I love you,” she says again.

“Okay,” he responds, carefully flipping the pancakes.

“Okay?” She asks, huffing as she looks at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

Ben doesn't say anything and he doesn't turn around. He stays completely silent as the pancakes finish cooking. He slides them onto his plate before reaching across the counter and grabbing two bananas. 

"Ben," Rey huffs, unsure if she's upset that he isn't responding to her telling him that she loves him or if she's upset because he's ignoring her. She's pretty sure it's a good combination of both. "Is that really all you have to say?"

Ben turns the griddle off, unplugging the cord from the wall. He picks up the plates and walks over to the dining room table where she is sitting. He sits across from her and slides her plate across the table. 

"Is that…" Rey pauses, biting down on her bottom lip as she looks at him. 

She knows that Ben loves her. She honestly knows that to be a fact. And even if she didn't know that, she knew in her bones that Ben would never purposefully hurt her.

So she really couldn't figure out why Ben's only response to her had been 'okay' and complete silence.

"Is that really all you have to say?" Rey finally finishes, dropping her eyes down to her plate.

"You love me," Ben says and Rey looks at him just in time to see him slightly shrug his shoulders. "Okay."

"Ben--"

"Rey. You love everyone that brings you food. So, yeah. Okay."

Rey laughs. She doesn't mean to laugh because this is absolutely the wrong time to laugh. But Ben thinks that she blurts out 'I love you' to anyone bringing her food and not because she's in love with him. 

"You think I said that I love you because you brought me food?"

"Sure. Why else would you say it?"

Rey almost misses it, the way Ben's lips twist up for just a second in a smirk. 

He is messing with her.

She tells him she loves him for the first time and he is fucking with her.

"I sort of hate you." Rey breaks off a piece of her banana and pops it in her mouth. "Just so you know."

"I sort of love you too," Ben grins. "Just so you know."

***

Rey giggles, honestly giggles, when Ben slips out of her again. 

She's already bent in an awkward angle, her hands keep slipping against the tile of the shower and she can't quite hold herself the way she needs to for Ben to stay inside of her.

Not that it has stopped him from trying, numerous times. 

He's too tall and the shower is too small for them to have sex. She had spent fifteen minutes explaining this to him when he had joined her in the shower.

She's pretty sure that only made him more determined to prove her wrong.

He drops one hand from her breast to her stomach, using it to hold her back up and he's sliding back inside of her.

It takes Rey's breath away every time. The way he stretches her, how full she feels in that moment, especially with the angle. It's exquisite. 

His thrusts are shallow and slow, and it's far more intimate than anything Rey thought she would be comfortable with. But it's Ben and Rey quickly discovered that her relationship with Ben was going to destroy all of the walls that she had spent her entire childhood building.

It scared her at first, the way he could hurt her. The fact that she had let herself care enough about him that he could destroy her.. Now it's just comforting, knowing with everything in her that Ben wouldn't hurt her.

So even though Rey knows that he's going to slip back out because Ben has almost no self control when they are together and he won't be able to keep going at this pace for long. And even if he could, she knows that she'd never be able to come this way, she wraps one of her hands around his wrist, the one that's planted firmly against the tile, and moves her hips back to meet him and enjoys it. 

He groans when he falls back out, resting his forehead in the crook of her neck. 

She giggles again, turning her head to look at him while he backs up.

He looks so determined. His eyes are narrow as he glances at her and the edges of the tub, as if he's trying to determine the different ways he can have her stand and place her hands to make this work. There are water droplets dripping off of his hair and sliding down his chest. He's so absolutely beautiful that it takes her breath away.

"Maybe if you weren't laughing this would be working," Ben mutters, leaning down to kiss her.

"Yeah. It's my laughter that's causing this problem. Not your apartment having ridiculously small bathtubs," Rey points out, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. "You didn't test your shower out before signing the lease?"

"I can't say 'is my shower large enough for me and my future girlfriend to have sex in' was very high on my list of thoughts when I moved in."

Rey shrugs. "Your fault then."

Ben glares at her, but he's biting his bottom lip and Rey knows he's trying really hard not to smile.

"You could just admit that I'm right and take me to bed so you can fuck me like we both want," Rey offers, tilting her head toward his bedroom. 

She can see the corner of his bed in between the gap from the shower curtain and the wall, and she would kill in that moment to be on it with Ben above her.

"Oh no. You are not right." Ben shakes his head, spraying water on her. He leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I still have ideas on how this could work."

"Ben," she whispers, taking his hand in his. She lifts his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Take me to bed, please."

"Okay," he agrees, just like she knew he would. "Okay sweetheart." 

***

"Move in with me?" Ben asks, his voice low and just above a whisper. He runs his fingers through her hair, grinning as Rey somehow manages to pull him closer.

Rey giggles, her breath warm across his chest where she presses her lips against him in a barely there kiss. "We already live together."

"That’s not-- I'm trying-- I mean--" Ben falters over his words, rolling onto his back. 

Wordlessly Rey follows him, adjusting herself until she's mostly laying on top of him and not the mattress. Her elbow is pointy and is pressed into his rib. It's not the most comfortable position Ben has ever been in, but Rey sighs and it's almost as if he can feel her happiness and contentment wash over him. 

He can't imagine ever wanting to move.

"Move in with me," he repeats. "And I don't mean live in the same apartment with me with a separate room and a separate bed. I want this to be our room, for this to be our bed. I don't want us to have separate anything."

Ben takes a deep breath, glancing down to meet Rey's gaze. "I love you and I just want to be with you. Stay with me?"

"Yes," Rey breathes, stretching up to kiss him. "Always."

***

"Thank you," Rey says, pulling on his hand and leading him toward their bed.

"For what?" Ben presses his lips against her neck. 

Rey tilts her head, giving Ben better access as he continued to trail kisses along her collarbone. 

"For giving me a home."