#and the second chapter on another might need to be scrapped (not looking forward to that)

[louwhose]

I'm leaving it to you, the people that definitely follow me for the fics I actually share on here once in a blue moon, to decide.

(all of them are loz)

feel free to ask me about any of them if you'd like the help to determine your vote

[noridoorman]

More scrapped Nuzi fics (warning, some is angsty)

Fragmented/Fragments of the past/Echo/Whatever freaking title I had for this:

Uzi crawls on the ground, one arm missing and every inch of her metallic body feeling like extra weight she’s forced to carry. The room around her trembles, the walls shun a blinding white color, piercing the optical sensors of her visor. Some furniture pieces around her began to fade gradually into the white voice as Uzi continued pushing forward, crying out a name so familiar and yet so distant, grasping for something, anything, in her vicinity.

She hears another voice; a feminine one calling out the same name yet everytime it did, their voice would glitch or distort, making it unable for Uzi to hear it.

Yet she knew, the name somehow carried significance.

Uzi pushes forward, her vision partly recovering after having been assaulted by the light to see a silhouette in a glass capsule, several heavy machinery surrounding it. The silhouette turns to her and despite not being able to discern any facial features or attributes tied to the person she can see its somber smile as it kneels down to her level - or as far as it could go.

Again, Uzi calls this name as she stared at the figure, placing her hand weakly against the glass, a feeble attempt to break it. Sobs wreck through her body, begging the person, whoever they are, to get out of the capsule, to not do something that she couldn’t grasp no despite her own words repeating it. The figure’s eyes closed as they shakily exhaled, trying to communicate to Uzi yet all words came out as equally distorted as the name.

And yet, Uzi begged. Pleaded, cried, anything to convince the figure to leave. Yet it only responded by placing its hand against the glass, its words coming out glitched once again.

“Uzi, I love you…”

Her eyes hollow as the now clear words hit her audial sensors. A deep sense of both love and grief shocks her to the core, all sounds she once made fall mute as a sudden realization settles before her. For the few seconds of silence she had, the figure muttered a thousand apologies before the bright void engulfed them both.

What it was: this was meant to be a "what-if" kinda fanfic. Basically, N cannot take the thought of Uzi dying and looked for any chance for an alternative, which he found. He found a machine in the labs that could rewind time, bringing the time back to a time before they met. However, the machine needed fuel and N was the only one that could fuel it through his core. He sacrifices himself, despite Uzi's pleading. Time rewinds and Uzi wakes up without any memory of what happened and N has been completely ereased from the timeline. However, I really don't like sad endings and this fanfic would have ended on Uzi somehow remembering and bringing N back, however...

Why I scrapped it: I don't trust myself to handle heavy topics and angst and make it believable while also emotional. Plus, I started working on Cinnamon Scent and never found the time to develope it further than the prologue. And as time went on I thought of the concept to be boring and was scared it wasn't going to stick with others through all the other creative stuff out there.

Reborn:

"The absolute most angst-filled idea I could possibly think of for this series is N dying and Uzi proceeding to feed Eldtrich N living worker drones out of desperation, willing to sacrifice anyone to get him back. N revives but without any memory of what Uzi did to resurrect him,' with a traumatized, oil-stained Uzi hugging him in silence."

This was a comment a different Tumblr user made and I asked them if I could write a fanfic about it and they said "Sure". Aaaand, I never write it cause again; I don't trust myself with Angst.

Cinnamon Scent Chapter 5:

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“Uziii, I got the appel strudel u asked for! :D”

“But also… a bit of a surprise”

Uzi raised a brow at that, her mind already going in overdrive to try to think what surprise he might have planned.

Uzi // Today at 10:11 AM

“And that is?”

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“How do I say it ahhh”

“Well, it depends on you if it’s a positive or a negative surprise!”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“Don’t dodge the question”

N // Today at 10:12 AM

“Wahhh, you’re so scary when you’re serious!”

“It’s kinda hard to tell you bc they told me not to tell you”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“???”

“Who’s they?? Where are you?”

N // Today at 10:13 AM

“OO I said too much, we’ll meet u there!!”

“Wha?” Uzi whispers under her breath, an uncomfortable feeling emerges at the pit of her stomach, making her thoughts go even more in overdrive.

Did he bring a friend along?

With confusion and determination both etched on her face (and some sprinkled in nervousness) her pace quickens as she beelines towards the amusement park, ready to smack somebody if she needs to.

-

“Hey, Uzi!” Uzi turns around to the sound of N calling for her, spotting him standing near the entrance. And as Uzi had expected, he didn’t stand alone.

“That’s her?” A human with a large bow in her brown/reddish hair and a few freckles on her tanned skin. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Yeah, so nice” A drone with her white hair styled into two twintails responded sarcastically, making Uzi forget about her shock for a second to glare at her.

“Don’t be like that, J!” V lighty smacks the shoulder of, who Uzi now knows is, J. J in turn glared at V’s direction, though the latter seemed not bothered by it.

“I… I didn’t expect you to bring your family,” Uzi chuckles awkwardly, pointing at all the new (and not so new) people behind N. He scratched the back of his head, opening his mouth to speak.

“Yeah, well-”

“We weren’t going to leave him alone with a stranger” J interjects, making N cower underneath her harsh gaze. Uzi only returns that, her shoulders tense.

“Friend. I’m his friend,”

“Guys, let’s not fight!” Tessa stands between J and Uzi, making N breathe a huge sigh of relief. Uzi’s eyes softened a bit, her stance growing less defensive. “N talked about an amusement park at some point. We all thought it would be fun to go together!”

“I wouldn’t be able to sneak out again anyway,” N shoots Uzi an apologetic smile that she returns with a soft sigh, both not hearing J yell in the background ‘again?’.

“No need to be sorry, bud,” Uzi hides her hands in her pockets, trying to mask her disappointment with a casual attitude. “It’s your family, I’m not going to deny you not taking them out here,”

“And we’ll get to spend more time together!” N cheers, looking excitedly at Tessa. “Right?”

“We’ll have to see how it will work with your schedule but otherwise, I don’t see why not!” Tessa ruffles N’s hair, chuckling.

“We’ll also have to see if she’s not a threat!” J argues back, however, it fell on deaf ears as everyone turned towards the entrance, all making their way inside the amusement park while J grumbled something under her breath.

“So, which rides look the most fun?” Tessa strokes her chin, looking at all the different attractions in her line of sight.

“The rollercoaster is pretty cool,” Uzi shrugs. “There should also be a carousel somewhere, but it’s for kids,”

“What about this?” N runs ahead towards a giant mechanical octopus with seats attached to its tentacles. “This looks fun!”

“And dangerous,” J crosses her arms, her eyes moving along the rotation of the octopus.

“I think it’s safe,” Tessa smiles, turning to Uzi. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Uzi scrambles together an answer, somewhat surprised that Tessa would ask for her opinion. “I wasn’t on the octopus a lot, it always bored me. My mom thought it was tons of fun though,”

“I got us tickets!” V cackles as she hands each and every one of them tickets, with N taking it eagerly and J more reluctantly.

“V, you know we have to save,” J glares, making V roll her eyes.

“I know, I know, but we can take it easy once,” V hands the last tickets to Tessa. “What fun would we have if we saved every penny only for necessities?”

“They’re called necessities for a reaso-”

“J,” Tessa places a hand on J’s shoulder, making her eyes widen a bit. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it”

“But-”

“See? Tessa got it covered!” V walks on the ramp as the ride stops, choosing eagerly which seat she’s going to take. “Besides, you should take it easy especially!”

“If this is what it's like to have siblings then I’m happy that my parents only adopted me…” Uzi speaks her thoughts out loud, flinching as N’s laughter rings out next to her.

“At least it never gets boring!” N takes her hand, leading her to two empty seats. Uzi’s core flutters at the contact, her eyes drifting towards their hands. N helps hoist Uzi up due to her smaller size, only intensifying her already prominent blush.

“I’m… really surprised they came along” A employee fastened their seats, taking their tickets with an odd look. Uzi returned the look with a glare before sighing. “How did you convince them?”

“Oh, there wasn’t any convincing needed!” N beams. “Tessa wanted to go somewhere, I just mentioned the amusement park!”

“Did you tell them about me?” Uzi grips the edges of her seat as the ride slowly begins.

“A little, yeah” N admits sheepishly. “J got suspicious that I knew about the amusement park”

“Of course” Uzi rolls her eyes, her grip tightening as the ride picks up speed.

“Tessa was all for it!” N grips Uzi’s hand, squeezing it as fans begin to whirr louder. “Th-This is my first time here, you don’t mind that I…?” N’s gaze flickers towards their hands, making Uzi shake her head frantically.

“N-Not at all!” Uzi squeezes his hand back, partially to reassure him, partially due to her internal panic. “Be warned though, it’ll get faster,”

“Faster?!” N yelled as the seats began to spin along with the giant octopus in the middle. Uzi cackled as the ride began to spin quiet fast in all directions while N’s grip on Uzi’s hand tightened, screaming as the seats moved up and down.

“Are you afraid?!” Uzi yells, her smile disappearing as she looks at N. However, a nervous smile etched on his face as turned to Uzi.

“This is awesome!” He kicked his feet in the air as the ride continued, making Uzi laugh in response.

Despite the wind tossing and turning her hair in every direction, the adrenalin in her body going on overdrive or the constant spinning of the ride, the feeling of N’s hand intertwined with her’s turned her entire brain functions into mush.

-

“That was so cool!” V fist bumps in the air as she excitedly jumps off the ride with the rest trailing behind. “We should do that again!”

“Yeah, right, it wasn’t THAT exciting!” J crosses her arms, a frown etched on her face.

“I saw you laughing like crazy, J!” Tessa giggles, fixing up some strands of J’s hair. “Admit it, you liked it,”

“J-Just a little!” J balls her hands into fists but doesn’t fight back against Tessa’s hands undoing her twintails to make it even again. “It’s still overrated!”

“What J actually meant was, thanks for taking me out on this fun trip away from my crippling workload and the same walls I have to witness every day!” V holds her shorter hair up, mimicking J’s hairstyle, posture and voice.

“Aren’t you mature?” J rolls her eyes as Tessa ties the first pigtail up.

“We’re kids, let’s enjoy it as long as it lasts!” V rests her hands on her hips, a smug grin on her face.

“V is right, J” As Tessa finally tied up the last pigtail she kissed the top of J’s head. “I wanted us here so that we don’t have to hide away anymore,”

J groans, her arms dropping to her side.

“Where did you guys live before?” Everyone's eyes turned to Uzi who immediately felt herself shrink under their intense stares. “...too much?”

“I-I can tell you sometime later!” N places a hand on her shoulder. “Right now, let’s just enjoy our… Wait, what’s that?!” N instantly runs away, leaving them all dumbfounded and scrambling towards his direction.

“N, don’t just run off like that!” J scolds as they finally reach him, his gaze concentrated on a giant Shiba Inu plush hanging from the side of a stand. Cans are stacked on top of each other with more different plushies and prices hanging on the sides.

“Do you want this?” Uzi points at the Shiba Inu plush, making N rapidly nod his head.

“Yeah, but… I’d have to win to get one,” N sadly scratches his arm as he eyes the plush.

“My mom used to be really good at those, she taught me a thing or two” Uzi responds somewhat smugly, yet a shy blush showed itself on her visor. “Maybe I could try winning you one?” Uzi smiles, her hands resting on her hip. N’s eyes brightened as he happily bounces on the spot.

“Only humans can participate,” V points at the sign, her expression turning sour. “How stupid…”

“I can try!” Tessa beams, handing the vendor money. “I’m probably not as good but it’s worth a shot,”

“Really?!” N claps his hands, they light in his visor shining somehow brighter. Tessa nods eagerly, grabbing one of the three balls on the counter, raising her hand behind her shoulder to throw the ball. Her eyes squint as pure concentration etched itself on her face, every fiber of her being channeled into landing the perfect shot. The drones all gather around her, looking with both excitement and unease in their eyes.

However, for Uzi, all she saw were the static covered eyes, an image of what should be her mom standing there, ready to throw the ball. Khan places a hand on Uzi’s shoulder, making her look up to him with a curious gaze.

Nori throws one ball and misses.

Wait… Mom never missed?

She throws another. Again, miss.

That’s not a memory.

“Come on, Nori, you can do it!” Khan cheers, looking as if he doesn’t see what Uzi is seeing. The static over her eyes, the clouds in the sky going faster than they should and the feeling of the breeze hitting them in all places at once.

Nori throws again. This time, all the cans fall down.

Cheers emerge from all directions of Uzi’s auditory sensors, voices so familiar and strange.

“Look, Uzi!” Uzi jolts as N holds the Shiba Inu plush at her face, recoiling slightly at her reaction. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“N-No, it’s fine, I was just… thinking?” Uzi shakes her hands.

“Explains why you stood there like a zombie,” J crosses her arms, raising a brow. Uzi opens her mouth, ready to defend herself until N presses the Shiba Inu plush again against her face.

“Look how adorable it is!” He offers for Uzi to hold it but she raises her hands in the air instead, taking several steps back.

“Uh, I-I…It’s cute,” N’s head tilts to the side, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Your fans are really loud!” Tessa notes, kneeling down to Uzi’s level. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine!” Uzi takes more steps back as Tessa tries to place a hand on her forehead.

“Are you sure-”

“Bite me! I said I’m fine!” Uzi crosses her arms.

“Watch your tone!” J takes some threatening steps towards Uzi but is stopped by N who stands protectively in front of her.

“J, stop,” N says with a somewhat authoritative tone, surprising everyone. “She probably just feels overwhelmed. Leave her alone,”

J raises a finger, her mouth opening but after several seconds of no sounds coming, her hands fall to her side.

“I think we should all take a break,” Tessa says, trying to defuse the situation. “Maybe we could sit on a bench and stare at the ocean for a bit,”

“Great idea, my legs are starting to hurt,” V stretches her arms above her head, exhaling heavily before walking ahead. “Come on,”

“Do you know where you’re going?” N asks, staying next to Uzi’s side who looked at the ground, absent minded.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to find a quiet corner!”

“You’re walking into the crowd,” J groans.

“Hey, trust my intuition once!” V glares, looking behind her.

“Your intuition got us in more trouble than it actually helped” A exasperated sigh escapes J’s lips but V only chuckles in response.

“Like that one time in the mall?” J cracks a small smile as V mentioned the incident, making Tessa laugh along.

“We were looking so long for you two!” Tessa picks up her pace to walk between V and J. “What made you guys think that hiding into the gaming store was a good idea?”

“It was V’s intuition that made her think you’d look for us there first,” J rolls her eyes albeit with a smile. “Truthfully, I think she just wanted to look at the games there”

“Lies!” V gasps dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“It was the truth, wasn’t it?” N laughs from behind the three. “You told me, V!”

“N, you suck!” V yells, making both Tessa and J burst out in laughter.

“Ah, oops, shouldn’t have revealed it, huh?” N scratches the back of his back, a sheepish smile on his face.

The three began telling more stories of the past, recounting incidents or happy memories and sharing smiles and laughter together. However, N caught on to Uzi’s silence and somewhat distant behavior the whole time.

“Hey,” Uzi jolts slightly as N places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You good?”

“Yes, for the thousandth time, I’m fine,” Uzi sighs.

“You’ve been so quiet though,” N sheepishly smiles. “Sorry about, uh… all this,”

“All what?” Uzi raises a brow.

“I should have told you my family was coming along and not make it out to be this surprise.” An unusual somber expression falls on his face as his lips twitch downward to a frown. “I’m sorry for overwhelming you like this,”

Uzi opens her mouth to speak again but N kept on rambling.

“In fact, I probably should have gone alone!” Slight panic arises in his expression, making Uzi feel a pang of sympathy in her chest.

This is scrapped because I felt embarrassed about the family drama. However, this is only the snippet of what's being edited, there's a ton that will stay the same bc it's Khan and Uzi bonding stuff :3

[mousterian-writes]

Shifts in Staff Envy Over Time

I passed the one year anniversary for posting Staff Envy and I would like to take the time to talk about the upcoming chapter. The Gadgetzan sequence is actually the oldest part of my story and it has gone through the most changes since its original inception. 

Back in the day when the story was called Get that Staff! this was actually the beginning! 

The first iteration involved Kel’Thuzad traveling to Tanaris to hunt down a one-eyed orc he believed to be in possession of the base of Atiesh. Along the way he encounters Amnennar the Coldbringer, Gets sick and Melts, makes friends with the Bronze Dragon Zaladormu who recruits him to help find Thrall (who the dragon had recently lost in an alternate timeline) and finally reassembles Atiesh and accidentally blows up half of Gadgetzan. 

The second iteration had every element from the first, but it took place after the library confrontation. KT, now in denial, is running away from his responsibilities and is punished for it. In pursuit are Modera & Rivendare, they think the lich has kidnapped his daughter. 

Finally, we have the modern iteration. Almost none of those things happen in this chapter at all! Some items have been scrapped from the story all together, like Amnennar. Zaladormu and the melting were rearranged to happen at different times. So what happened to cause all of these changes? In short, it was the trajectory of the characters and the creation of Vael.

Vael

I have a confession to make: I generally like to keep canon characters and OCs separate. I also don’t, as a rule, make fan kids. And yet I’ve technically made two for this story (this is why I’m a hack). Although I could make an argument for Ghastly as there are references to Kel’Thuzad raising plague drakes, Vael is pure fabrication. So why the hell did I do it? 

The primary reason is I needed a way to get the characters from point A to point B, which I will discuss in the next subsection. But, having a kid also adds new avenues for drama that the story did not previously have. It heightens the stakes and creates another wrinkle in KT & Modera's relationship. Finally, it gives KT & Modera that bit I needed for their arcs. 

The Characters

In Get that Staff, KT was on a journey by himself and the story was more focused on his adventure in the alternate timeline. Rivendare was not in the story & Modera and Vael only existed within the other timeline. But this had some issues- for one, his motivations were sort of nebulous and it was difficult to link set pieces together. Also, the cast was too small and inconsistent. As in there was a revolving door, no one to challenge him or remark on his growth.  

I made the decision to expand Modera’s role first because it gave him another person to consider and made his goals more personal as opposed to materialistic. But this still caused issues because IIRC there were still questions on how to get all of the characters to the alternate timeline. Modera might follow him if he was searching for Atiesh, but how would she find out? And would she really follow him into another time by herself to stop him? I don’t think so.

This is where Vael comes in. This is a character that is really able to push the plot forward because the protagonists are naturally invested in her. In addition, she inherited KT’s naive curiocity which can get her into trouble (like in chapter 3), but it is also what gives KT the idea to look for the ledger and ultimately learn that he had a child. I guess this is what they mean by characters moving the plot forward. I think ultimately that's why I’m at peace with making a fan kid- she serves a narrative purpose and (I hope) she isn’t annoying. 

So, this comes to the shift away from the second iteration of Gadgetzan. 

By this time, chapter five had been published. We’ve already had two chapters of Kel’Thuzad being in denial about having a kid. I did not think it made sense for the story for him to continue to be in denial or to run away from his problem anymore. I thought this would be boring for the readers and make him somewhat unlikeable. However there was a second problem- the story was becoming more about Kel’Thuzad and Modera’s relationship. If he ran away, based on the chapter layouts at the time, there were going to be almost seven chapters before they were on screen together again. This would kill their arc. 

It also presented one final and potentially the most important problem: if KT was running around by himself, he would also be completely removed from the A- Plot (rescue daughter) because he would have no knowledge that she had been kidnapped in the first place!    

Which brings us to the modern version of the chapter. Now, KT and Modera are moving together to find their daughter. Instead of going to RFD, they go to Theramore (so long Coldbringer). Zaladormu doesn’t need to be here anymore because they already have a reason to go to the Caverns of Time. KT isn’t actively looking for the base, so the crumbs about a one eyed orc can go away. Instead maybe he and Rivendare are bored and decide to look in a pawn shop while the other two are eating, etc. 

All in all, the changes this chapter have gone through mirror the way the story has grown since its inception. I hope my weird ramblings have been entertaining at least 

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Nine - Bad Company (Part 2)

My boots grip the stone wall as I rappel down in the shadow of an old scaffold. It keeps me hidden from sight until my boots are back on solid ground. I'm still a level above where my HUD tells me I need to be, but the way I've mapped it out, I'll be able to descend without detection. A couple of old reactivated mining droids push two old carts up toward me. I crouch in the shadows and wait for them to pass into the cavern to the right.

Coast is clear. I jog after them. The lights are dim, droids likely don't need them. But then again, neither do I. My HUD flickers into night vision as I run up behind one of the droids and take aim. The blue light of the sun bolt illuminates everything for only a moment. The droid drops with a metal thud. The sound echoes. I hold my breath.

The other droid merely trundles forward with its cargo, leaving its decommissioned companion.

I gather as much ordinance as possible. Another droid returns with an empty cart down the other side of the track and with ordinance in hand. I flatten myself to the wall. The cart whirrs past. These droids look simple minded, and if I can slip into one of those carts I'll have my ride down.

As luck would have it, another droid comes down with another empty cart. I only have to hope this won't set off any alarms.

The cart trundles closer. I grip the ordinance and lunge out, hoping the darkness masks me from whatever sensors these droids have. I plant one hand on the edge of the cart and leap inside. The metal cart rocks. The droid driving it pauses. I get the briefest look at it's face and see they have no eyes. It turns its head, though, first right, then left, and after a nerve wracking moment, it continues its descent.

The cart is dusty. Thank goodness for helmet filters. There's also a tarp caught in the bottom. I drag it over me and my own cargo as light breaks overhead. I hear the familiar chunk-chunk-chunk of droids on the outside, their tinny voices echoing. Then the world descends into darkness again. I assume we've entered the tunnel on the lower level.

That's my cue. I manage to leave the cart without being seen. That's a miracle. But I don't know how many miracles I have left.

The faint sound of droids is everywhere, echoing, and I keep to the shadows. I have entered one of the lower tunnels, though. It looks like this whole place was mined downward, and I don't know how deep it goes, only that it won't be here when I'm done. Where I'm standing now amid the dust of past endeavors, I can make out the faint racks of droids being stored. They're dormant for now. I keep a close eye on them anyway as I walk to the inner wall clutching the ordinance I've stolen.

There are at least seven of these tunnels branching off according to my earlier mapping. I'm in the west now. Some of the rock pillars supporting the excavated walls have to be structurally integral, but it's safer to rig them all.

Clamping detonators in place against the first wall and priming them quietly, I sneak behind crates of droid weapons. The droid's have made this place home and there's enough equipment down here to excavate a whole planet. Maybe they were planning to.

I didn't get briefed on whatever the Separatists want down here, but this mine is clearly a staging area. It won't be for long if I have anything to say about it.

A patrol marches past. I slip behind them for cover and make it to the next tunnel. Droids might be great in groups, but they're dullards when it comes to everything else. They'll be scrap soon enough. I slap on more detonators. Second base down, onto the next. I move like a shadow hidden behind crates and slipping in where the droid's are blind. Three, four, five walls are marked for demolition.

At the sixth, my luck runs out. I prime the detonator, check the connection and hope to whatever gods are out there that this will work, but the disturbing clank of droids reaches the corner before I can find a shadow to hide in.

Then and there, the detonator decides to connect with a faint, beep.

"Do you hear something?" a tinny voice asks, not slowing.

Droids might be dumb, but that doesn't make them any less deadly. With this many around, I'm a dead man. I grab my blaster.

"It's probably rats," one answers. "Idiot."

"There's beeping, I'm sure of it!"

Don't come in here. I don't have cover. I slip as close to the wall as I can but I'm white armor against a dark backdrop, and the nearest cover would be past the voices. There are minecarts moving through here, but that'll only buy me a few seconds.

"You're paranoid," one droid chides. "But might as well check it out. Nothing else to do."

They all give a tinny sigh. My chest tightens up, as does my grip on the blaster. I can take them. They're just machines. And they're likely going to be the death of me. I didn't really want to go back anyway.

The first one rounds the corner groaning about rats. Shooting it will give me away, the droids will swarm and I'll probably die. Staying here, well lets just say the outcome won't be any prettier.

I only have one option left. Sheer kriffing luck.

The droid looks around. And we both hear the click-clack of that miracle I need right about now coming from the shadows. The B1 spots the mine cart coming out of the shadows first, but I already know what's coming. The moment the droid is off the tracks, I open fire. Laser fire sprays the mining cart and the droid carrying it panics, flipping the cart off the tracks. Now I have cover. I bolt behind the metal shield and lay down covering fire as the droids come rushing in.

"In here!"

"I saw a clone!"

They're going to call for backup. I need to make sure I bring this place down, whether I'm in it or not. But I haven't placed the seventh charge.

Shrapnel hits the overturned cart. There's grenades spilled across the floor. I grab one and lob it and as the air explodes hot around me, I lunge over the cart and make a break for it.

Dust and shrapnel dings against my helmet. I rush for the scaffolding clinging to the rocky wall outside and duck behind it as laser fire erupts in pursuit. I fire my grappling hook into the rocky ledge above. There's no subtlety left now.

"Sir!" Droid's pour out, alerting the tank commander.

"Look!"

Tinny voices overwhelm the air. I hear the tank turning, charging. My grappling hook sticks and I plant my feet on the wall, scaling as fast as I can. Laser fire pockmarks the wall and shears through rotting planets of wood forming a flimsy shield around me. I drag myself over the ledge and immediately fire another hook at the top of the wall. A menacing chunk-chunk-chunk follows me as I duck for cover behind an outcropping of rock and collapse against it. I grab the detonator in my free hand.

The wall beside me explodes and rains dust. They've got the tank going. I can barely catch my breath. Another hit like that-Don't think about that. Focus.

I peek out at the sea of red blips. In the pit of the mine, the droids are converging in the middle, so it's now or never.

If this fails—I don't have time to think about that either.

I tug on the line. It's securely at the top of the ridge. Now or never, Kian.

I slam my thumb against the detonator. Silence. It's always silent at first. Like someone started a holovid and forgot to press play.

But really, it's just a slow starter. The rumble of explosions overtakes the clank of the advancing droids. A tremor shakes the ground under my boots. The droids start screaming.

Amid their panicked cacophony I lunge for the wall and scramble up it as the ground shakes and rocks begin to break apart below. There's a resounding boom and the world begins to crumbleas the charges all go off at once. I look up, certain I'm going to lose my footing, and there's the foggiest vision of shadows standing at the edge of the mining pit's rim.

Ghosts? Or maybe I've already lost my grip and I'm the one dying now.

"Sir!"

The ghosts have voices.

"Over here!"

There's a jerk on the line and without warning my feet are slipping out from under me as I'm hauled up to the edge. Hands grip my shoulders and drag me onto firm ground again. I'm shaking. I can't breathe. The world is spinning, but I manage to look back.

The mine rubble and dust. Troopers stand at the ready to fire down into it. Both General's are here. General Nidor looks down at me in particular and I realize I'm trembling with relief, and adrenaline, and it hits me hard in the gut. I'm alive.

The smoke and dust are clearing. General Kenobi peers down with a hand shading his eyes. "They had us properly duped," he says. "Nothing on our scans showed a presence here."

General Nidor steps over to me. "Trooper. You took this place down single handedly?"

I nod and pull away from those helping me. I stand slowly. I'm not sure how I'm here, how I'm still standing. And how in the hell did they find me?

I look at the General. Kenobi too walks over and stands behind Nidor. Kenobi's gaze always bothered me. He looks at his men in pity that he tries to hide behind a calmer expression. He understands what orders are, and he knows how to issue them, but he knows that orders good and bad all get men killed.

But General Nidor's yellow eyes are sharp, they are clear, and they bore into me as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"That was rather impressive, clone."

I try not to recoil at his lack of use of my name. He doesn't know it. Why should he?

"You're with the 212th," Kenobi notes. "Where is the rest of your—"

I look down. Only my hands are still shaking. I clench my fists. "Dead, sir."

"I see." Kenobi's tone is like his face, full of pity.

I don't want your pity.

Nidor looks back. "You know, Kenobi, I mean this as no offense, but this man you have here is quite resourceful. And given my lack of troops, perhaps you'd allow me to take him on loan?"

"Are you trying to take all my best men?" Kenobi hints at a smile beneath his beard.

Nidor almost laughs. "Only because they're good."

Kenobi smiles this time. He looks at Nidor's captain, then at me. "I leave it up to the trooper." He nods and moves away.

Nidor blinks. He looks more like a brute than a Jedi. Maybe he is. Trandoshans and Jedi, let alone Trandoshans and anyone are not a good mix. But I don't want to go back to an empty barrack. I won't work on another team, I will not watch another death.

Nidor extends a hand. "Trooper, this is a one time offer. What's your decision?"

I look at his hand. Accept, or go back to the 212th? I look in the General's hardened eyes. "On one condition, sir." My hands have finally stilled.

Nidor's brow ripples in surprise.

"I don't need a unit, just myself."

"I am not looking for kamikaze sentiments," Nidor's voice darkens.

I nod. "I'm not looking to be one. But my squad is gone, and that's that."

Nidor withdraws his hand. He folds it back over his chest. "Fine then. An independent operative. I'll put you in intelligence. Clearly," he looks over my shoulder. "You have talent."

I don't know if that's an insult or a commendation but I'll take it. I'm too tired to do anything else.

Nidor turns and nods to the captain. "Secure the area! I want this place cleaned out, understood!"

"Clear it out!" repeats Addie.

I stand and watch as the survivors move around me. They call out and organize groups of two and three who descend to ensure the droids are gone. Others stand ready to fire down if something moves. In truth, there's less than twenty of us now. Medics move ready to spring into action as if they were serving a battalion though. And me. I'm simply here. I'm staring at phantoms in white flickering past me, and I can't convince myself yet that I'm really here.

My whole life I've been part of a greater picture. A unit. A family. We were taught to move as one, to think as one, to do as we're told. Good soldiers follow orders. And good soldiers die.

"Hey," someone taps my shoulder. I turn and I'm face to face with a clone in dusty armor painted with rusty red stripes. He's got a helmet on his head, and one in his hand. He offers me the extra. It's painted orange.

"Found this at the crash site."

I take it. The inside is smeared with a bit of blood. The outside has the telltale paint job I remember watching vanish into that LAAT/i. Aftermath.

I look up. The man has moved on. I don't even know his name, and I think I prefer that. I turn Aftermath's helmet in my hands. Whether that trooper knew who this belonged to or not, I appreciate it anyway.

I tuck the helmet under my arm and look up as the buzz of LAAT/i's descends again. The sound is hollow this time. It attracts more than just me, though.

The man from moments ago appears at my side. He pulls off his own helmet and wipes down his brow, revealing a face not much younger than my own. He looks up, but tilts his head my way. "By the way, I'm Headshot."

I try to ignore him. My fingers squeeze the edge of Aftermath's helmet.

Headshot doesn't give up. His hand lands hard and heavy on my shoulder. "Heard you're coming with us. That right?"

I nod.

Headshot smiles. He pulls on his helmet and steps away. "Then welcome to Bad Company, brother."

Next Chapter coming 5/4!

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[bonny-kookoo]

KTH/JJK: Dreamer 1

In which both Taehyung and Jungkook decide that there's enough love for three.

Tags/Warnings: poly, strangers to lovers au, hybrid reader, personal trainer kook, high end clothing label owner&designer tae, mild angst, mentions of (past) homelessness

Additional Chapter Warnings: just cute, so hints at homelessness

Chapter Length: short/mid

Next ->

It's early morning, sun not even fully up, streets still wet from last night's rain, as you walk around town.

It's quiet for once, and you enjoy it; the faint smell of a bakery starting to bake up their goods before they open up for the early customers, birds starting to fly around, first cars driving past. You're yawning; in search of a place to sleep- the night unsafe for you to rest as a stray.

You're so tired that you don't even notice the way you fall asleep slowly, back against the wall of the small bakery as you sit on the bench in the front; its nice here, cozy, makes your dreams turn vibrant with colors. You faintly hear two men talk to one another, before one hushes the other to be more quiet. "..do you think she might need help?" asks one, before the other answers, voice deeper.

"maybe she's just waiting for her owner kook." he says, before the voice named kook responds.

"but it's not even open yet." he says, giving a valid point- a hand steadying your body as you became more and more limp, unable to sit upright any longer. "what do we do?" kook asks, before the other deeper voice answers with a sigh.

"let's wait until the shop opens, maybe someone there knows more about her. " he explains his plan. You're slowly slipping, suddenly falling to the side- landing on something firm but soft, warm, with a nice smell to it. You're asleep- while Jungkook looks down on you, your upper body resting on his thighs as you're both on the bench in front of the shop. "have to admit, that's kind of cute."

"about what?" Jungkook asks, not even noticing how he'd started to softly rub your cat ear between his fingers, an action that makes you purr in your sleep.

"do you think she's a stray?" jungkook asks his lover, who shrugs, before he sits down on the other side of you, mindful of your tail.

"it seems like it." he mumbles more or less, watching your exhausted form sleep in his partner's lap. "no collar, no bracelet either." he hums, before he takes another look at you, in thought. "but even if she has an owner, I'd like to talk to her."

"I think she's perfect for the white spring sets." he mumbles, as he watches the way jungkook's inked hand plays with your ear.

"I thought you wanted to scrap it?" the young personal trainer asks, stopping his movements in the process.

"I did." Taehyung answers. "but.. I changed my mind." he smiles when you open your eyes tiredly, exhaustion clear on your features, even when shock overtakes your expression. You stand in front of them and bow in shame, tail now anxiously pressed against your leg.

"I'm so sorry!" you murmur quietly, before a hand pats your head, and someone chuckles.

"no need to be." Jungkook smiles, before Taehyung leans back with a smile as well.

"do you have an owner?" Taehyung flat out asks, making you squirm on the spot.

"uh.." you start, before he cuts you off.

"we're not from hybrid control. But I've been wondering-" he starts, before touching his bottom lip with his finger deep in thought. "would you be interested in modeling?"

"me?" you wonder, taken aback by it. "like, nude stuff or..?" you start, wary, but Taehyung shakes his head, man next to him wide eyed for a second.

"no no no, rather.. Ah, here." he says, giving a small card go you. Kim Taehyung it reads. Lead designer and CEO. "I have a new collection and you're perfect for it. I'm not just saying that to lure you in." he promises, and you look at the man at his side.

"don't worry, you dont have to say yes-" he explains. "he can come off as a bit forward sometimes, but the choice is always yours.

You shrug. "okay, sure." you say, before yawning. "I uh.."

"you can sleep in the car if you'd like." Taehyung says after getting up, visibly excited now.

"Tae she didn't even agree to staying with us in the first place!" Jungkook chuckles. "I apologize for him, it's been a while since he's been this energized. You're probably still tired." he sympathizes, and you instinctively shake your head. "we're not going to hurt you. Promise. Wait.. Here." he says, giving you something he pulls out of his wallet. At first, you think it's money-

But it's his ID card.

"keep it. As a security." he grins, and you try and give it back- but stop when he gets up and leads you to the car instead with ease.

You'd like to blame it on your exhaustion, but you know you'd never be able to win any physical fight against him ever.

So when you fall asleep in the car, you hope that the feeling in your gut is right.

That your dream might finally come true.

[reddeadmort]

Arthur Morgan x f! Reader | “Silvery Threads” Part 1

AO3 LINK

You've been travelling alone for a while now when you come across a cowboy in need of assistance. Will helping lead you closer to a happy ending, or just another broken heart?

Words: 5k and counting (wtf)

Notes:

Heading towards proper fluff eventually, maybe even sneak in some smut at the end. Might expand on the first part, add in more chapters. WIP.

Warnings:

Game typical violence at the beginning, gun shot wound, bodily scars, references to an abusive past.

Constructive feedback welcomed!

—

Arthur stared down the scope of his rifle at the group of men on the plain below. “C’mon, Dutch” he muttered. He hadn’t wanted Dutch to take this meeting with Colm, he was sure there was something being planned. He was right. He heard a noise behind him and snapped his head around, just in time to seen the butt of a gun careening towards his head. 

—--

Before the gun could make contact, a shot rang out. The man holding the shotgun fell to the floor, landing on top of the large muscular man lying prone on the ground. Before he could react, a second shot slammed into the chest of the second man, forcing him to step backwards and straight off the cliff. His terrified scream rang out across the plain, cut short by a deeply disturbing cracking sound. 

The third time you pulled the trigger however, you were met with just a click. Shit. Misfire. You dove for cover as the final O’Driscoll swung his rifle around. Multiple shots flew past as you desperately tried to re-cock your weapon. As you spun round to return fire however, you heard a loud bang and the man dropped dead, very little of his head remaining. The man you’d saved was standing now, having struggled out from underneath the dead gang member. He was much taller than you’d realised, with broad shoulders, and a face you couldn’t help but be thankful you hadn’t let get ruined. 

“You alright?” he rumbled, stepping towards you. Instinct and adrenaline told you to run, but you stood your ground. The stranger lowered his rifle, moving forwards again, concern seemingly etched on his face. 

“Woman, are you alright?” He loomed over you, reaching out one hand. 

“Yes..I’m fine.” You stammered out; it was hard to talk with this much adrenaline coursing through you. You offered out your hand to shake his. “I’m….”

As you moved your arm you realised that you were very much not okay. Looking down at your shoulder, you saw blood seeping out over your shirt, a large hole where there definitely hadn’t been one before. “Shit….” Blackness clouded your vision as you tumbled forwards into unconsciousness. 

—---

Arthur swore as he quickly tore off strips of his shirt to try and stem the bleeding. Where in the hell had this girl come from? Why did she even help? As the blood soaked through every scrap he pushed to the wound, he started to panic. He took off his bandana and tied it as tight as he could round the shoulder of the mystery woman, before quickly lifting her up and whistling for his horse. Holding her close to his chest as he rode, he could only hope that she would make it to the camp……..

—-

Multiple weeks had passed since you’d awoken in an unfamiliar camp. The group had been more than kind to you, patching you up, letting you rest for as long as you needed. You’d learned that the mystery man you’d saved was called Arthur. You had not intended it to be quite as dramatic as it had turned out; you’d only helped because you could recognise an O’Driscoll from a mile off. Something about the smell. 

You’d been mobile for a few weeks now, and had started trying to help out round the camp. You were fairly useless at the majority of the chores however, and instead kept on trying to help by going on outings with the men. But, every time you tried, Arthur was there, giving some form of excuse as to why someone else would be better placed to go. It was getting irritating; the men had even stopped asking, as what was the point. So when Sean came sneaking up to you, you assumed he was just asking for a game of cards or the like. 

“Hey, Y/N, fancy a ride?” He winked at you. As you raised an eyebrow, he laughed; “nah, not like that ya naughty girl, thought you might like to join me on a bit of an investigation.” 

“I’ll go” a voice rumbled from behind you. You hadn’t even heard Arthur approach, but yet again he was there, getting between you and some blessed freedom. You shut your eyes, jaw and fists clenched, letting out a measured huff before turning to walk away. “Take Arthur” you muttered through clenched teeth, stomping away towards the trees. 

—--

As soon as your back was turned, Arthur rounded on Sean. “What’ya doin’ askin’ her to go Sean? What did I say!”. Sean stepped back, slightly intimidated by Arthur’s growl. “It’s an easy job, Morgan!” he exclaimed, raising his hands, palms towards Arthur in a pacifying motion. “Just some scouting, promise.”

“It’s never easy Sean, specially not with you in charge” Arthur grunted, calming somewhat. “But she ain’t ready.” Arthur stared after you as you stormed off into the trees. Sean stepped forward, hesitating, before patting Arthur on the shoulder. 

“I know yer trying to be kind, old man, but she all feels is hate right now.” Arthur scoffed, rolling his shoulder to remove Sean’s hand. He knew Sean was right though; the more he tried to protect you, stop you from getting hurt, the more frustrated you were getting. 

—--

You didn’t have to go too far into the woods before finding the tree stump and tin cans John had been using to teach Jack some shooting. You lined them up, all the while seething at once again being denied some freedom, potentially even some excitement. You stepped away, far past the line the boys had been using, and stood still, steadying your breathing. Sliding your revolver from its holster, you lifted your arm up, taking aim. In this moment, this peaceful moment, all you could concentrate on was your breathing, the slow up-down motion of the gun sight. The world seemed to slow as you breathed out and squeezed the trigger. Before you even heard the ding of the can however, you desperately tried to stifle a scream as white hot pain flooded your shoulder. You dropped to your knees, gasping, gripping at the pain with your free hand. Eyes shut, swearing under your breath, you tilted your head up as a tear rolled down your cheek. 

—--

As you raised your arm, Arthur was willing the shot to be good. You seemed far steadier, perhaps he was wrong. It took all of his strength to not run to you the moment he saw the pain on your face. He desperately wanted to sweep you up in his arms, carry you back to his tent, hold and soothe you. Almost stepping forwards, he stopped himself before shaking those thoughts from his head. Why would you want him to comfort you? He’d only annoy you, after all he was the reason you were even stuck here. Before he did something stupid, Arthur quickly turned back to camp to go find Sean. 

—--

A few days later, you were sat in your tent, attempting to mind your own business; essentially, avoiding Miss Grimshaw lest she gave you more chores. You looked up as Mary-Beth came skipping over. 

“Let’s go Y/N, it’s time for a bathe!” Her exclamation shocked you slightly; while the others tended to swim together (safety in numbers you supposed), you had tried to maintain some privacy.  “C’mon, we know you and your clothes desperately need a wash. Tilly’s found a pool in the river not too far from camp, nice and secluded.” 

Despite your protestations, Mary-Beth was tugging on your arm, pulling you up from the cot. You winced and stood up quickly to prevent her from doing more damage. She knew full well your right shoulder was still an issue, even after these weeks, but was unfortunately fairly inept at telling her left from her right. 

“Oh god, sorry, I got the wrong one again didn’t I” Mary-Beth stammered out. “S’okay” you grunted through gritted teeth. “It’ll pass”. 

“Please come with us” Mary-Beth whined. “I know you hate being all cooped up here, and we’re done letting you wallow in your own misery”. She gestured to the other girls and they gave you a ‘come-on’ style wave. All except Karen; she was deliberately not making eye contact, staring off to the left. She’d been like this ever since you joined; polite, but not interested in making anything more than trivial small talk. You had been around long enough to have no desire to be liked by everyone, but you did wish you knew what you had done to make her so indifferent. 

“Fine.” Mary-Beth let out a little whoop, and raised her fist triumphantly. “But only to accompany and protect you lot”. Sighing, Mary-Beth agreed - it was better than nothing. 

As your little group started walking out the camp, a familiar gruff voice came out from behind a tree. 

“Where you ladies headin’ off to?” 

Arthur was leaned with his back against a tree, one leg up with the sole of his boot also resting against the bark. His hat was pulled down slightly over his eyes; he took a long drag on his cigarette before flicking it away and turning to face you. His hands moved to rest on his gun belt, thumbs slightly tucked behind it, before slowly looking up at the group.

“None of your business Arthur!” Karen giggled before turning and starting to jokingly flounce away. 

“Ladies…” Arthur voice somehow dropped even lower, almost to a growl. The sound made you involuntarily tense and swallow. As he stepped forwards Tilly moved out to the front of the group. 

“Don’t be like that Arthur, Karen’s only being silly. We’re off to that stream you told me about; we all want a moment away from camp, to get cleaned up without constantly having to keep an eye out for Micah or Sean.” At the mention of Sean’s name Karen giggled again. “S’not sooo bad” she tittered. You rolled your eyes and gave a half-smile; it was sweet the way those two flirted, always a source of entertainment on a drunken night around the fire. 

“Fine, suppose you lot could do with a wash.” Arthur grinned slightly as Tilly playfully slapped him on the chest. His smile faded, replaced with a more serious expression. “I ain’t lettin’ you go alone though. Y’all need a lookout.�� 

You quickly drew in breath, about to speak, to make up some lie about Charles meeting you there. You were not quick enough. 

“Oh don’t worry Arthur, we’ve got Y/N!” Mary-Beth stepped forward, slapping you on the shoulder, making you wince. This woman’s habit of always getting the wrong arm was starting to feel personal. You groaned internally, knowing what was coming next; there was no way Arthur was going to let you go off camp unsupervised. 

“But she can’t….I…” Arthur faltered, his slight hesitation caused by the impassive stare you were giving him. Quickly regaining his composure, he set his shoulders back and stared back at you. “I’ll come too. Y/N can’t keep watch and clean up.” You were about to interject, explain you had no intention of doing the latter, but did not get the chance. “You lot all need a chance to a relax, including Y/N.” His voice had softened, eye contact with you not breaking. You could have sworn he almost looked like he was pleading, just asking you to go along without a fight. 

“Go on then” you sighed, looking down at your stained clothes. “S’pose sometimes your ideas ain’t so daft Mr Morgan”. The girls cheerfully grabbed you arms and started a half walk, half skip down the hill. 

—----- 

Arthur hung back slightly as the group walked, enough to give the girls some privacy. He hoped you hadn’t registered the shock on his face as you referred to him by his surname. It hurt. He longed to have you curled up on his lap by the fire, muttering his name as you drifted off to sleep. Every time you said ‘Arthur’ it brought his imagination to life; hearing you refer to him so impersonally brought all those dreams crashing down. Frustrated, Arthur kicked at a stone, swearing as it did not move, pain stabbing at his toes.

—-----

As you strolled towards the stream, you let yourself relax, occasionally joining in with the pleasantly mundane chatter between the girls. Karen was bemoaning a perceived slight from Sean; Mary-Beth was giving some poor, but well-meaning, advice based off one of her many novels. Tilly was chatting to Abigail and Sadie about clothes; ever since you joined, your hatred of skirts and dresses seemed to have been rubbing off on the others. Sadie was discussing with the pair how to alter the only trousers you could get from the local store, make them fit a body they were definitely not designed for. Occasionally you turned, glancing back at Arthur, but he was always looking elsewhere. You were so frustrated with him, but even you were taken aback by the spite that had seemed to drip off your last words. The girls hadn’t noticed, too excited by the prospect of some privacy and peace, but you were sure you’d seen a flash of pain in his eyes as you’d spoken. 

“We’re here!” Mary-Beth exclaimed, running towards the water. The pool really was lovely; the curve in the river had carved out a steep bank on one side, offering privacy from everywhere except directly in front. The dappled light through the trees cast everything in a warm glow, and the water was so wonderfully clear and fresh. Poor Arthur barely had a chance to turn around before Karen was stripping off her skirts and reaching to pull her blouse up over her head. 

“I’ll, um, wait over here” Arthur grunted, fumbling sideways to sit on a convenient large log, desperately making sure to not turn around. “Arthurrrrr” Karen called out, jokingly trying to get him to look, only stopping when Abigail chastised her. 

When bathing nearer the camp, the girls never stripped past their underwear, preferring to maintain a small amount of dignity even if it meant some discomfort. It felt safer here though, the combination of the protective bank and even more so protective burly man. The younger girls stripped bare, running giggling into the water, with small exclamations around the chill. Abigail and Sadie gathered up their clothes, taking them over the washboard they had set up. After carefully removing your boots, you slowly undid the buttons of your trousers, sliding them off and handing them to a waiting Abigail. You stepped forward into the water, smiling as the pleasant chill ran up your legs and spine. You were about to step further in before Abigail tapped your arm, gesturing towards your shirt. 

Shit. This was why you didn’t want to come, why you always crept off to bathe alone. Miss Grimshaw was the only one to know to understand; she’d been the one to care for your wound when you arrived. The only one to have seen under the shirt. 

“I’m…I’m fine Abigail, I can wash it on me.” The fear was welling up in you, causing you to stammer slightly. Abigail either misread you, or didn’t notice, continuing to tug at your sleeve. “Don’t be so daft” she smiled, gesturing up and down. “That shirt is more blood and dirt than cloth, now hand it over”. 

Of course she was right; you’d done your best to try and clean it, but you’d only had two shirts in the first place, and one was now irreparable thanks to being cut away from your injury. Still, you winced at the thought of being exposed.

“S’okay Y/N!” Tilly called out. “It’s safe here, it’s just us - ain’t no way Arthur would dare peek!”. Karen managed to get out a cry of “Shame!” before being muffled by splashed water courtesy of Mary-Beth. Shutting your eyes, you took a deep breath before undoing a few buttons. Pausing, you reached down and pulled your shirt up over your head, wincing at the slight pain in your shoulder.    

Squeezing your eyes even tighter shut, you grimaced as you heard the faint gasps from the girls behind you. They were expecting the wound in the shoulder, partially healed, still red and angry. They were not expecting the scars. They crisscrossed your entire back, the white lines clearly visible even against your pale skin. Some wrapped around your front to your stomach, with a particularly large gash spreading downwards from your navel. Overwhelmed, feeling their eyes boring into your skin, you started to quietly cry. 

‘Shhh, lovely, shh.” Abigail’s gentle hand on your cheek made you open your eyes; she was gazing at you with a kindness you’d only really seen her demonstrate towards her beloved Jack.  Before you could say anything, Mary-Beth and Tilly were by your side, hands on each arms, guiding you into the water with hushed reassurances. 

—----- 

Arthur was quite enjoying this moment of peace. He’d taken out his journal and was sketching the woods in front of him, relaxing at the sounds of laughter and splashing behind him. He really hoped you were relaxing, finally letting yourself have a bit of fun. He’d heard the quiet gasp and hushed silence that followed, almost turning; but the chatter quickly resumed. Karen had probably told a particularly risque story, he thought to himself. His mind started to wander, imagining standing in front of you as your shirt slipped to the floor. He’d step forward, he thought, breathe in your scent, run his hands all over your smooth skin……Suddenly a loud crack in the woods had him snapped out of his stupor, gun drawn and pointed. 

—-----

“I’m pretty sure that squirrel ain’t goin’ to cause us no harm Arthur” Tilly giggled. In the moment once again, Arthur smiled before re-holstering his weapon. 

“I reckon you’d be right there” he chuckled, discreetly adjusting the front of his trousers as he shifted on his temporary seat. 

The girls hadn’t said a thing about what they’d seen other than some kind words. Once you were submerged, they continued their conversations, complaining about chores, men, food and the like. After a while, the girls left the river to re-dress, leaving you alone; as you joined them on the shore, you couldn’t help but notice they avoided looking at you. You knew it was almost certainly out of kindness, to help you feel more relaxed, but you couldn’t help that pang of fear. How could they not think differently of you now? Especially in this life, they all knew the horrors that could occur in the world, but there’s a difference between awareness and being brutally confronted with it. After slipping on your still slightly damp shirt, as you pulled up your trousers, Sadie came over to you. 

“S’alright Y/N. If you’d like, we can have a few drinks and talk later?” It was as if she’d read your mind. “Just us girls. You can tell us as much or as little as you’d like”. 

“I’d like that Sadie. I really would.” 

—--

“Come on Arthur, you ain’t much good as an escort if you ain’t escorting us!” Karen called back to a still sitting Arthur as the group started trudging back towards the camp. 

“I’m comin’” he grunted, carefully moving his satchel in front of him as he stood. Luckily Karen quickly went back to chatting, paying him no mind, so no one saw his slightly stiff gait behind you all. He’d been trying to wait as long as possible before having to stand, his current state making it difficult to walk. 

He’d been fine until he’d seen your wet shirt clinging to you. He had been chatting to some of the girls, and hadn’t meant to look over as you bent down to tie your boots. You hadn’t noticed, but the front of your shirt had tipped forwards, giving Arthur a view of your breasts, nipples hard thanks to the cold cloth. His entire body had stiffened, and he’d been unable to stop the warm feeling rushing his groin. Carefully maintaining his conversation, he’d looked away, hoping that his jeans were strong enough to hide his desire. 

—-

That evening, you were far more relaxed than you had been for a long time. You felt refreshed, and your shirt had quickly dried off in the summer sun. When your little group returned, you discovered a party already starting; you weren’t quite sure why, but Micah and Bill seemed particularly pleased with themselves and there was a lot more whisky and gin around than when you’d left. A few drinks later and you were sat on the floor around the fire, listening to one of Javier’s songs. 

After a while, your back began to ache, so you shuffled backwards to lean against the log behind you. As you moved, you kept your gaze on Javier, transfixed by the speed at which his fingers moved on the guitar. In your slightly tipsy state, you didn’t notice the two legs appearing either side of you until surprised grunt snapped you back to reality. 

“Um… hello darlin”. You looked up into the rugged face of a pleasantly surprised Arthur. You hadn’t realised he’d taken the seat behind you, and he certainly wasn’t going to object as you gently slotted yourself between his thighs. 

Looking up into those big kind eyes, you felt a smile come across your face. “Hello, pro-tect-or” you purred back. Good god - you’d definitely had too much to drink. As you bit your bottom lip, you felt Arthur shift his weight behind you. ‘Too much!’ part of your brain screamed, only to be immediately smothered by a much more primitive part. You thought he was going to stand up, move away, except he didn’t. Instead, he gently wrapped one large arm around the front of your shoulders, leaning forward to rest his lips on the top of your head. You felt him breath in deeply, before suddenly moving to sit back up, as though he’d finally realised what was going on. Before he could remove his arm, you moved your hands up to grab it. 

“Stay…” you whispered up to him, hands barely covering a fraction of his large muscular forearm. 

“Of course darlin’.” His deep voice reverberated through your body, causing you to let out the slightest involuntary moan. You were sure he heard it, as his grip around your shoulders tightened ever so briefly. You hoped he didn’t see you wince at the pressure on your shoulder.   He leant forwards, resting his free elbow on his knee, allowing you space to move your head to lie against one of his thighs. 

—--- 

This was certainly not a hugely comfortable position, but there was no damn way Arthur was going to move. He hadn’t meant to end up this close to you; he just wanted to be near to you, to hear your laugh. When you murmured those words up at him, he’d been so tempted to grab your face, lean forward, kiss you deeply….but he’d been too slow. When you’d looked forward again, he desperately realised you might move away, so had panicked and put his arm around you to prevent it. But then, he’d thought it was too much, started to try to stand, only to have you pin him back down. Now, with your head leaning against his thigh, all he wanted to do was bend down and whisper how much he desired you, and how clearly he could see you cleavage down your shirt…..

—---

You’d been sat for what felt like a glorious eternity (though probably more like 10 minutes) when Sadie came strolling up to the pair of you.

“Come on Y/N, the girls are all relaxing in Abigail’s tent if you’d like to…come and talk?” Her tone was kind, not pushy, and you were so relaxed it seemed like a good idea. 

“Sounds good Sadie, though I’ll grab some more whisky on the way over”. As you spoke, you stood up, having to push Arthur’s arm away slightly; you could have sworn you were met with far more resistance than you were expecting, perhaps even a little groan. You shrugged it off; Arthur was just being kind, keeping you comfortable. Of course he didn’t care if you went to go talk with the others. 

As you sat in Abigail’s tent, there were a few moments of awkward silence, no one wanting to be the first to ask the question. 

“Go on then Y/N, what in the hell happened to you?!” Good old reliable Karen; while grating sometimes, her forthrightness was helpful in certain situations. You stood up, moving the chair you’d been sat on to the opposite corner of the tent to the entrance. Nodding to Sadie, who quickly shut the flap of the tent, you straddled the chair, back towards the group. Slowly, you undid each button on your shirt before pulling it up out of your trousers. You let it slip to the floor, scars once again in full view. 

“Men, Karen, men. That is what happened to me”. Slowly, you talked the group through the collection on your body. Thick long welts from whips; thin, shorter scars from blades. The girls sat and listened as you revealed your story. You’d never thought you’d be able to do this; but it felt almost therapeutic, with the girls’ calm polite responses relaxing you. The whisky certainly helped too.  

“Long time ago, I was in love. At least thought I was. This man” - you sneered this, the word not suitable - “convinced me to run away with him. Said he was going to marry me, build me a little house and a farm. I was young, stupid, bored, and believed him. After a few days of travelling, we stopped at a ranch he said his friends owned. Well they were certainly friends of his, but not of mine.” You paused, debating how much detail to give the group. You decided to keep it short, not wanting to ruin their evening or give the younger ones nightmares. 

“To keep it brief, I was nothing more than payment for a debt. I belonged to the gang.” 

“Why didn’t you escape?!” blurted out Karen. “Where the fuck do you think half of these came from, dimwit?” you snapped back. Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Sorry, Karen. It’s just… a lot of these represent failure. A failure to run, to hide, to protect myself.” 

“S’okay” a drunken Karen mumbled. I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it… you just always seem so… prepared.” You smiled at her reassuringly. 

“Got close to escaping once, ‘bout 6 months before I was more successful. Made it to a road. Managed to wave down a rider…” You paused. This was a tough memory; when you were recaptured that time, you almost gave up hope completely. “They must have seen I was a mess, only clothes I had were rags, and some wounds were fresh. Though, was dark, so maybe not” you sighed. “They slowed as I called out, begging for help. But when they asked where I wanted to go, I couldn’t say - didn’t even know where I was. Just said anywhere. Think that freaked ‘em, must have thought I was going to rob ‘em or something. So they just rode off. Weren’t long before the gang found me again…” you tailed off, voice slightly cracking.

“That’s horrible!” exclaimed Mary-Beth. “Who could do such a thing!”.

“Well to be fair Mary-Beth, that has happened to Arthur on multiple occasions….” Tilly interjected.

“Well, hang on Tilly, one of those times was you” Sadie laughed. You allowed yourself a small chuckle with the others; these girls sure made sharing stories a lot easier than expected.

“What about….” you turned to look at Abigail as she motioned towards her stomach. You knew exactly what she was referring to. You stood up, one hand and arm covering your breast. “This one…” you spoke softly, fingers running along the large scar below your navel. “This…. well safe to say a gang of men tend to have…. alternative views on the best form of birth control.” Some of the girls audibly gasped, an array of hands going up to clamp against mouths. In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, you half chuckled. “S’okay ladies; turns out it’s quite nice not having to worry about where the fun ends…..you know Abigail, you really should get John to clean your dress once in a while.” It was enough, and the group starting giggling, with a mock annoyed stare from Abigail. 

“Better than the other place he tries to put it!” laughed Tilly, causing further merriment as Abigail grinned. Smiling, glad your story had been partially understood, you turned back towards the chair to retrieve your shirt. 

“This where all the pleasant company is then ladies?” Before anyone could stop him, Arthur lifted the flap of the tent, a big grin on his face, wanting to join in with the jokes. 

You froze, shirt clutched to your chest, back turned to him. Arthur’s smile changed to confusion, as he looked round at the girls all staring at him in shocked silence. His gaze finally came to rest on you, half naked, silvery lines snaking across your skin. 

“What in the hell is that!” he exclaimed, stepping forwards. His tone jerked you back to reality, and in one deft movement you tugged your shirt back on and swung around under his arm, out the tent, fumbling with the buttons. 

As you ran for the tree line, you swore. Why him? Why now? This wasn’t….. that isn’t how he was supposed to see you. You stumbled through the trees, continuing to curse. Shit, why couldn’t you have just stayed by the fire with him, all calm and content. He wouldn’t want to touch you now…. they never did, not after they’d seen the state of you. A quick fumble out the back of a saloon, a mostly clothed fuck out in the woods… that’s all you could ever get. 

You slowed, stopping to catch your breath, checking behind you. No one had followed. You slumped against a tree, a tear starting to fall down your cheek. All you’d wanted was  Arthur . To feel safe, be held tight, have him whisper in your ear, gently stroking your hair as you fell asleep in his arms. You’d grown so frustrated with him, desperately wanting to be near him, but every time you were he was just so goddamn protective. Not letting you close enough to really get to know him, but preventing you from leaving to find a small piece of normality. And why did your fucking shoulder continue to hurt so much…….

You sat and cried as weeks of pain and suppressed emotion spilled out. 

———

Arthur was horrified. He stood there frozen, not quite able to process what he’d walked in on. He could barely hear the girls yelling at him, their voices sounding distant. All he could think was that he’d seen those scars before…….

[ryehouses]

It might be too early to ask this, given the fic isn't finished being published yet, but I'd love to pick your brain about how it was for you to write such a long fic.

I also wrote one that grew a life of its own around the halfway mark lol. What have you learned from writing it? Anything that was super difficult at first but got easier over time? What advise would you give to Past You when they wrote the first sentence? Anything you'd do differently?

lol i apologize i opened the floodgates and all of these words fell out!

THIS IS A GREAT ASK, SO THANK YOU.

in order:

i learned SO MUCH during this process (seriously, i am eagerly waiting for star wars trivia night to come back to our local bar, because i'm pretty sure that i'd win this year). odd bits of star wars lore! a whole bunch about food! what the inside of my eyeballs look like 8 or 9 hours into an intensive revision session! but from a technical standpoint, i think what i learned that will help me the most going forward in writing projects is the benefit of outlining a project and referencing the outline as i go through the project. this probably won't come as a surprise, but projects often mutate and grow on me in the middle -- or the beginning -- or the second middle -- or the very end when i should be done but definitely have to pursue another errant thought -- and if i don't have the major plot points already charted out, i can pretty easily lose the thread of the plot and therefore the motivation to keep going. with ast, the initial outline has been a godsend, even though the plot has grown and shifted as the fic has gone on. the major points i wanted to hit were already written down, so it was a lot easier to maintain focus on this project than on some others.

boba's voice was actually super fucking difficult for me to get and present consistently, especially early on in the fic when din is trying to get a read on him! i had a really hard time deciding how i wanted boba to sound and talk and think and act -- at the point of most of my worldbuilding and outlining, there really wasn't a ton of boba in canon and legends/the eu can be a mess and also wildly inconsistent, so i didn't have much to go on. i think i probably have five or six drafts of the first couple of chapters from boba's pov in the depths of my ast folder, trying to build a consistent tone. (also, not pursuing every scrap of detail that was interesting to me was very difficult, and is part of the reason why ast includes probably 50-75k alone in, like, descriptions of food or tusken culture or random asides about din's childhood with paz and annika.)

honestly, i would tell Past Me to unclench and try not to worry so much about making it perfect. a lot of delays in the revision process have come from Obsessively Reworking Things in order to make up for pouring so much of my internal mess (didn't know i had that much religious trauma, to be honest!) into the fic, and i probably didn't need to stress myself out that much.

oof okay. this is really tough. part of me says "yes, absolutely," because i feel like i really did go haring off down some avenues that i probably shouldn't have, for the sake of condensing the plot. i could and maybe should have pared down some of the tusken and ahra stuff to focus more tightly on the mandalore stuff. the other part of me says "no, absolutely not," because i have had an enormous amount of fun working on this project!! i have learned so much and really ignited my passion for learning things again -- i have actually read nonfiction books that aren't about fish this year, which is huge for me -- and i've rekindled some of my affection for writing (which is good, considering... how much writing has gone into this thing) and also my love for star wars, which is HUGE. i was a very small fry in the star wars fandom circa 2008-2010, around the time that the clone wars was coming out and the fandom was... being itself... and i was really excited to come back in 2015, but around that time i felt like there wasn't much room in the fandom for me between the ship wars and the everything else, so i stayed out. it has been really, really nice to come back, lol, and to settle into a niche that so far has been pretty chill, so. no, i think, i'm good with the way things shook out for ast! not much i'd change at this point, except maybe somehow making ao3 count one word for every two?

[fawnandshadows]

After the Ceremony - Chapter 2

Hey guys! I was completely overwhelmed by the response I received on the first chapter of After the Ceremony, and I am so excited to share this with you guys. You can also find it on AO3. This chapter is slightly nsfw.

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 2,554

Rating: M

Glorious. Splendid. Sublime.

There wasn’t a single word that could describe what it felt like to be kissed by Azriel. His rough hands, one on her heart and the other of her cheek, and soft lips put her on sensory overload. All she could feel was him. All she could think about was him.

Elain couldn’t stop herself as her tongue ran over the seam of his lips, tentatively asking a question, and she almost groaned in relief at his answer. His tongue slid against her in a sinfully good way, and she couldn’t help but notice that he tasted of champagne and vanilla.

With a giggle Elain pulled away. Her forehead was pressed against his, and she delighted in the way his warm breath drifted across her face. She took another moment to collect herself before asking, “What were you doing out of bed?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow and said, “You stopped kissing me to ask me that?”

“I think you were out of bed to eat the leftover cake before anyone else could,” Elain teased, and she got all the confirmation she needed from the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. “So, the shadowsinger has a sweet tooth? I could taste it on you,” Elain whispered that last part, and it seemed her tongue, working on its own accord, traced the length of his bottom lip. “Delicious.”

The shadowsinger groaned as the contact, and before he could think, his hands ran over her backside, lifted her up, and set her on the closest table.

“There is something else I’ve been dying to taste.” Azriel said in a haggard whisper as his hands started tracing up the length of her thigh. He put his head in the crook of her neck, his tongue darted out to the hollow of her collar bone, and the saltiness that coated his tongue caused his pants to tighten even more. He thanked the Mother for loose pajamas. Elain became pliant in his arms, and his hands found themselves tangled in her hair. He pulled her hair, a little harder than he meant to, just to move her hair back, but the sound that escaped her mouth was enough to stop him. It was a sound that could only be described as pleasure. Unadulterated pleasure.

A thrill shot down Azriel’s spine. He never thought he’d be able to discover Elain’s secret pleasures. His pulse jumped at the knowledge that he, Azriel, was the one to find out what brought Elain bliss.

Azriel cleared his head just enough to ask, “Are you sure? Once we do this there is no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Elain responded in a voice so vulnerable it almost shattered his heart. He looked into her eyes, expected to see them hazed with lust, but they were startlingly clear. Those warm brown eyes held something delicate, something that Azriel never expected to see in eyes turned his way, something that looked remarkably similar to love.

Before she could change her mind, because there was a small piece of him that worried she would, his lips captured hers again. Az didn’t bother to hide the urgency in his kiss, he knew she deserved romance; he knew she deserved better than the gnashing of teeth in the dead of night while her mate slept somewhere in the house, but this was all he could give her right now. Maybe the next time he could be slow and delicate, but his blood was burning too hot and his heart was pounding too loudly to stop now.

He pulled away from her, his scarred hand pushed her down on the table, which his shadows cleared at some point, and sank to his knees in front of her.

The smell of her arousal was closer than ever before, and strong enough to cause his eyes to roll back into his head. He gripped her nightgown and pushed it up with so much force that if he hadn’t been so drunk off her arousal, then he would have heard the sound of cotton tearing. Azriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of jasmine, honey, and sweat overwhelmed him. He pushed his head forward, unable to control himself, his tooth caught on her -

His shadows swarmed him. They pulled him away, and were buzzing in his ear at an alarming rate. Her scream of pleasure, or maybe it was frustration, was muffled by a shadow gently pressing against her mouth - an image that Azriel tucked away in his mind. After a moment to catch his breath Azriel could finally make out what the shadows were saying.

The High Lady is awake.

Distantly, Azriel heard footsteps coming down the staircase, growing closer. Elain looked up at him, her brown eyes warm and slightly confused, so Azriel did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed her around the waist, noting how perfectly the curve of her hips fit into his hands, pulled her to him and walked through the shadows. The shadowsinger bit his lip to stop the groan that threatened to spill out of him as Elain wrapped her legs around his hips, wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, and clung to him like the scrap of her nightgown was clinging to her.

Azriel picked the only place he could think of to shadow walk to - his bedroom. He gently placed Elain down on the bed and took a step back.

Elain was sitting on his bed, in a ripped nightgown, while his shadows glided over her skin as if they wanted to caress her just as badly as he did. The small fire was burning just enough that he could make out the delicate features that graced her face - Azriel was going to have to thank whichever twin wraith had the forethought to light a fire for him in the middle of August.

“What happened? Did we shadow walk again?” Elain rasped, her breathing uneven and shallow, and Azriel used all of his willpower not to stare at her chest which was heaving up and down. The fire light was just strong enough to make out the sheen of sweat that coated her body. Apparently, being spymaster for hundreds of years didn’t grant him enough willpower not to stare at her chest. At the nod of his head Elain said, “It was nicer this time. Less stabbing.”

Azriel felt his lips twitch at her attempt to lighten the mood. He knew she was referring to the war against Hybern where she walked through his shadows to change the tide of the war.

“My shadows warned me that someone was coming. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stopped.” Azriel said in a voice that was steadier than he felt.

“Oh, good,” Elain breathed and Azriel felt his heart stop in his chest. “This gives us time to talk.”

Elain looked delectable sitting on his bed. Her rumpled appearance was so at odds with how she normally looked, and Azriel was loving every second of it.

“Talk?” Azriel repeated, hopefully his voice was as unreadable as he wanted it to be. He still had the taste of her on his tongue, on his lips, and she wanted to talk? Fear started gnawing at his insides.

“Yes, talk about whatever this forbidden nonsense is and why you’ve been staying away from me. And why someone else was wearing my necklace… I guess I shouldn’t really call it my necklace anymore,” Elain said with downcast eyes that were focused on her hands, which were clasped on her lap. “I’m afraid I’m more than a little confused. And I would like no misunderstandings before we…” Her voice trailed off. She caught her bottom lips between her teeth and Azriel wanted to run his thumb across it, and cast all worries from her mind.

Azriel looked down at her, at the little fawn that somehow found herself in death’s bed, and cupped her face. He did exactly what he wanted to for once in his life, and ran his thumb across her soft lip which was red and plump from their kissing. Satisfaction started to grow in his chest as the knowledge that he was the one responsible for her disheveled appearance; her swollen lips, mused hair, and torn nightgown. The wings jerked, but Az managed to suppress the urge to preen and peacock.

The brown eyes that looked up at him were conflicted. He wanted to remove the hesitation that churned in her eyes and replace it with trust, and maybe something else. The openness on her face, her emotions which she was learning to control so well were on full display, caused his heart to flutter.

“What do you want to know first?” He asked.

Azriel dropped his hands and crossed them over his chest, and then dropped them again. What the hell was a man supposed to do with his hands? All his hands wanted to do were touch every inch of her skin, tangle in her hair, and explore her body. He fought the urge to hide them behind his back - Elain had never once looked at them in disgust, and he wasn’t going to do her the discourtesy of acting like she had. Even Rysand or Cassian would stare at his hands sometimes, but never Elain. She simply accepted him.

“The necklace?” Elain asked quietly.

“I picked it out for you, as you know,” Azriel responded and continued at the nod of her head. “After I had a conversation with Rhysand I found myself at the library for some reason, and while I was there I saw Gwyn training. We talked briefly, and when I ran into Clotho I asked her to give the necklace to Gwyn. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I realize that’s not the most… satisfying answer.”

A frown appeared between her delicate eyebrows and Azriel wanted to kiss it away.

“Do you ever wear the earplugs I gave you?”

The shadowsinger blinked at the question before responding, “Yes, sometimes when Nesta and Cassian are louder than normal. They like to travel around and I never know when I’m going to hear them, so I have your gift on me at all times.”

“Good,” Elain said with a nod. She looked a little more certain of herself. “I think you should wear them when you sleep, just so you don’t accidentally hear something you don’t want to.”

“I will.” Azriel said with a soft smile on his lips. There wasn’t much he could do for her, but he could grant that one request, no matter how small it might be.

“Why did you not kiss me? That night of the solstice I thought you wanted to kiss me. Was I wrong?” Elain nervously gnawed at her lip, but her voice was steadier than it was before.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Azriel said after taking a deep breath. His eyes watched how her face moved, the subtle changes that occurred - how her teeth released her lip, how her brow relaxed just a bit, and how her eyes warmed as they drifted to meet his. “I would have kissed you. I would have done more than kiss you, but Rhysand interrupted. He saw us, and he didn’t like it, especially with Lucien in the house. With the tentative peace in Prythian and then the potential with whatever the hell might happen with Koschei, Rhys doesn’t want to leave Prythian vulnerable.”

“And he thinks that we - you and I- would make Prythian vulnerable?” Elain asked.

Az could see the thought toiling inside of her head, and he would have given anything to be able to read her mind right now. A small, hesitant smile appeared on her lips. “I had no idea we were so important. While, obviously I know you’re important, but I didn’t realize the future of Prythian rested on whom I… had feelings for.”

The blush that bloomed against her cheeks was precious. A tug pulled at his heart when he saw it, and Az wanted to brush his lips against her cheeks so he could feel how warm she was.

“Lucien as your mate,” The words felt sour in his mouth and curdled his stomach. The thought of someone else having any type of claim on her set Azriel on edge in a way that he really didn’t want to analyze. “Would be able to claim the Blood Duel. An Autumn Court tradition that usually ends in death, however, it would not have ended in mine. I wouldn’t let it.” Azriel waited for a moment before he continued, his voice dropping, “I would kill for you.”

His hands tighten into fists. Az hated what he would do for her because he would do anything for her, and it almost frightened him.

A small hand reached out and wrapped around his fist.

Azriel looked down and saw Elains flawless hand on his scarred one. His heart beat a little too frantically for someone who was more than willing to kill for the female in front of him. Az had been in countless battles, had tortured more people than he could remember, and yet this small gesture threatened to undo him.

“You don’t scare me,” Elain said with a gentle smile. She had moved so that she was kneeling on the bed, her head just barely reaching his shoulders.“I would do anything for you too. I already killed once, for Nesta and Feyre, and I would do it for you if I had to. However, I think we could figure out a way for us to be together that doesn’t result in Lucien's death, or anyone’s death for that matter. That is - if you want to be together.”

His rough hand reached up and brushed away the golden hair that had fallen in her face. There was something buried so deeply in him, something so ingrained and entrenched, that he couldn’t believe the words coming out of Elains mouth.

“Are you sure?” Az whispered.

All the shadowsinger saw was an excited nod before Elain launched herself at him. Her lips missed their mark and landed sloppily on his cheeks. Azriel had just enough sense to catch her, but as soon as she was in his arms she was gone.

Elain backed away slowly, her arm outstretched as if to keep him away. A smile of pure joy graced her lips, her tongue wet her lips before saying, “Not yet. If I stay then I know we’ll do what we both want to do. I want to be free when we are together for the first time; I don’t want anyone else’s claim on me, and I want to make sure that there isn’t a single doubt in that beautiful head of yours about who holds my heart. I don’t know when it will happen, or how, but I know it will be perfect because it will be us.”

She had backed her way to the door and slipped out after saying a quick goodbye.

Azriel wasn’t sure how long he stayed there staring at the door with a goofy grin on his face, but at some point he managed to crawl into bed and drift off to sleep with her scent surrounding him.

[acourtofsnakes]

Gaa’tayl - Rogue Chapter 4| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: After making your decision, the race is on to try and save Mando’s life. But when things start to go south, a part of you breaks open that you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. How will it change you? And how will it shape whats to come?

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, first aid, little bit of swearing, hint of angst? some very faint fluff, pining thoughts because who wouldn’t, it’s Mando

Trigger warnings: beginnings of a panic attack, vicious thoughts, flashback to attempted suicide, personification of depression/negative thoughts using triggering - please be careful, my inbox is always open if you need to talk♥︎

Word count: 5394

AN: This chapters easter egg hint: Can you find the quote originally said by a purple grape with an affinity for shiny stones?👀

Also, gif isn’t necessarily relevant to the main plot of this chapter but... you’ll see why we have hands as a gif. 

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo 

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl 

Mando’a Translation: Gaa'tayl  - Help

Blood.

There was blood everywhere. 

In your hair, over your clothes.

It was coating your neck and your face. You could taste it. Coppery, hot. 

~Screaming was still echoing around the street, heart-wrenching cries of those who had just seen their loved ones forced into the air and torn apart by the explosion. The smell of metal and smoke mixed with the stench of blood and burning flesh. 

Blood. 

You could taste it. 

Your parent’s blood, maybe your own. The taste of it was in your mouth.~

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stared down at the Mandalorian.

You’d been watching him, knowing you needed to decide and then he’d gasped. And just… went still. You felt his blood pulse out under your hands and then he was just quiet. 

You couldn’t hear his ragged breathing anymore. 

Was he…

~You pushed your hands against your mothers neck, desperate to feel for the pulse that you’d felt for the last 12 years of your life.

Nothing. There was nothing there. She was dead. Your mother. Your sweet, strong mother who sung you lullabies and taught you how to dance… was dead.~

He couldn’t be. 

You dared to risk lifting a hand from the jagged hole in his side and pressed your fingertips against his neck. You knew there was a small slither of skin here, you’d seen it yesterday as he leant forward to look at something. You pushed your fingers deeper into the rapidly cooling skin of his neck, waiting. Hoping. 

There was nothing. 

No, no, there had to be. There had to be something. 

You swallowed, calming yourself enough to concentrate. You ducked your head down, like it could help you focus on the skin beneath your fingers. 

There. 

Some kind of choked noise escaped your lips as you felt his pulse, weak and fluttering, but there. Undiluted fear ran through your veins. This was on you now. 

And so, the clock was reset.

You wasted no time, ripping off your cloak and using the length of it wrap around his waist. It was nowhere enough, not enough pressure for a tourniquet or anything even remotely close because of the armour lining his body. However, it would serve to try and soak up some of the blood. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling the Mandalorian to sit up. Then rose into a crouch and hauled him up so you were both standing. 

Only to immediately collapse as your knees buckled with the lightning bolts of agony that speared across your ribs. Fuck. Right. Broken ribs. Stars exploded across your vision but you sucked in a deep, painful breath. We’ve dealt with worse. This isn’t about you know. Get up.

You dragged your feet back under you, pulling the Mandalorian up again, holding his weight against your good side. 

Prey helping hunter. 

In, out. A shallow, slow breath that didn’t hurt quite so much, and then you began to walk, half dragging the Mandalorian along with you. You couldn’t manage any more than a slow walk, your own injuries and pull of his amour and dead weight threatening to drag you down again. 

No, no. Not dead. Unconscious. He’s unconscious. Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it. That’s all you need to do. 

You repeated this like a mantra as you walked back through the street, through those puddles of light. 

Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it.

You repeated it again and again, even when the skies opened and rain lashed down, loosening your grip on the shiny metal and dragging you both down. 

Get him to the ship. 

There it was, such a welcome sight you might have cried. You fumbled on the arm that you’d slung around your shoulder, pressing buttons on his vambrace until the ramp opened and soft light and warmth called you inside. 

Hunter and prey stumbled up the ramp, and you just got him inside, managed to lay him down in front of a big heavy crate. 

You took a moment, darkness threatening to overcome you and a ringing in your ears. You shook your head sharply, pushing it off and then dropped to your knees, looking over his body. The wound was on his side, in between where the front and back plates of his armour were attached. 

Thank the Maker. You didn’t know what you would have done if it was closer to his armour. You unsheathed your knife, frantically cleaning it on your damp tunic and then quickly cut away a patch of fabric that was over and around the wound, gritting your teeth when you had to coax the torn threads from the hole. 

Which had been acting like a dam. Scarlet blood immediately began to flood from the jagged flesh, soaking the floor below him, your hands. 

You blinked, unable to stop staring for a second. How did so much blood come out of someone?

Memories hounded at your shoulders, threatening to drag you under, toward a market square, a dusty floor. 

Clean it. 

You nodded to yourself, the order in your mind and then scrambled to your feet. A quick search revealed some clean rags and a half full canteen of water. You grabbed the cauteriser and the med-kit on your way back to him, resting it beside you like it was sacred and then you turned to the wound. You wiped your hands on your knees, then dipped the cloth in water, beginning to gently, but quickly dab away the blood. 

Bloody water pooled beneath the Mandalorian, so you hurriedly shoved your cloak under him to soak it up so he wouldn’t be lying in water. 

Spray it. 

Your hands shook as you turned to the little metal box beside you, so much so that it took you 3 attempts to open the latch. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help the exasperated sigh at the rubbish of scraps of bandage that were mere threads, empty wrappers, all littering the top. Really, Mando?

You pawed though the med-kit, turning out empty wrappers and.. nothing else. 

What? 

There was no bacta-spray. No bandages. Hell, there wasn’t even a needle and thread for you to stitch the damn skin together. All you had was a bunch of wadded up fabric from a rag and some water. Why didn’t this man have any medical supplies? He was a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake. He probably had an injury list to rival yours, yet he didn’t even have so much as a needle?

You groaned, lifting a shaking hand to your face for a moment, breathing shallowly through your nose as another wave of agony seared through your ribs and the old injury in your shoulder. 

Your shoulder.

The one that was clean. Bound. 

That’s where the last of the medical supplies had gone, used on your own injury when he brought you away from Sorgan. 

You looked up at his unconscious form, horror in your expression, in your heart. The wound was weeping still, deep, surely missing vital organs because he would have been dead instantly in that alleyway. 

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t risk getting a medic from the town, one because he didn’t have the time, and two because… well, they’d sell you out. Know who you were, the bounty. 

Your heart began to beat faster, it usual rhythmic thumps turning frantic, uneven. 

It was your fault that there was nothing to save him. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Just like it was your fault he had been hurt in the first place. 

You couldn’t save him. 

Darkness swirled inside you, recognising what was happening to your body. 

He was going to die… because of you. 

Just like your parents. And everyone else after. 

With no warning, you chest constricted, steel bands wrapping around your lungs, crushing them from the inside out with a pain deeper than your cracked ribs. A roaring surged through your ears and suddenly the ship was spinning in circles. 

The beast, that poisonous beast that slumbered within you lifted its head, scenting your anxiety and fear and it purred with sick delight. Your spiralling was like a siren call and it crawled up, up, up and that seductive velvety voice that hounded you, began to whisper to you inside your head, “Hello, darling. It’s been a while.”

No. No not again. Not another dead body, not another tally against your name. 

“Murderer. Murderer. You killed your parents. You killed your friends. You killed everything even remotely good that’s ever been in your life.”

A sob began to build in your throat, an extra pressure that had you gasping for air, hunching over the floor-

“Look at you, crying. So weak. So pitiful. You deserve every single person that’s ever come after you, deserve every ounce of pain that you’ve been dealt. You call yourself a wolf, but you are a monster.”

It was right. That chasm of fear and darkness that always stayed with you was right. Of course it was. It had been right all those years ago, and the words it was whispering into you like silken poison were true. 

“Exactly, my darling. I am born of that savage beast in you, remember? You created me, you formed me from the truth and knowledge that everyone you touch dies. You have tried to deny this part of yourself for so long, darling, so, so long. But you will never escape it. This is your destiny. To kill those that come near you. ” 

You shook your head, tears flooding down your cheeks now as you wrapped your arms around your middle. The movement jolted your ribs, but it’s lick of fiery pain barely made it through the agony in your chest. I can run from it. I can escape it, you’re wrong, you’re wrong!! That’s not my destiny. I can make up for it, I can be good, I AM good-

A silken laugh and then a soft sigh, like it almost felt sorry for you, “Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. And now it's here. You have let the Mandalorian get hurt for you, and now he will die.”

No… no. No, not him. He can’t. He saved me, he’s good, I can see it. He has a son. I deserve the death sentence, but not him. Please, someone, anyone. Save him, please save him-

“No one is coming to help you, darling. You have finally done it. You have killed a father whilst his son sleeps just down the hallway.” It purred, caressing the inside of your head with claws, “Give in, darling. It’s time to give in. You eluded my call once before, but that won’t happen this time. Your pretty power won’t save you now, not now you pushed it away. Come to me.. escape the pain, finish what you should have gone through with years ago…”

An irresistible darkness reached out a hand, dropping the memory down onto you before you could stop it.

~~A glass vial, a shimmering poison you stole from the market. 

Rain, pounding down around you as you looked up at the moon. 

Water, crashing below the rocky outcrop you stood on.

Burning, a feeling like liquid fire inside you as that sweet, shimmering poison slipped down your throat.

I’m sorry. 

A final look at the moon, so big and beautiful as you turned around, your heels hanging off the end.

Goodbye.

Wind, rushing past your ears.

The icy crush of water as it devoured your body, pulling you into it’s shadowy depths. 

The fire turning molten, slipping through your blood, devouring you as the water has, coaxing you to close your eyes as your body melts from the inside out.

Quiet, a heady quiet as you succumbed to the beast in your chest that was purring with glee.

Nothing.”~~

And then… something echoed within you. Caught the attention of the beast. 

“No. Not again.” It’s snarl was predatory, dangerous. 

The flashback came easier this time, 

~~A hum began to fill the cottony silence in your head, waking you. 

This wasn’t right You weren’t supposed to wake up, you were supposed to be free from the pain and the destruction you caused. 

Easy, it seemed to whisper, relax. It is not your time yet, you still have much to experience. 

Protest flooded your body as you started to feel your limbs again. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to come back. You didn’t deserve to. 

“Yes, you do.”, it whispered. “It will be tough, there will be more pain and running, I’m afraid, but it will start a fire within you, that will only grow to serve you. You will triumph over this fear, you will become the warrior that you have always been. There will come a time, when things will change. You will do something you wouldn’t normally do, you will save one that deserves to be saved. Rules will be broken, and something new will be forged. Two lives will be forever entwined. Awaken now, and begin again.”~~

Heat began to envelop you, coaxing your stiff limbs to relax, drawing focus in your mind and making you come back to yourself. The rain beating against the outside of the ship, the smell of blood, two pairs of floppy ears at your side as they looked up at you. 

You turned your head, blinking through your tears at the Mandalorian, who’s life was hanging by a single thread. 

Your body shuddered as you leant over his unconscious form. A tight feeling curled in your chest, whispering to you. 

Let me out. I can save him.

You shook your head, you couldn’t. You’d hidden it away for so long, such a long time. You didn’t even know what to do  

Let me out. Let me save him.

You sobbed, a soft noise of defeat, a noise of relief, and you moved your hands to on his side. You whispered out loud, “Save him.” and then… let go

A deep, primal surge took over your body, shaking it, making goosebumps rise to your skin, a feeling lance through your spine. It wasn’t a pain… more a like a release of tension as ever cell in your body thrummed.  

You shuddered from head to toe, feeling the cage that you had spent 20 years building shatter like nothing. Just like that. Not forcing its way out, no clawing to be let loose. 

It was gentle. It overrode the malignant beast of darkness and despair, smothering it in light. 

Powerful, of course, for being shut away for so long but… gentle. It was the energy that roamed through the galaxy, flowed in every single living thing, connected them all together. 

It slipped from the cage you had bound it in, humming in delight as it was allowed to join with you again. 

Free. 

It rolled out of you in waves, rattling the walls, the boxes on the floor. 

It made the lights flicker on and off as it bumped up against the walls and the floor. 

That power healed your ribs as it poured out of you, and then honed itself, as if knowing you didn’t possess the control that was needed. 

It swept down your arms, caressing you like a comforting sweep of a hand, soothing you. You felt it glide over your knuckles, slip along and over the Mandalorian’s body like silk and then…

His wound healed. The ragged flesh knitted back together and the blood seeped back into the Mandalorian’s body where it belonged. It replenished him, saved him, leaving only a red line behind, a scar. 

That power, now having done its job, slipped from your body and left you spent. Shattered. With its final act, it whispered a sweet song of sleep and safety to you. 

With a soft noise, your eyes fluttered shut and you collapsed forward over the Mandalorian’s now relaxed form.

~

A caress of your hair began to coax you from your slumber. 

Long fingers, pushing into your hair at the crown of your head, and trailing through slowly all the way over to the back of your neck. 

You hummed softly, shifting your head because the pillow beneath you was hard and cold. 

The hand stopped and the next drag of fingers through your hair was slower, hesitant in a way. When the fingers brushed over your neck, you melted, a sigh drawing from your lips. 

You didn’t want this to end, especially when those same fingers caressed your face, brushing the strands away and you felt them tug slightly, as if lifting a piece of your hair, memorising the colour and the softness of it. 

It was safe here. You could relax. It was warm and cosy, even if the pillow beneath you was hard. And smelt faintly of metal. Weird. Oh well. You nuzzled against the coolness, humming again. 

Somewhere above you, there was what sounded like a soft chuckle. A caress of your forehead that trailed down the bridge of your nose. It traced over the swoop of your lips and then along your jaw, like they were mapping your features. The touch was so tender, so sweet that it almost bought tears to your eyes. You had been alone for so long, so very long and almost every encounter you had was violent. 

People didn’t touch you to be kind. They touched you to kill you. 

A thudding impact of knuckles instead of a warm arm around your shoulders. 

The sting of a knife edge at your throat instead of soft lips trailing over your skin. 

Ropes and cuffs digging into your wrists instead of familiar fingers linking through your own. 

It wasn’t even a sexual or heated touch that you missed, it was anything. You craved it, the tender familiarity of someone using touch to tell you how much you meant to them, that they cared about you. 

And this… this phantom tracing of your features spoke of a touch that was almost a little unsure. A touch that was mapping something for the first time, drawing attention to the tiny little features you didn’t even know you had, but someone was admiring and drinking in. It was a little hesitant, a little shy but… achingly sweet.

Outside of this haze, something started to call to you, coaxing you to open your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered, your head clearing as you moved and the hand was then gone. 

No, you wanted to whisper. Don’t stop.

~

It might have been hours later, but you became aware of the noises of the Razor Crest. The familiar hum of engines and instruments.  You could distantly hear Grogu’s happy cooing as he played with Duru. Right beneath your head, you could hear steady breathing, muffled slightly by a helmet. 

By a helmet.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you stared down at the floor. 

Mando was breathing. Deep, even and steady intakes of air that lifted his chest, filtering through his lungs. 

You made a soft noise, looking down at his side. You picked up the blanket and peered at the ragged tear in his underclothes. 

Nothing. 

The stab wound in his side was gone. Healed. 

You’d done it… You saved him. 

You slumped back, rubbing your hands over your face with a soft sigh of relief. You were shaking all over though and you felt… unhinged in some way. Almost painfully exposed. You had broken something, something inside you that had taken years to build. 

The only way you were able to survive was by shutting away that part of you, that pure, natural power that you could still feel echoing in your bones. 

And the constant pain that you had was gone, no more tightly wound tension now that it had been freed. 

It had to go back in, had to be built into a cage that was stronger, more impenetrable. You didn’t know why it had taken a man who you don’t really know, bleeding out in front of you to rise from the ashes. 

A man who you killed for without second thought. You always through yourself into a fight with no hesitation, but last night, or earlier or whenever it was, you had fought differently.

That wasn’t a frantic dance of survival, where your life was the crescendo and Death was the orchestra. No, that had been precision. Cunning. 

You had shed the claws and snarl, grown fangs and poison. Wolf to Viper. 

The bounty had been your prey. You struck, and you killed. 

For a man you didn’t even really know. 

You swallowed, scratching at the itchiness of your face. Stop. Do not even go there. Don’t. At least not yet. 

Red flakes fell from your face, reminding you of the layer of grime and blood that was dried onto your skin. 

Right. You needed a shower. 

You checked back on Mando, satisfied that he was okay and then you went off for a shower and to potentially drown yourself. 

-

You returned a short while later, carrying a bowl of warm water, a small towel over your arm and a canteen of water tucked into the crook of your elbow. The dark creature in you was silent, oddly silent and you wondered if it would remain that way. 

Best not dwell on it and encourage it to wake back up. 

You picked your way across the floor around storage boxes and tubs of things to where you’d left Mando.

To find him sitting up, grunting a little at the apparent stiffness in his lips. His head snapped up when he heard you, his body relaxing, “You weren’t there when I woke up, I didn’t know if something had happened to you.” 

You couldn’t help the slight chuckle as you reached his side, sitting down next to him against the crate and setting out all the things you’d brought with you. “Easy… I had to have a shower, I couldn’t even recognise my own face with all the blood and dirt on it.” 

He leant back against the crate behind you, watching you, “I know.. I stirred a couple hours ago and nearly had a heart attack. I thought… You were passed out next to me and I couldn’t reach you to see if you were breathing, I was too stiff. I thought..” He seemed to swallow back his next words, his hands tightening into fists on the blanket now on his lap. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, that raw honesty in his rasp. He’d thought you had died. 

Just like you thought he had. 

A certain atmosphere settled around you, getting tighter and feeling… different. You could feel the heat rolling off of him through your chilled bones, even with the layer of beskar over his body. 

You cleared your throat and held out the canteen. “Here. I bought you some water.”

Mando reached out to take the water from you, gloved fingers brushing yours and you noticed the blood that had soaked into them was dry now. “I never pegged you for the healing type.”

Honey, you have no idea. 

You laughed, shrugging, “You live a life like mine, you end up getting battered more times than you can remember. I’ve had to fix myself up so many times, you were a walk in the park.” You grinned, teasing him but your expression was strained. You could still taste his blood. 

You cleared your throat again and reached beside you for the bowl of water before placing it between you “I found some gloves upstairs when I was looking for a towel… I didn’t know if you’d want to change them.” You bit your lip, eyes flicking over the helmet, that tension still there, lingering. Then you remembered. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” You turned around, facing your back to him to give him privacy. 

There was nothing for a few moments, and then you heard the bowl drag closer to him. There was a soft tug of friction, leather sliding over skin and dropping to the floor. 

Your spine tightened slightly, knowing that his bare skin wasn’t far off. You could never turn around though, you wouldn’t do that to him. It didn’t stop your breathing from turning shallow, and you just prayed he couldn’t hear it. 

Water splashed, and suddenly, an unbidden image burst in your head. Mando’s bare hands, dipping into the warm water, rubbing the washcloth over his palms and knuckles. Beads of water sliding down his fingers and the bare, smooth skin of his wrist. Was his skin tan? Smooth or scarred? You wondered if he had any freckles on his hands. Perhaps not, if they were in gloves all the time. Did he take them off when he was truly aloe? Let the golden light of the sun kiss over his knuckles…

What. 

The fuck. 

Was that.

Your eyes widened as you looked into the corner of the room, heat flushing your neck and chest. Why, in all the stars had that popped into your head? This man had been on death’s door, you had saved him, turned yourself inside out and now you were mooning over the sound of him cleaning his hands? Get a grip, girl.

“Done. You can turn around..” His voice floated over to you, soft and you waited a few moments before you turned back to face him, praying the dimness of the cargo hold was enough to hide your flush. “Thank you.” 

You shook your head, taking the dirty gloves now that the other clean ones were on his hands. “Oh, no, you don’t need to thank me. They were just gloves.” You couldn’t look at him, instead laying the gloves down, resting them both on top of each other so that the fingers and thumbs matched up. 

Mando shook his head, “No… not for the gloves. I mean – yes, for the gloves too but… For saving me. You didn’t need to, but you did. You could have walked right past, but you fought that asshole, you killed him, for me. And then you saved me..” His voice was still rough, and that atmosphere flickered again, encouraging you to raise your eyes to him. 

He titled his head, a hand drifting to his side, “Speaking of which… How?”

You blinked, fought to keep your expression even, “How what?”

Mando’s head remained tilted, “How did you save me? I looked earlier when I woke up but… there was only a scar there. Like it was weeks old, not hours.”

You’d already thought this moment in the refresher, “Oh, that. Uh, I had some bacta-spray left over in my bag. I kept it for emergencies…” You kept your voice casual, pausing now and then as if thinking it over. Expect this part, you didn’t need to feign the quieter tone, “My mother taught me which leaves and flowers could be used for healing, to speed up healing times. My… father worked a rough job and sometimes he would come home with deep cuts and bruises and mumma would always fix them…” You cleared your throat, “I had some left over too.” Your skin felt hot, uncomfortable. You hadn’t intended to share past the point of, “to speed up healing times,” but something about his silence had felt encouraging. 

He was still watching you, and you had no idea if he believed you or not. However, his voice was softer as he simply said, “Thank you. I didn’t deserve it, for what I’ve done. I’m forever.”

“Ooh.. You would have done the same for me, I’m sure...” You laughed a little but it was uneasy, unsure where this was going, that tone in his voice and the intensity of his words. You remained focused on your task of playing with the gloves, that courage that sung through your blood everyday had vanished, leaving you unable to look at him, even if you could feel the visor of the helmet boring into you. 

He leant forward and seconds later, freshly gloved fingers tilted your chin up so you had to look at him, “Exactly. I would have. I did, that’s why he hurt me… so...” He reached behind him, for one of those many pockets and pouches on his body, fumbling for something. 

You frowned, tilting your head, “What are you doing? You’ll pull at your wound-“

Mando pulled something out from his back, holding them out to you and presenting them like a fucking prize. 

Your bounty puck. And the tracking fob. 

What the fuck was he doing?

You jerked back out of his touch, the wolf snarling in you as your eyes flicked up to him, “Seriously? You’re bringing that up? We just went through all of that, and you’re coming back to a fucking bounty puck? I knew I was just a bounty, but you could have waited until you could walk at least.” Your voice was a snarl, but benath that… a hurt. 

He made a soft noise, shaking his head as he once again read what you were thinking, that you had misunderstood. “No, no, I don’t mean that…” He took a breath, and then he gently pulled your hand so it was palm up. And placed the tracking fob and the puck in them. He closed your fingers over them, his voice so soft that the modulator almost didn’t filter it through “Destroy them.”

You jerked in surprise, your breathing catching in shock, anger fizzling out of your body as quick as it had crashed into you, “What? Mando, this… the money it would get you... I can’t.” You tried to push it back to him, to get him to take it. It meant a lot to you, of course it did but he was being ridiculous. “I’m just your bounty.” You hadn’t meant to repeat it, it just slipped out. It wasn’t like it was a lie though. You were. Even though you doubted he had ever had his bounty save his life before. 

You were surprised to hear a soft growl rumble in his throat, “Stop it.” He kept his gloved hand wrapped around yours, heat leeching through the leather and into your skin. “You were, in the beginning. But as soon as I heard that asshole talking like that about you…” He shook his head, swallowing his words yet again though they reminded honest, “You saved my life. That means something to me, especially in my culture. A lot of people would have left me there to die. But you didn’t… And I apologise for everything I’ve done. If you’ll forgive me and let me, I’d like to help you.”

Well. Fuck. That was the last thing you expected. He… wanted to help you? What did that mean? What could he do for you? You bit your lip, toying with the idea, staring down at the devices in your hand. 

You’d been alone for so long. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you could… let him. But the way everyone seemed to die around you… you only had to look at tonight as proof enough. 

He shouldn’t do this, it was a mistake.

You looked up, lips parting to form the words that would push him away, make him realise you were saving him from making a mistake.

Only for him to read you like a damn book again. He plucked the bounty puck and tracking fob from your hand, grasping them in his fist and then with a soft grunt, slammed them into the solid floor beneath you both. They instantly cracked, sputtering a little almost like shock and then completely shattered when he slammed his fist down on them again. 

Mando made sure they were destroyed, then looked back at you and you could have sworn you could almost see the cocky eyebrow raise under the bucket on his head. 

You surveyed him, looked down at the remains on the floor. 

The symbol of hunter and prey destroyed. 

You took in a deep breath, lifting your chin and meeting the beskar gaze of the man ahead of you, your threads of your lives somehow more entwined. “Okay. I accept your apology… and your help.”

Would he be the first person that didn’t succumb to your curse? 

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[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 20: Nattduksbord

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

This means something; Mulder can feel it.

This signifies a shift in their relationship; a step forward, from platonic partners to a romantic couple. It’s a shared experience that has the potential to change their dynamic forever. Years of trust, fighting together against a common enemy, seeking the truth… it could all come crashing down today, in a shopping mall in Woodbridge, Virginia.

They’re going to IKEA.

Summer is on the rise, and the humidity is close to stifling as they buckle into his car. Scully’s wearing a little striped t-shirt, capri pants, and sandals, revealing sky blue painted toes. For a disorienting moment Mulder wonders if he’s going to develop a foot fetish. Probably not, but Dana Scully could make even the most vanilla of men want to do crazy things.

“Do you have your shopping list?” Scully asks as he starts the car.

He pulls the folded scrap of paper out of the chest pocket of his white t-shirt. “Right here,” he replies, eyes darting over to her for one more look as he holds out the list.

She takes it, catching his eyes momentarily. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asks.

I want to suck your toes. “You look nice today, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

Scully can probably tell he’s desperate for her; she can read him like a dog-eared, yellowed paperback. He’s simultaneously grateful for her sharp instincts and embarrassed by his carnal desires. He hasn’t gotten laid in four years, and he fears he’ll be too eager when the time comes. As it is, he can barely believe she’s let him have even the smallest glimpses of her as a sexual being. She’s intoxicating, and he’s dizzy with the knowledge that this beautiful, brilliant, downright edible woman actually wants him. Him, a mortal man of aliens and bad ties and a porn collection that’s gradually becoming least seventy-five percent redheads. A man without a bed.

Hence their Saturday morning pilgrimage to the shrine where all new couples journey to find furnishings, low prices, and themselves.

“So, we’re looking for one tall bookshelf, a locking filing cabinet, a bed, and two night tables,” Scully reads. She refolds the paper and reaches across him to tuck it back into his shirt pocket. “That’s clearly not all going to fit in this car,” she notes.

“I’ll get the bigger stuff delivered,” he says.

It’s only a twenty minute drive from Mulder’s place, and they have the air-conditioning on. Mulder is starting to relax; it’s been a long time since he’s had a partner, in the domestic sense, and he’d forgotten that it makes the mundane more bearable.

Scully clears her throat almost imperceptibly. “I’m proud of you, by the way.”

“Really? Why?” Mulder asks.

“You managed to get rid of a lot of stuff,” she says, turning up the dial on the car’s air conditioner. “And organization is very clearly not your strong suit, so progress should be acknowledged and celebrated.”

“Yippee,” Mulder deadpans.

“You know, it’s odd; we’ve known each other for all these years and I never asked… why don’t you have a bed, Mulder?”

There it is, the question he knew would come up at some point. He clears his throat, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I, uh… I lived with someone, around ‘91. Another agent, actually. We were together for a while, and then one day she took some assignment in Europe and that was that. I got rid of everything that was hers, and that, uh, included the bed.” Technically our bed, he thinks. He winces. He’s never talked to Scully about Diana before, and he wonders if she’ll be upset that he was withholding such a large piece of personal information.

Scully is quiet. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “That’s… I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry I never mentioned it,” Mulder says. “It’s not like it’s some big painful secret. I just… don’t really think about her anymore.”

“It’s alright,” Scully says. “I think it’s best for these kinds of things to come up naturally. And… I was dating someone when we met,” Scully confesses. “We broke up as soon as I got back from Bellefleur.”

Mulder looks at her quickly. “Really? Why?”

She furrows her brow. “Multiple reasons, but primarily I realized that this job, my assignment, was bigger than I’d anticipated. And the things you and I went through together, the things I’d seen… when I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to be tied down to him. To have to go home and have this man ask me how my day was, as though he could ever understand even half of what we do.”

“So you chose the job over him,” Mulder muses.

“In essence… I chose you,” Scully points out. “Whether I knew it then or not. I’d never be able to turn my back on you.”

Mulder exhales slowly. He’s strangely moved.

“Take a left at the next light,” Scully prompts softly. “And yes, I do realize the irony in breaking things off with a man because of his normalcy, only to continue trying to date so-called ‘normal’ men.”

Mulder shrugs. “No, it makes sense. Maybe he just wasn’t right for you, but the next normal guy could be, right?”

“Right,” Scully sighs. “Einstein’s definition of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.”

“I’ve been led to believe that being with me is another type of insanity,” Mulder points out. “And objectively, I can’t disagree.”

“You do make me crazy,” Scully agrees, voice low. “But that’s not always a bad thing.” He feels her small hand squeeze his thigh. “And I fully intend to return the favor.”

Mulder lets out a quiet groan, hands sweaty on the steering wheel. “You planning on giving me some roadside assistance, Agent Scully? Because I’m gonna need it if you keep doing that.”

She removes her hand, tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t do anything,” she says innocently.

“Uh huh.” He pulls into the IKEA parking lot. “Well, we’re here. You ready?”

“As ready as a person can be for a labyrinthian furniture store on a muggy Saturday,” she replies.

-

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Mulder says from his spot on the bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered pieces of a ‘HOLLEBY’ bedside table. “These instructions are useless and-” he flips through the booklet, “-thirty-two pages long, Jesus.”

Scully doesn’t respond; her eyes are glued to her own manual as she assembles a drawer from the second of the two nightstands. “Shh,” she hushes him softly. “I’m concentrating.”

“How have you managed to put any of these pieces together?” he asks, scooting across the floor to her. “There aren’t even words, just vague illustrations.”

She has a screw between her lips as she lines up two of the wood pieces. “I took wood shop in high school,” she says around the metal pin. She removes it and inserts it into a pre-drilled hole. “I guess that was some kind of preparation for assembling flatpack furniture?”

“That’s adorable,” Mulder says, rising to open a window. The room is stuffy with the day’s heat, and his t-shirt is glued to his back. “Do you still have any of the things you made in class?”

“The step stool in my kitchen,” she replies. “And my mom might have some things I’ve forgotten about.”

He casually strips off his sweaty t-shirt and tosses it in the laundry basket. “Remind me to look at that stool the next time we’re at your place,” he says. “Also I’m gonna order a pizza, you interested?”

Scully looks up at him then and is seemingly surprised by the absence of his shirt. “It’s hot in here,” Mulder explains, almost defensive.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Scully says, eyes shamelessly traveling his torso. “And I’m always interested.”

“Are we still talking about pizza here, or…”

“Make my half one with everything, please,” she says, attention returning to her project.

“Wait a minute,” he says, dropping to his knees next to her on the carpet. “I’m not done here.” He leans in and presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin. How she can still smell so good on a sticky June day, he doesn’t know; but he wants to lick her entire body.

“Mulder,” she sighs, putting down her screwdriver, “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the idea,” he says, lips wandering up her neck and behind her ear. He flicks his tongue against her earlobe. “Forget the furniture, honey,” he says, all hot breath and lust. “We don’t need it for what I have in mind.”

Suddenly she’s facing him, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m doing this for you,” she purrs. “Do you think I like putting together IKEA furniture? No one likes it, Mulder. It’s like a multidimensional jigsaw puzzle.”

He pulls her onto his lap. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says, nibbling her ear. “You like being capable Doctor Scully, in charge of things… showing me what those hands can do.”

She leans in, licking his full lower lip. “Not everything is about you, Mulder,” she says, pressing a scorching kiss to his mouth. “I’m just doing my coworker a favor.”

“Is that what they call this nowadays?” he asks, hands clasping her hips as she grinds down on his lap.

She shuts him up with a kiss, the furniture and pizza forgotten.

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes A Taste (2)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded) Summary: it’s your second time meeting Aaron. He’s still flustered and precious but he (might) manage to give you his number. W/C: 2113 Warnings: none yet! A/N: i haven’t got chapter names yet, just accept they’re all called ‘it only takes a taste’ haha. AO3 tags: @willowrose99 @genevievedarcygranger @maryosprinkle @kleff03 (if you want to get added, lmk!!) Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

The next time you meet him, it’s 2am. Rita’s three weeks off her due date. She’s been staying at Joe’s place, with his wife, because the heating’s gone out in her apartment and her super is a foul man. If you were inclined to murder, he’d be first on your list. Right now she’s out the back, trying to wipe chocolate sauce off her uniform. The baby’s been kicking for hours and knocks things around the counter sometimes. At least it isn’t throwing her ribs out this time. 

There’s a couple of teens drinking milkshakes in the window, they’ve snuck out after bedtime and they’re giggling to each other about how bad they are. You’ve seen their parents drive by twice (they’re regulars after school) but no one’s come in yet.

The agent drives by, and then does a u-turn and comes back. It was literally a double take, no matter how you look at it. You clearly saw him slow down and try to look in the window as he tried (desperately tried) to stay on the main road. And then he’d turned around and come back. 

He’s even prettier dry than he was wet. (Your mind spirals to where that could have gone, which is not something you expected from a 2am shift). He’s loosened his tie and his hair is falling free of the gel. He looks less tired, and yet more tired. A different kind of tired. This one would be fixed by a good night’s sleep.

“Hi,” he says with a little quirk in his lip that could be him fighting off a smile.

“Hi,” you return with a full smile. He sits in front of you and steeples his fingers under his chin.

“I’m Aaron.”

A fortnight you’ve been wondering his name and he just swans in and hands it to you on a silver platter. Bless him and his beautiful brown eyes.

“Y/n,” you introduce. “And what can I get for you tonight, Aaron?”

“Maybe not a coffee.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. He has such a cheeky smile you almost want to reach over and wipe it off his lips. “A hot chocolate would do. I’ve got to sleep enough to take my kid to school.”

“Have here?” Your hands hover over the in-cups and the out-cups. He taps his finger against his chin.

“In.” He folds his hands and you notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Kid, no wedding ring, weird hours. Could be a score, could be a serial killer. Could be both! No. Not both. There will be no fraternising with serial killers. Not if you respect your life. 

Would it be weird to ask him where he works? If he works for one of the alphabet soups, will it get you in trouble? Maybe. People don’t like you poking around when sensitive information could be involved. You still ask anyway while the coffee machine has it’s little dummy spit at having to work at two in the morning.

“Quantico,” he says. He probably saw you trying to figure out how to ask. And that’s really all he can say. Maybe. He waggles his eyebrows just a little and you think he’s maybe a little too cheeky for this early in the morning. If Rita was working she’d be swooning all over him. 

“That’s very prestigious, but, sir, I don’t think you have the security clearance to be in this diner if you only work at Quantico. We deal with Area 51.”

“Long commute,” he teases.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what the uneducated think. I can break a few rules as long as you don’t start asking questions. No asking about where they keep the aliens, okay?”

“Never.” He wraps his hands around the mug as you push it to him, absorbing it’s warmth. 

“Did your son like the cookie?” you ask. Is it weird to remember he has a son after one interaction? Or the cookie? But he smiles. It’s okay. 

“He’s actually in love with it. He’s not stopped talking about it. I think my sister-in-law might kill me.”

“Joe’s magic in the kitchen. I’ll save a couple of cookies if you know when you’ll be in next?”

Is that too forward? Maybe. He pulls out a little day book and places it before him.

“Is Thursday too soon?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You make a note to tell Joe you’re working on Thursday. “Sounds like a good day to collect a cookie.”

“If someone could cut this monster out of me, that would be GREAT!” Rita yells in the kitchen. Her voice is still far too loud out here. Aaron finally drops his gaze from yours, grinning into his hot chocolate.

“Shit, babes, I’m serious. I’ll got for a pocket knife at this point. I’m hot, and it’s not hot, I have to piss every four minutes, I can’t even sit in a car properly and taking the MET is stupid because I still have to pee!” She stops up short, seeing Aaron, and blinks as if she could erase her last comment. “Hi, sorry, you’re rain boy.”

“I prefer Raymond.”

There’s a beat where you try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. The cheeky demeanor falls from his face.

“Rain Man! Tom Cruise! Smile." Aaron has no option but to smile at Rita. Too late you realise she's checking the alignment of his teeth to actually equate him to Tom Cruise. "Raymond, for sure. Shit, that’s funny,” Rita laughs, groans, and turns on her heel out the back. She needed to pee again. Aaron smiles just a little.

“Want some pie?” you offer. There’s still a bit left. Joe won’t be in for another hour or so, but there’s some in the oven to take out just before three. Aaron nods.

“Yeah, please.” He puts too much money in the tip jar again. Hands you the exact money for the pie. Had he looked at the menu online? Maybe he had. You take a slice out for him, then a slice for yourself. No harm in that. The whipped cream goes on his like a mountain. You put a bit beside your own pie slice, but Aaron’s grinning. 

He looks like he may do something childish. He doesn't, though, as you join him in pie eating. The teenagers start giggling about something they're watching on their phone. 

Rita comes back looking more tired than usual. Her whole body looks tired as she gets her purse and rubs her belly.

"Say bye to Rita," she says without much playful effort.

"Bye Rita," you return and kiss her cheek as she lifts it to you.

"And to Baby." 

"Bye Baby, be good for Mom." 

Rita snorts. Joe gives you a list of things to do while he's taking Rita home. Apparently Lola's coming in to replace Rita, but that's only going to be proven by Lola actually turning up. Aaron raises his hand around his fork and waves. Rita waves back and waddles out the back.

"Is she okay?" you ask Joe, and he nods. He waves goodbye to Aaron, even though he hasn't introduced himself yet. Aaron waves too. 

"That's a lot to worry about," Aaron says. You shrug and reach over the counter to Aaron's plate, taking some of his cream. He laughs and puts his arm around it to protect it.

"They're family. Less worrying, more caring." 

He nods as if he understands. "Might use that sometime."

"You're welcome to." 

He gives you a smile that only uses half his face. Gosh, he's cute. But it’s nothing more than fleeting night time visits, right? Okay, maybe not, he clearly turned his car around because he saw you working. You catch him staring at your left hand, studying it intently. No one wore rings at the diner, just because everything got stuck underneath them and there was nothing worse than having a maple syrup adorned wedding ring.

“There’s no one,” you tell him, which flusters him entirely. He smiles and looks down at his pie, blush creeping over his face. “Weird hours in a place like this? Hardly a brilliant base to build a relationship on.” 

“Yeah.” He might want to say more, but he’s smiling at you again. “Weird hours, strange place, know that story.”

“Sucks, hey?”

“Oh yeah.” 

The teens from the window go home when they’ve finished their milkshake. You tell them to get home safe and pray their parents don’t come in asking where they went. Aaron scraps his plate, scooping up the cream and pie soupy mess. 

“I have to go,” Aaron sighs. He runs his hand through his hair and his fingers get stuck in the left-over-gelly-mess. You smother a giggle as he rolls his eyes and pulls his hand out with tiny little crack-crack-crack’s. It sounds painful.

“I’m going to shower and get this shit out of my hair.”

“It’ll look nice without it in.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He blushes, returning to the man you’d met coming out of the rain. 

“Well I’ll remember that for next time.” 

Your heart jumps. Next time! There’ll be a next! Time!

“Listen, hey, um,” Aaron says as he stuffs a couple of bills into the tip jar. “Here--” he stops again, then shakes his head like he’s giving himself a vote of confidence. “This is…” he stops again and licks his lips, then pulls out a business card from his suit pocket. He scratches his number onto the blank back, and then Aaron at the top. “My number,” he managed to finish.

“Thanks,” you respond before wanting to smack your head onto the counter. Thanks?!?! There are a hundred better things to say. “W-when do you want me?” When do you want me??? “To be here, on Thursday, for the cookies.”

Aaron’s gone red. Your face is hot. This is a disaster. There’s no fixing this disaster. There’s no fixing it at all. But Aaron smiles all the same.

“U-uh. I’ll text you?” he looks so flustered. 

“You haven’t got my number,” you giggle, because he hasn’t. You’ve got his. He looks like a tomato as he blushes even more. “How about I text you my number, and you tell me when you’re free, and I’ll make sure there’s three cookies set aside for you that no one else buys.”

“Three?”

“You, your son, your sister-in-law.”

“I could really use you at work,” he laughs and… sits back down. Four seconds ago he was in such a rush to leave, and now he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world. He’s so precious, you wish you could just put him in a jar and protect all that goodness from the evils of the world. Surely he couldn’t have met too many of them just yet? He’s still got a smile that could brighten up the night sky, people who’ve seen all the hurt and pain in the world can’t smile like that.

“I don’t think I’m clever enough to get into Quantico. Unless they like people serving them coffees,” you smile gently and he tilts his head while looking at you. A curious puppy. You want to lean over and squish his cheeks for thinking you could be anything more than a server at a roadside diner.

“You’d brighten the place up.”

“You brighten my place up.” Corny, highschool grade flirting. He smiles all the same. Can he smile any more than that? Probably not, he might combust and become a star. “You know you don’t have to keep putting money into the tip jar, right? Not the amount you do. Most people just put in their change.”

He looks at the tip jar. “It’s for Rita’s hospital bills, right? It’s why she won’t look at it, because she’s embarrassed, but also why you and Joe count every bill that goes in it.”

“Alright, Sherlock Holmes.”

“It says on the jar,” he jokes, and points to the permanent marker that’s bled through the otherside of the tip jar. You laugh. Aaron laughs.

“I do have to go.”

“Go,” you laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m off my shift.”

He nods, looking a little sad to go, but also a little excited. He must really love his son.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Y/n.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Aaron,” you return and watch him leave. Shit, he’s even cuter leaving. He even waves from his car before he drives off. You’re close to squealing when the bikie gang pull up, flooding the carpark, then all come in ready for their coffee. At least Aaron’s hot chocolate warmed up the machine for them.

[rosesgonerogue]

Finding You (Again)

Chapter Four

Masterlist

Damian

After the first three days, Damian didn’t go home again. Every time he walked in and she wasn’t there felt like he was being stabbed, so he just stopped going. He still had the security system synced with his phone, and he couldn’t stop himself from checking it immediately whenever it gave any sort of update. 

Instead, Damian sulked around Wayne Manor, doing anything he could contrive to stop thinking about Marinette. He trained a lot - in fact, training took up the bulk of his time, leaving him to systematically rip various training dummies limb from limb. After a week of this, he felt…  feral. His family gave him a healthy amount of space, as evidenced by the fifteen foot radius they were giving him as they watched him dispatch yet another dummy, this time with his katana. 

When the practice dummy had been sufficiently reduced to scraps, he breathed deeply. Irked by the feeling of being scrutinized, he growled, “I can tell you all have something to say. What is it?”

They all traded glances before Babs finally said, “We’re worried about you, Damian.” 

“Shocking,” Damian said, punctuating the work with a sharp kick to the dismembered dummy laying on the ground. 

“Little D, you’re not okay,” Dick said from where he was perched. “You haven’t been this moody and angry since you were a teenager.” 

Before Damian could give an appropriately caustic reply, Jason spoke up. “Come on, Dick, let’s stop pussyfooting around the issue. You screwed up, Demon Spawn, and while you’re throwing a temper tantrum we haven’t heard from Marinette.” 

Hurt and anger flared in Damian’s chest, and the bottled up emotions from every day Marinette didn’t return broke free in the form of a wild punch thrown at his older brother’s face. It was a crazed, desperate punch that Jason caught without difficulty. Using the grip on Damian’s hand, Jason hauled him forward. “Listen here, you little -” 

“Let him go, Master Jason,” Alfred said, inserting himself between the two. “The situation will not be improved with violence, as Master Damian has demonstrated with these dummies.” 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Damian said, sharply pulling his hand away from Jason. “Now you can all kindly stay out of my marriage.” 

“With all due respect, Master Damian, we have been staying out of your marriage, but we have some serious concerns that you will listen to.” 

“I don’t know where Marinette is, so you can all save your breath,” Damian spat.

“We don’t know where she is either,” Babs said seriously. “We didn’t want to overstep our bounds, but Marinette hasn’t picked up her phone since she left, we found it being sold in a back alley.” 

“Her tracking chip isn’t showing up at all, and that sucker was embedded in her arm,” Drake added. “It should be able to track her anywhere in the world, and a little ways beyond it.” 

“Tom and Sabine haven’t seen or heard from her, and neither have her friends,” Bruce said seriously.

“Th-they haven’t?” Damian asked, his anger slowly being replaced by fear.

“She hasn’t finished a single commission,” Babs added. “I had to hack her website to send refunds and explanations to each of her customers.” 

“Ladybug also hasn’t been seen anywhere in the world that we can find. Besides, Marinette has never been the kind to just leave without saying a word to anyone. We don’t want to pry into your marriage, but we love you and we love Marinette. Something is wrong.” 

With every word his family spoke, Damian felt reality crashing down on him. All the worry and loneliness he’d been smothering with anger felt suffocating. He couldn’t hear anything above the sound on his heartbeat drumming in his ears. A million different possibilities swam through his mind - Marinette, cold and alone. Marinette, trapped and desperate. 

Marinette dead.

That image brought everything to a screeching halt. As much as he wanted to give into his emotions, Damian needed to act. Breathing deeply, he attempted to organize his chaotic thoughts.

“Tim, Babs, I need you two to look at all of the security footage of the night she disappeared. When she needs to think, she usually takes Fifth Street home so she has a longer walk. Jason and Stephanie, you two go search possible routes to my house for any kind of evidence. Dick… Dick, will you come look in my house for any evidence?”

He hated the way his voice shook when he said the last part, but his oldest brother simply put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here to help, Little D. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” 

With that, everyone sprang into action, worry etched into their faces. Damian didn’t speak a single word on the way over to his house, despite his brother’s best efforts. A million more possibilities swam through his head, torturing him with all of the possibilities of what might have happened to her. 

His heart twisted in his chest when they got to his house. Again, Damian found that he couldn’t name the emotions racing through him. If he were going to attempt describing what he was feeling while looking at his house, he would liken it to being in a funeral home - it was somewhere designed to be warm and inviting, but it was just cold and oppressively silent. 

The house was still, undisturbed. It smelled slightly musty, but it looked exactly as it had been the last time he’d walked in. 

“She didn’t make it home that night,” Damian said almost immediately. 

“How do you know?”

“The morning of she forgot that fabric - she was going to come home for it during her lunch break, but an emergency repair came in for her and she didn’t have time. She had big plans for that fabric, and she never would have left it unfolded on the floor like that.” 

“She is neurotic about her fabric,” Dick said, nodding sagely. 

Seeing the fabric strewn across the floor bothered Damian more than it probably should have. While his brother started to search the house, Damian couldn’t help but snatch the fabric and carefully fold it. He’d barely placed it on the couch when the door crashed open, a huge form bustling in. 

“Bad news, Damian,” Jason said, thrusting something towards Damian’s face. 

It was so close to his eyes that it took a second to adjust so he could see what it was, but when he did take it in, the blood drained from his face. It was a dart, a dart that he and Jason recognized immediately. 

“Mother.” 

Note:  So it's been a minute, but I only have two weeks left of the semester and then I should have exponentially more time to write. Thank you all for your support and patience, I really appreciate it!

Taglist: 

@tbehartoo @kris-pines04 @thesunanditsangel @constancetruggle @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @rosalineandrosemary @novicevoice @momothefemur  @theymakeupfairies @maskedpainter @mystery-5-5 @dast218 @tip-tap-tired @zerotosiki @rebecarojas07 @bookgirl14 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @lookatthestars1 @swiftie-miraculer13 @qualitypeacepainter @redbullgivescaswings @toodaloo-kangaroo @kking13 @buginetye

[s1st3r]

You Have No Idea (Hunter x Reader)

Warnings: Mention of blood and injuries.

Summary: A part 1? Hunter is smitten... :3

Author’s Note: I actually wrote this before I even knew about the Bad Batch series being released lol. Ok this isn’t fantastic but I wanted to share it with you guys to see what you think and if I should continue the story. It’s kinda slow and anti climactic soz. But I was thinking of making it maybe a multi chapter thing? Let me know what you think.

A loud bang and commotion just outside the Marauder had you and Crosshair racing to the entrance. The hull opened to reveal Hunter covered in mud and grime as well as an equally dirty Wrecker behind him; extended between the two, was a small makeshift stretcher.

Oh no. You stared wide eyed at the groaning Tech that rested atop the scrap canvas material as the two boys settled him gently on the floor. As soon as they were safely nestled in the hull, Hunter collapsed to the floor, resting his back against the nearest wall. His eyes flicked to you in exhaustion and you snapped from your daze.

“Cross, grab me some warm water and a cloth.” On your command, the sniper swiftly turned and made his way to the refresher as you stepped forward and knelt next to Tech.

“Wreck,” you called, as you efficiently assessed the wounded trooper.

“What can I do?” The big man turned to face you as he patiently waited for your instruction.

You marvelled at how much they trusted you now.

“Grab me the med kit from my quarters.” Before you had even finished your request, Wrecker was halfway down the ship, retrieving your pack.

Removing his chest plate and putting pressure on the chest wound that left Tech grappling for conscience, you briefly glanced at Hunter in concern as he stiffly shifted in his place.

A moment passed and both Cross and Wreck had placed your supplies to your side. You immediately got to work on cleaning and bandaging the wound.

Years of medical experience kicked in as you scanned the extent of the injury. Noting it wasn’t as bad as it looked, you made quick work of patching him up.

Wrecker, Crosshair and Hunter had been quiet as you worked. They had quickly learnt, when working with you, that you preferred silence when you were concentrating.

By the time you were done, the water had long since gone cold and was tainted a dark pink.

You sighed as you leant back to sit on your heels.

“He’ll be ok,” you breathed as Tech lay passed out before you. “There was no internal damage,” you report, “but he lost a lot of blood. He’ll need bed rest for the next couple of cycles.”

With a grunt of effort, you pushed yourself up from the ground and wiped a forearm across your forehead.

“Could um,” you sighed and tried again, “could you guys take him to his bunk?” With the adrenaline of the emergency gone, you felt smashed.

If that’s how I feel, these guys must be beat.

Carefully, the boys lifted Tech from the uncomfortable durasteel floor and made their way down the hall with Tech draped between them. As you watched them go, you saw Hunter flinch in your peripherals as he tried and failed to reposition himself.

Now your second patient.

“You’re hurt,” you state, already pulling out the appropriate instruments.

“I figured it could wait a bit,” Hunter mumbled as he let his head tip back to rest against the wall.

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff as you shuffle towards him. You felt the heat of a blush rise to your face as he smirked at you.

Fighting the ever-increasing blush, you set to work and lent forward to disconnect his chest plate. Now, with his top armour promptly removed, and his blacks peeled down to his waist, you chastised yourself as your thoughts wondered, and realigned your focus to the task at hand.

He looked so exhausted and, after running a quick scan, you realised that that might actually be his primary health concern.

You had noted a broken rib, bruises, strained muscles, but it seemed that the general wear and tear of mission after mission had finally caught up to him, causing extreme fatigue.

“Broken rib, couple of bruises and scratches,” you mutter as you move your hand over the expanse of his chest to evaluate. You could feel his gaze steady on you.

Hunter sucked in a sharp breath when you fixed the bone back in place without warning.

“Sorry,” you cringed.

He let out a breathy laugh, “no you’re not.”

“Nah I’m not,” you sarcastically agreed as you collected and reorganised your supplies.

Quickly, you rose to your feet, grabbing the bowl of bloodied water you had used for Tech and moved to replace the dirty water with warm, clean water.

You returned with the bowl and plopped beside the Sargent. Cautiously, you rinsed another clean cloth you had salvaged and proceeded to dab at the small cuts.

His forehead was still covered in dirt and mud, so you moved the cloth to gently wipe his face. At this, Hunter closed his eyes and sighed.

“You should get yourself cleaned up properly in the ‘fresher,” you suggest, scrunching your nose in exaggeration as you reluctantly pull away.

“Yes ma’am,” came the quick quip. You sat back and watched as the Sargent pushed himself to his feet and shuffled his way down to the refresher.

“And don’t forget to rest!” You call. You don’t know why you bother; you know he won’t listen to you even if he heard you.

As you hear his footsteps recede, you quietly sigh. You sit in the main hull alone, cleaning up the remaining mess.

***

Your gentle hand brushed over his chest as you scanned for injury. It’s strange how you knew so much about him. His biology, medical history, when his senses became too much. You could tell something about him was off from the other side of a starship cruiser just by a slight change in posture or tone.

Yet somehow, you had no idea what you could do to him.

Watching you work as you attended Tech’s wounds, he noted how calm and confident you moved. After a while of you joining the Bad Batch on various types of missions, he grew to trust and appreciate your skills as a medic. They all did.

Much like them, you were highly successful in your field. But only because your stubbornness determined that you were going to single handily ensure this war had no casualties. He knew the GAR was the closest thing to family you had in a long time, naturally, you would take any and every death personal.

It was your skill, intelligence, compassion, determination, and stubbornness that were qualities Hunter found increasingly irresistible. So, as he had observed your movements, he took the chance to admire you.

But when you attentively pressed the warm cloth to his forehead, he couldn’t help but sigh as he relaxed into your delicate touch. This was more than admiration for a fellow soldier. And you had no idea.

~ Sister

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

[madhyanas]

there can be no oceans

It's only when the Child needs a bath that Din realises his ship doesn't have one.

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): One mention of ‘spice’ as a drug. Set sometime soon after Chapter 4: Sanctuary. No spoilers for S2.

Notes: i! want! to write! more! character fics! so take this. thank you @pettyprocrastination for taking the time to read this beforehand <3

masterlist

———

The Crest wasn’t built for children.

Her walkways are narrow, interiors unpainted. Any room not taken up by essential utilities has long since been repurposed for weapons and munitions storage. There are no rounded corners, no softened edges; there is no baby-proofing to speak of. A capsule of robust, sturdy durasteel hurtling through the galaxy.

As reliable as she is, especially in the hands of Din’s capable piloting, the bare minimum the Crest offers to any inhabitants at all is an absence of jagged scrap metal jutting out to be slashed on. Which is as close to a miracle as he’s going to get, considering his ship’s survived being taken apart and stitched back together again.

Sometimes the visor’s sight catches on a slivered scar. The junction between the cockpit and ladder, the panel next to the hatch. He’ll look at it for a second, bumpy and gnarled, remembering the Crest’s shell scattered in pieces across desert rock. He’ll remember his ship, peeled to bits without mercy. Then he’ll brush his fingers over the soldered mark, and walk away.

But despite everything, the Crest is comfortable; Din can admit that her resilience, outlasting her age, is something he’s grown attached to. And when it comes to the very, very mundane, the kid seems to have pretty good instincts — doesn’t dangle over heights, doesn’t stick his hands into sockets and plug ports. His ship, in and of itself, doesn’t pose a threat to the little one. So long as he’s not left in the cockpit unsupervised.

It’s a minor weight off his shoulders that the kid’s content to amuse himself with that gear knob, occasionally gurgling commentary to Din — who has found “Is that so, kid?” to suffice as proof that he’s listening — and offering a satisfied, toothy grin. This is typically the point that Din feels his mouth pulling up into a crinkling smile, fond and proud.

It reminds him of something Omera told him in passing. Din hadn’t understood the phrase at the time, hadn’t ever needed to apply it in his day-to-day.

“You’re lucky,” she’d said knowingly. “He’s an easy baby.”

Thinking of mudhorns and mudjumpers and the kid’s inability to follow instructions, Din didn’t think it made much sense. He understands it now.

But, no — the Razor Crest, being a gunship and not a nanny droid, was not constructed for childcare. In all honesty, this hadn’t really occurred to Din beyond the obvious.

Until the kid needed a bath.

A bath that his ship does not have.

Din sighs, standing in the refresher doorway and staring at the slim sonic shower compartment. The Child waddles in curiously behind him, leaning on his boot with both arms hugging the ankle. He coos up at Din questioningly. There’s a slight twitch of his ears before he raises his arms. Two chubby fists clench and unclench repeatedly, a familiar demand.

Din promptly bends down to pick him up, angling him face forwards to stare at the offending compartment together.

“It’s a sonic shower,” Din explains. He frowns, wondering how to go about this. The kid smacks his lips idly. “Don’t think it’s meant for kids, buddy.”

Those wide, dark eyes suddenly turn to him with hope, but Din’s already shaking his head. “No.”

The kid blinks, multiple times. Din could swear the little monster’s batting his eyelashes. “No. You still need a bath, you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

In his arms, the kid deflates with a huff. His ears droop so quickly they bat against Din’s chest and quiet grumbles buzz through the cloth of his shirt.

It makes Din smile, part-amused and part-relieved. He’s never been very good at the whole ‘disciplinarian’ thing, especially not with a kid that can move things with his mind. It’s difficult to tell where to draw the line between kind and disapproving. He’s probably leaning more into the former.

“We’ll just have to… figure something out.”

He glances to the left. The sink is built into the wall, a nondescript metal bowl with a drain and tap. Din avoids looking at the mirror above. After so many years under the helmet, it doesn’t necessarily feel surreal. It’s simply odd to have visual confirmation of what he looks like.

The kid squirms in his arms, and Din blinks, slowly placing him back on the ground. He shuffles out of the ‘fresher quickly to whichever corner he’s chosen to play in today, his stuffy brown robe dragging slightly on the ground. Maybe that needs to be looked at.

Din looks back to the sink, figuring something out.

———

For all intents and purposes, the sonic shower is useful. Or perhaps that isn’t the right word, considering it just does what it’s supposed to.

It’s efficient, then. A way for Din to stay clean without worrying about the ship’s current water capacity. Whether it’s actually pleasant or not is another question, but one that’s never been important enough to be asked.

Now, though, Din thinks he’ll need to find a more permanent solution.

The sink in the ‘fresher has its own water supply, true. But it’s enough for Din to wash his hands and shave every few weeks at most. Since the New Republic started cracking down on smuggling circuits, the price of water transportation fit for hyperspace has spiked. A popular medium for diluted spice, apparently. So he’s careful with how much he uses up, wary of the ever-dwindling pile of credits to his name.

He kneels down next to the sink, craning his head to check behind a panel and exhaling sharply with the protesting ache of his neck. It’s a small slot for a liquid tanker, and Din soon realises it won’t be enough to fill a cup, much less the whole basin.

It won’t work.

———

This brings him to the next idea. Somewhat quickly, because the kid seems to have gotten into his head that no water means no bath. That’s probably bad handling on Din’s part.

There are sealed tanks of water stored in a hull compartment. Bulk-purchased and potable, for prolonged journeys and adverse conditions. Tanks that he’s loath to crack open when there’s water available elsewhere.

He lugs one into the fresher, and when he feels his lower back twinge with the effort, he makes sure to bear the brunt of the weight with his legs. Then his knees begin to strain. He sighs.

He passes by the kid on the way, sitting on the floor and gnawing on his metal ball with intense focus and adoration. He looks up at the sound of Din approaching, tilting his head sweetly at the tall canister.

Din takes it as a question, so he answers. “No idea, kid.”

When he does, finally, manage to shove the tank in the refresher and pour as much of it as he can into the sink’s water supply tube, the Child follows. His head turns from the half-empty tank, to Din, and back to the tank. As the ears swish with every movement, like palm leaves twitching and swaying in the breeze, Din watches the gears turn patiently. It’ll click.

Then the kid thwacks a hand on Din’s thigh, and very insistently garbles something with a firm nod. His approval is understood.

Din smiles. Lets it linger on his face, melt in his chest so warmly he can nearly ignore his aching joints. Gently, he places a hand on the little one’s head, rubbing the spot between his ears and eliciting a fond coo. “Thanks.”

———

That good mood doesn’t last very long when the kid realises, eventually, that bath time has arrived.

———

A tragic wail cuts through the Razor Crest.

From where he’s held over the ‘fresher sink, the kid screeches in Din’s hands, kicking his little legs in the air and keeping a vice grip on Din’s sleeves. Even the ears — those huge, petal bat-ears — are wiggling up and down in his efforts to escape.

“Hey,” Din says. He tries for stern, but it comes out mostly tired. “Hey. Stop that.”

The kid is either ignoring him, or just can’t hear it over the racket he’s making. He scrunches his eyes closed with newfound vigour and shrieks so loud it rings in Din’s ears. He winces.

The Crest’s refresher is built into a cramped corner of the hull. Fitted with a sonic shower, privy, sink and mirror, Din’s fairly certain there are graves dug bigger than this.

It’s never mattered before, since Din spends so little of his time in here anyway, but now he’s stuck in a broom closet — a metal one, with solid, echoing walls — with a screaming child.

Din sighs, with feeling. His headache, which hasn’t let up since the jump into hyperspace, throbs heavily behind his eyes and between his ears. For a second, he toys with the idea of turning off the helmet’s auditory sensors.

The kid had more or less been fine at first. From filling the sink to fetching the soap — a standard, unscented brand that Din only really stores for handwashing — to barely managing to tug his robe over those oversized ears. The kid had insisted on doing that last one himself, until he’d stumbled with the shift in centre of gravity and bowled himself over.

He’d been fine, until his stubby, clawed toes first dipped in the water.

It’s remarkable, Din realises as he looks down at the distraught child dangling from his hands. The kid hasn’t really cried for… for anything till now. At the most, Din just gets a dry, unamused look whenever he hasn’t followed the little overlord’s express wishes. Like eating wild frogs off the ground. Womp rat.

Hearing the repercussions now, it might not have been remarkable so much as just lucky. How does one so small have lungs so strong?

“All right,” Din calls. Trying to be gentle yet also heard over the noise at the same time is a challenge, so it comes out somewhat choked.

At his voice, the kid takes a breather. Literally, his round body heaves in Din’s hands, gasping for breath after his tantrum. Din eyes the tear tracks streaming from his wide, dark eyes, and his sniffling little nose. He can feel the kid’s ribcage pushing in and out rapidly beneath his fingers, stretchy like a balloon fitting in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t forgotten how tiny the kid is but — a lump settles in his throat at the reminder.

He feels his face fall. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, unsure of what he’s pleading for but feeling as if he’s wronged the Child anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would upset you so much.”

Whether it’s his tone or the words themselves, something brings the kid to peace. Though still hiccuping, his breathing evens out.

“That’s it,” Din encourages. “Deep breaths.”

He inhales, lifting his head and shoulders slightly with the movement to demonstrate, before lowering on the exhale.

The Child watches him for a moment, blinking wetly, before doing the same. His ears perk up and down with every breath. “That’s it,” Din repeats.

When he’s reasonably sure the Child won’t start bawling again, Din takes a second to rearrange the kid into sitting balanced on his forearm, facing him towards the mirror. With the other hand rubbing circles into the kid’s back, he addresses the reflection.

“Listen,” he starts seriously. The kid looks up, watching the helmet in the mirror’s shiny surface. “I get that you don’t like it. And I’m sorry I upset you. But you need a bath, so we have to figure something out.”

Din swallows, wondering how they’re going to do just that. The kid, in the meantime, clutches the shirt of Din’s sleeve in two grubby claws and starts chewing, not taking his eyes off the helmet for a second.

Just as he’s about to ask the kid to stop, or at least lay off a little so the fabric doesn’t tear, he gets an idea.

———

In the recent past, Din can’t really remember when things last went his way. So he’s almost confused when the third time really is the charm.

“That’s all it took, huh?”

The kid happily ignores him, watching the gear knob through the shallow, mildly-soaped water with fascination. He stares straight down, his ears sticking up like fresh reeds from a pond, enamoured with the sight of his favourite thing underwater. The concentration he uses to roll it around with both hands softens the corners of Din’s mouth.

You’d never guess the little womp rat was raising hell just minutes before.

Fetching the gear knob from outside was a last resort. He’d been grasping at straws, willing to take anything that would calm the kid down.

And it worked. Leading Din to scrub the bar of soap between his hands, trailing suds through the clouding water.

The temperature suits the kid just fine, apparently. With no way to heat the basin, Din had just… waited for it to get more or less lukewarm. Not ideal, not by a long shot. He’d clenched his jaw, uncomfortable and awkward in the face of yet another reminder that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Standing around doing nothing didn’t sit well with him. At one point he half-seriously considered getting the flamethrower out to speed things along.

But the Child, naturally, didn’t seem to mind. He now slaps his hands into his bird-bath pool with delight, relishing in the waves he can create. The pale, fuzzy hairs on that wrinkly head don’t so much as twitch, and Din has to wonder if the kid’s leathery skin has something to do with that tolerance.

A bubble wobbles into the air, fragile and translucent. A dark, watery gaze snaps to it immediately — the kind of precision only reserved for mudjumpers. The kid stills, and the gear knob is momentarily forgotten in favour of biting through the air to catch the floating parlour trick between sharp, pointy teeth.

Pop. Smack on the kid’s mouth. A light burst of soap residue sprays on the kid’s face, and the squeak of a sneeze he lets out pushes him an inch backwards in the basin.

Din can’t imagine how a thing could be that tiny.

“Nice job,” he offers quietly, because a successful hunt is something to be praised. He gives the kid’s face a once-over — with eyes so big, it’s impressive that the soap missed them entirely. The kid whines disagreeably; he evidently doesn’t care much for the flavour. His button nose wrinkles, and he bounces again with a cough.

Din chuckles. The sound rings in time with water sloshing over the lip of the sink.

“Maybe save the hunting for outside,” he advises, patting the kid on the back. The Child looks up at him mournfully, as if to agree, before returning to the gear knob resting by his foot. A new game is begun; shoving the metal ball so that it rolls halfway up the sink’s bowl before returning straight back, like magic. Every metallic scrape brings a new ripple of laughter.

He should be more mindful of how there’s more water on the floor than in the basin, now. But there are always more tanks in the brig.

In a series of excited, comprehensive babbles, the kid begins explaining the rules of his new game to Din, who listens closely. He interjects here and there to show the kid as much, but is otherwise just a spectator to the kid’s lecture.

Then for a moment, without thought, he looks up. Straight ahead, into the mirror. And he almost can’t recognise the sight.

It’s his helmet, obviously. Comforting; beskar gleaming as much as the day it was first given to him. Unchanged. Same height, same clothes.

But his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, baring inches of skin and several wiry scars. The front of his dark, woven shirt is darker still with the water lapping over the sink’s edge, a sodden patch forming over his abdomen. He feels some of it drip onto his boots and the floor. His hands are covered in suds, tenderly but thoroughly scrubbing the edge of one floppy green ear.

The kid, sitting satisfied and unaware with his cherished toy, makes the image look complete.

Din looks at the man in the mirror, giving his son a bath in the sink. He thinks that his image probably needed a reset anyway.

Then, with something caring and delicate fluttering in his chest, he moves on to the baby’s claws. He makes sure to scrub between the fingers.

———

[lillupon]

AEV Chapter 21 Bonus: Canon-divergent AU

If you’ve been following me for a while, you may have seen me blabbing about Wonwoo getting pregnant in this fic! I actually debated for a long time on whether or not male omegas could conceive. If male omegas could not get pregnant, it could be another reason why they occupy the lowest rung in the societal hierarchy. Anyway, I scrapped that idea because there’s something very thrilling about Mingyu knocking Wonwoo up—in particular, while he is still Wonwoo’s student.

But then I thought: Maybe alphas are more virile and omegas are more fertile during their cycles. They didn’t use protection while Mingyu was in rut. So, despite Wonwoo being on the pill, he gets pregnant. He doesn’t find out that he’s pregnant until he and Mingyu have already broken up. He keeps the child. Names her Jeongyeon.

I imagine Mingyu and Wonwoo reconnecting in the same way they did in chapter 20. Wonwoo reluctantly cuts their first meeting short, but this time, not with the excuse of being hungry and having to do more work later:

Wonwoo slips off the table and stretches his arms over head. The vertebrae between his shoulder blades pop satisfyingly. “I’m sorry, Mingyu. I’d love to chat more, but I have to run.”

Mingyu also slides off the desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this long.”

You can keep me for as long as you like. Wonwoo doesn’t voice the thought out loud, but it embarrasses him just to think it. Things have changed. Now, Wonwoo is just one face in a sea of thousands, just one person out of many who loves Mingyu. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed catching up with you and hearing about what you’ve been up to.”

Mingyu smiles at him. “You don’t have to spare my feelings.”

Wonwoo laughs softly. “I’m serious! I would have liked to talk more, but I, ah—I need to go pick my daughter up from daycare.”

The smile freezes on Mingyu’s lips. His throat bobs as he swallows. It’s a beat before he recovers. “I’m sorry for keeping you from your family. I didn’t realise you had a kid and a mate now.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “It’s just my daughter and me.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says. “Your mate…”

“Not in the picture anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says. Stiff. Awkward. Cautiously curious, he asks, “Did they uh… You know… Kick the bucket?”

Wonwoo’s laugh is genuine. Kicking balls rather than buckets, he wants to say. “No, they’re alive and well. We just went our separate ways.”

* 

Mingyu’s heart falls out the bottom of his stomach when Wonwoo says that he needs to go pick his daughter up from daycare. They had spent the last two hours chatting and laughing. Mingyu had found himself falling all over again. Charmed by this beautiful man with his beautiful smile. 

Of course someone else had been captivated too. He had steeled himself for this before he walked through the doors of Carat Elementary, that Wonwoo might belong to another person now. The mental preparation does nothing to ease his disappointment. 

His heart is saved from its death throes by the words It’s just my daughter and me. It valiantly climbs up to his chest again. It still hurts, but with a different sort of wound. Wonwoo had loved someone enough to have a child with them, but they had walked out.

How could anyone do that to Wonwoo?

Mingyu feels like a gormless and clingy puppy. He trails after Wonwoo as the omega goes to his desk to pack up his belongings. Falls into step beside Wonwoo as they exit through the school doors and head to the parking lot.

Mingyu waits until Wonwoo’s car has pulled out of the parking lot before leaving himself. 

Chaeyoung returns home for reading break. The Kim family all take a trip down to the hot springs for a week. Mingyu had been looking forward to spending time with his family for months, but now that he is actually here, all he wants to do is return to the city. See Wonwoo again. 

As soon as Mingyu is back in the city, he visits Wonwoo again. A lot of people won’t date single parents, but Wonwoo having a kid changes nothing for him. The years they spent apart have not diminished his feelings for Wonwoo. Mingyu still pines, still wants to provide—not just for Wonwoo, but Jeongyeon as well. He just has to figure out whether or not Wonwoo is interested in dating someone. More specifically: whether or not Wonwoo might be interested in dating him.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo is struggling to figure out how to break the news to Mingyu. He wonders if he should bring it up at all. It’s a huge secret—perhaps even more so than the clandestine affair between student and teacher. It’s a secret that can destroy the budding friendship that is starting to bloom between him and Mingyu. Mingyu will feel betrayed, lied to, Wonwoo knows. He doesn’t know if he can withstand losing Mingyu a second time.

It weighs on him, every time they meet. Almost to the point where he feels sick when he sees Mingyu smiling at him, sweet and tender. To make matters worse, Jeongyeon, normally a shy and quiet child, has imprinted on Mingyu like a duckling. It’s as if she knows Mingyu is her father. It hurts Wonwoo’s heart, to look at the two of them playing: Mingyu sitting hunched in a too-small plastic chair, daintily holding a tiny teacup between his forefinger and thumb; Jeongyeon pouring Mingyu tea, sharing with him plastic pastries. This could be his, for real, but he’s so scared. 

They’re both falling deeper and deeper for each other, and they both know it. But as quickly as they had crossed the line years ago, they’re more hesitant now. 

It comes to a breaking point when Mingyu invites him for a day out. An afternoon at the art gallery, where the current exhibition features one of Wonwoo’s favourite artists, followed by dinner at a restaurant along the waterfront. This is different from all the other times they’ve spent in each other’s presence. Wonwoo knows this because he had caught a whiff of the nervousness in Mingyu’s scent before it was swiftly buried, and because Mingyu had said, “I was thinking, it might be just you and me.”

So Wonwoo drops Jeongyeon off at Dahyun’s house that day. He showers and spends an hour rifling through his closet before deciding on a simple turtleneck and dark jeans. He works some product into his hair and spritzes on a bit of cologne. He feels embarrassed for trying so hard, until he opens the door to greet Mingyu and is instead made speechless. He is floored by how gorgeous Mingyu looks. A sweater with a deep v-neck, the colour of red wine. Tucked into thigh-hugging navy trousers that make his legs look a mile long.

Now Wonwoo fears he hasn’t tried hard enough. Except Mingyu quells that worry with an awed, “Wow. You look great.”

If Wonwoo had any doubts that their outing was a date, those thoughts are dispelled in the first two minutes: Mingyu opens the passenger door for him. Wonwoo ducks into the car, wanting to tease Mingyu about it, regain some sense of normalcy. Except the old-fashioned gesture has him giddy and tongue-tied like a young omega being taken out on their first date. 

Fast-forward to the tail-end of their date. By the waterfront. Night has fallen. They had had a late dinner in a floating restaurant. They exit the boat, arms brushing. They stroll up the dock, making their way to the main wharf. Beneath Wonwoo’s feet, the wooden planks sway as a gentle tide ebbs and flows. He had two glasses of red wine with his salmon. Not quite enough to get tipsy, but he finds himself listing towards Mingyu, as if he is drunk. He flounders over his own feet, bumps into Mingyu’s side.

Mingyu reaches out to steady him with a hand on his low back. “Careful,” he says. Keeps his hand there.

All this reciprocated flirting and touching. Wonwoo feels like he’s been turned inside-out, his most vulnerable feelings on bright neon display for Mingyu’s eyes.

Victorian street lamps line either side of the wharf, glowing a warm orange that penetrates through the dark. Mingyu steps up to the railing and leans his weight against it. Wonwoo joins him. Together, they gaze out at the dark waters.

“I’m mad,” Mingyu says, except he sounds anything but. His voice sounds like it has been pulled taut, turned rough and brittle.

Wonwoo turns to Mingyu. Mingyu’s profile is thrown in shadow, and yet it still makes Wonwoo ache. He’s so handsome. “What’s wrong? Why are you mad?”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. 

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo tries again.

Quietly, Mingyu says, “If it had been me, I never would have left you and Jeongyeon.”

Ahh, I’m really captivated by this AU of AEV, but I feel like it would need another 30k-40k words to do it justice. I literally came up with this entire scenario so I could have Mingyu say that cheesy-ass line, hah!

CLICK HERE TO READ THE CONTINUATION BY AN ANON 

[blu-joons]

Telling Him Your Pregnant ~ Kim Heechul

Your stomach dropped as you heard Heechul’s voice call throughout the apartment. You raced across to the kitchen counter to move the test you’d left out, not expecting him to be home for another hour. Your hands just rested over it as he walked into view.

“Hi,” you smiled, slipping the test into the pocket of your jeans before Heechul could see what was going on. “You’re home early, how was everything?”

Straight away, Heechul got the feeling that something was going on. He knew you well enough to know when you were acting strange, which you definitely were. He took off his shoes and hung up his jacket before walking into the kitchen to join you, wrapping his arms around you.

“We just managed to get everything filmed quickly,” he informed you, feeling your hand wrap around his wrist to move his arms a little bit, creating a small distance between him and your pocket. “What about you, anything fun happened whilst I’ve been gone?”

“No, why would it?” You questioned, rolling your eyes as even you began to realise how flustered you were becoming. “I just meant that nothing fun happens here without you, it’s always boring being home alone by myself.”

“Gibok’s here,” he reminded you, “I’m sure the two of you have plenty of fun whilst I’m at work.”

You chuckled lightly as Heechul unwrapped his arms from around you to take off the school jacket he still wore from the Knowing Bros set. Whilst he did so, you moved across to your handbag, carefully slipping the test in, removing it from your pocket.

“What do you plan on getting up to tonight?” Heechul asked, sitting himself down on the sofa. “There’s a gaming tournament I was going to join, but if you want to do something, we can.”

“You play, I might just have a bit of an early night tonight.”

His head nodded, studying you closely as the feeling still lingered that something wasn’t right. Heechul stood up from the sofa, snaking his arms around your waist, sighing as you flinched at the sudden touch of his hands on your stomach.

“Am I that cold?” He chuckled, turning you around so he could look at your eyes. “I know it’s winter, but my hands aren’t that cold.”

Your head shook, turning away from his glance as you puffed out your cheeks. The feeling of uncertainty continued to eat away at Heechul as he watched every little thing you did, you could usually stare into his eyes with ease, but now you couldn’t so much as glance in his direction.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” you lied, “I thought you were still on the sofa, I wasn’t expecting it to be you around me,” you tried to convince him, but his head only shook. You knew he was onto you, just by the way he held onto you tightly.

He let go of a sigh, squeezing you gently. “You’re being jumpy and strange, if something has happened, I’d rather you just told me about it rather than letting me worry about you like this.”

“Nothing is going on,” you whispered, trying to move away from him, but Heechul kept you firmly in position.

His head shook yet again, “I’m not letting you go until you start being honest with me. I’ve got nowhere to go if you want to play this game all night long.”

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, feeling his arms loosen from around you. “That’s why I’m being jumpy and nervous, because I’m pregnant Heechul, I’ve taken several tests this afternoon.”

His head nodded, brushing a hand through his hair as he processed exactly what you’d told him. “Why would you be nervous to tell me that your pregnant, that’s amazing news. Do you not want to be pregnant or something?”

“I do,” you sighed, taking a step away from him, “but you’re so busy, I didn’t know how you’d feel about it or if you’d even have the time for a baby.”

“I always said to you that if we had a baby I’d be thrilled. And as for work, we can figure something out, even if I have to take a bit of time off.”

His hands reached out to pull you closer again, resting the palms of his hands against your stomach. Even though there was no sign of a baby just yet, knowing that his child was beginning to grow just there brought the biggest smile to Heechul’s face.

“I’m ecstatic that you’re pregnant, and I appreciate that it’s probably a little scary for you right now, but I’m going to be here for you. I love kids, and I want to settle down with you, there’s no need for either of us to worry about any of this.”

“I just didn’t see it coming, I felt a bit sick, but I thought it was just a bug or something.”

Heechul smiled, resting his lips against your forehead. “I have to admit, it’s a bit of a surprise for me too, but definitely a happy one. There’s so much we have to plan for now, so much for us to look forward to over the next few months.”

The last thing you expected to happen with your day was finding out you were pregnant, but it was definitely a welcome surprise. Heechul had always spoken about a family, but you always worried if he felt obliged to say it, or if he really meant it.

“When do we have to start thinking about scans? And telling everyone too?”

“I’m not sure, I only found out today too.”

“I’ll scrap the tournament tonight and we can do plenty of research, I’m sure I’ve got a notebook lying around somewhere to use.”

“Go to your tournament Heechul,” you assured him, “heck, when the baby comes, you’ll hardly have time to participate in many gaming tournaments anymore.”

His eyes widened at your words, earning himself a nudge as let go of a loud gasp of disapproval at such a thing happening.

“There’s no way I’m doing this by myself whilst you play games,” you laughed.

Heechul’s head shook, as much as he loved his games, becoming a father was easily going to be his biggest priority from now on.

“We’ll be a team through everything, from this very moment, you’ll do nothing alone,” he smiled. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there with you, nothing else comes first. Work, family, Super Junior, you’re always going to be my number one priority.”

“What do you think everyone will say when they find out? Our baby could be the first member of the next Super Junior.”

His lips pressed to the tip of your nose, “we always said we wanted to create a second band, maybe this baby will be the first official member, our child would get to be the leader too.”

“Let’s just hope he leads like Teuk rather than you, otherwise this band will never work out like Super Junior has.”

His arms tightened around you as finally you began to relax. Heechul understood better than anyone how nervous you were, he might pretend often to have a cool exterior, but on the inside, his heart was so happy that the two of you were starting your own family. Without saying anything to you, he knew it was something he desperately wanted.

“I’m so excited for our next chapter, and most of all, I’m excited to become a dad.”

“Our child will be so lucky to be able to call you dad.”

“He’ll be even luckier to call you mum.”

---

Masterlist