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saintescuderia · 9 months ago

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ANTINAL // CS55

(a pancakes oneshot!)

AKA - carlos tries the local food in jeddah without you - and suffers as a result

series masterlist here :)

the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: this was written as a coping mechanism for the fact that carlos is sick and might not make jeddah

“Please tell me what you were thinking.”

You walked into the room to see the Spanish driver sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes from the nap you had just woken up him from. Good. You had seen his Instagram story and the bragging of the 50km bike ride around Jeddah. With the Ferrari contract coming to an end, Onoro was working overtime. Carlos’ schedule was now jam packed with all these PR moments, both official in having meetings and dinners, and unofficial and his Instagram was now becoming his CV.

Case in point, let me show off my athleticism.

“I wanted to go for a bike ride.” Carlos said simply. His ran a hand through his bed hair, wild from his nap, and then his eye adjusted to you. “Don’t dump your bag there.”

“Then don’t keep your shoes here.” You retorted as, of course, his shoes were right by the door. You two had often argued about it, him haphazardly taking them off as he walked into the hotel and you tripping over them and then nagging him about it as you kicked them to the side. As now, you nagged at him and kicked the white sneakers out of your path.

However, in doing so, you stopped and bent down to pick up the shoes. You looked at him and then back at the shoe with the Nike swish. A surprised smile found its way on your face, distracting you from the issue at hand.

“You went out in dunks?”

“You bought them for me to wear.” He said as if it were obvious. “Girlfriend affect.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute that was. For a second, the whole thing disarmed you and made your forget why you had rushed to the hotel room in a huff.

Then Carlos reached for some pills on his bedside table and it all came rushing back.

It wasn’t like you disagreed with all the extra stuff Onoro had his cousin do. Carlos needed to start working now if he wanted to find another seat for next year. You all agreed to it. What you didn’t agree to was Carlos taking stupid risks with his training and doing stuff like a 50km bike ride in Saudi Arabian weather without you. The heat stroke alone was enough to knock him out and prevent him from actually racing that weekend.

Case in point, right now.

“Alright kids I gotta get to work, if I don’t input those numbers… doesn’t make much of difference.”

You snorted, immediately tuning into the iconic voice of one Chandler Bing. You look to where the TV was playing one of the earlier season of FRIENDS, the cast looking especially younger. You looked back at Carlos and frowned, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What? You always say I should watch it.” He said.

It wasn’t that Carlos was watching FRIENDS. It was the fact that he was in bed watching FRIENDS. If there ever was someone more pedantic about sleep hygiene, it was him. If he had just woken up from a nap, it wasn’t planned. Suddenly, your worry about his wellbeing overtook your anger.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you came to sit on the edge of the bed he was still reclined in. You brought a hand to his forehead and noted his temperature. Nothing alarming. Though, he was shirtless and the AC was on. You also noted the green gel of aloe vera he had likely stolen from your own suitcase. At least he was taking care of himself.

“Better now that you’re here.” He said and reached up to bring the hand that was feeling his forehead to bring it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to your fingers. You rolled your eyes but still couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re not going to get out of this.”

“Out of what?”

“Carlos, I saw your story.” You said.

“One second mi amor.” Carlos flipped the bed sheets back and then climbed out of bed. He rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. You stared at him confusedly as suddenly there was music playing from inside the bathroom. You were really at a loss with this one. Especially since you recognised the song and wondered since when your boyfriend willingly listened to Metro Boomin?

Carlos was particular about his bathroom time and if he was playing music, you could only assume he wasn’t in there just to take a piss. Evidently he was going to be in there for a while and that meant you would have to occupy yourself until then.

There was a coffee machine at the small kitchenette that was calling your name. You had woken up earlier than usual to help Oscar through some drills before the race weekend and the need for caffeine was all too real. As you popped the pod into the Nespresso machine, you realised the spread of half-eaten food Carlos had likely ordered - and dumped into the kitchen sink.

You knew his diet well since you had been the one to essentially create it. It had been a painstaking process to carefully craft a regime that allowed Carlos to hit his protein goals - and indulge in his love for food. Because man, did Carlos love food. He had pretty much wept at the sight of you poached chicken breast all those many months ago. Since the relationship between the two of you had shifted on from the strictly business of a trainer-driver relationship to becoming a fully fledged romantic couple, Carlos had taken you out to countless restaurants. He had a list in his Notes app of all his favourite restaurants, bars and cafes all around the world and had decided to take you to every one come a Grand Prix weekend.

You thought it was stupid since he needed to work but one could never be mad at those eyes. It was how he managed to get you to let him eat all that he did.

So to see that Carlos Sainz, the Spanish foodie Carlos Sainz, had ordered a lunch of plain fruits and plain toast— you were immediately confused. Suspicious even. Carlos eating plain toast was… unfathomable.

You made your coffee and opted to just wait until Carlos could explain his choice of breakfast. The way you saw it was that he was restricting himself with such low calorie foods in the hope of shedding weight and hopefully then bettering his race.

The coffee had finished pouring and you huffed as you picked up the cup and went to sit on the bed.

“I can’t stop smiling.”

“I can see that. It’s like you slept with a hanger in your mouth.”

Sitting on the bed, you blew on your coffee and tried to focus on Rachel and Monica on the TV - and not how Carlos was currently his own worse enemy. It was no use to tell him off now. Reyes had told you how the Junior was like the Senior in the toilet being a sacred space. You don’t bother Carlos on the toilet.

You had done that once and it was the only time Carlos had ever snapped at you.

Something buzzed in your pocket. It was likely Oscar asking about lunch and so you went to set the coffee on the bedside table to free up your hands and respond - when you saw it.

You recognised the Ferrari water bottle with the personalised 55 decoration.

You also recognised the Antinal box of pills that were half opened beside it.

Oh.

Suddenly all the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The plain foods, the lack of forewarning as he jumped to the toilet, the impromptu nap. Carlos wasn’t unfit for Jeddah because he was overworking himself, Carlos was unfit for Jeddah because he had diarrhoea.

Looking down at the familiar bottle of pills, your only question now was how in the fuck Carlos knew to take it. Sure, Antinal would’ve been your go to if you were hit with gastro or food poisoning or whatever it was that was now plaguing your boyfriend. Your auntie used to have a hoarded stock of the medication in her cupboard above the microwave. You swore that the stuff was magic. It was better than any of the medication you had found in the US or UK. Though, how Carlos had managed to get hold of Egyptian diarrhoea medication was beyond you.

You looked back at the white dunks by the door and remembered how while you had been training with your brother, your boyfriend had been doing some PR for Saudi Arabia and touring the local streets.

The door finally opened and out came Carlos, patting his stomach. You said nothing as he came to sit on the bed beside you, not questioning how you took his side. He wordlessly climbed back under the covers and you felt all the anger, all the worry wash out of you. All you felt now was genuine fondness for the sick boy beside you.

“You tried the local food without me.”

It was a statement but Carlos still curled up beside you and mumbled an affirmative “Yes.” to your side. Your arm came up to wrap around him and start playing with his hair.

“How the fuck did you find Antinal?”

“I asked Oscar.”

“Oh, habibi.” You couldn’t help but croon as you had to imagine Carlos going to your brother, someone he admittedly didn’t get along with all too well and asking for help because he had stomach problems. Still, you knew Oscar wouldn’t have said anything or made jokes. No matter his feelings towards Carlos, Oscar wasn't like that. Besides, you had taught the young driver enough.

For example, to always have gastro medication. No matter what.

Carlos didn’t saying anything and you didn’t feel the need to add anything. Instead, you slowly got up from sitting on top of the covers and came to slide yourself underneath them. You brought your arm back around Carlos and resumed your comforting massage as he rested beside you, eyes closed. You, however, were sipping on your coffee, half your attention on the 90s sitcom currently playing - “I can’t believe you didn’t know it was a line!” - and the blue and grey text bubbles between you and the driver you considered your little brother.

Oscar was now asking if dinner was an option since lunch was evidently now forgone that Carlos was asleep next to you.

“I’m sorry.”

Or so you thought was asleep. You blinked, looking down at the boyfriend you thought had drifted off again.

“For what?” You said, dropping your phone and sliding down to bring your face to his. You lightly traced his face and saw the way his frown between his brows eased, his lips lifted slightly.

“Ricciardo made a joke about my contract in front of Lewis. It’s why I went out for that bike ride and posted about it.” He admitted. You bit back any of the words that immediately came to mind and how you wanted to rip into the stupidity of letting someone like Daniel Ricciardo getting to him. Sure, there was some clear bad blood but you really had hoped Carlos wouldn’t have let it get to him. Danny was just a scorned ex after all.

“If anything, I should be mad that you went to explore restaurants without me." You said lightly. "What happened to us having one couple date a weekend?”

Carlos’ eyes blinked open at that as his smile grew. You felt warmth inside you bloom seeing that beautiful, beautiful smile of his. Your phone buzzed again and you turned over to pick it up and read the message from Oscar. You snorted.

“What?” Carlos asked.

“Oscar says he hopes you feel better.”

“That’s nice of him.” Carlos said, sitting up slightly to reach over you and go for his water bottle. This made you sit up also and now you both had your backs to the headboard, sitting up in the bed.

“I think he just wants you to race so he can get payback for Spa last year.” You said. Oscar’s next text thread confirmed this and you chuckled and went to pick up your coffee to take a sip. Carlos shook his head and went back to lay his head on the pillow.

“When does this kick in?”

“The antinal?” You asked, grinning as you still couldn’t believe Carlos Sainz was using your Middle Eastern auntie’s magical cure for anything stomach related. “Maybe an hour after taking it, depending on how bad it is.” Carlos frowned and closed his eyes, shifting a lot as he tried to get comfortable back in the bed. Your grin fell slightly and you brought your hand back to his hair.

“Sleep it off, habibi.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Watch FRIENDS.” You said with a shrug.

“I was supposed to watch it.”

“Not my fault.” You sassed back. “I’ll rewatch it with you again later. You just work on fixing your stomach and I’ll read through race strategies and debrief you later in case you can race.” You paused and took a sip of your coffee. “I also need to convince Lando to come to dinner.”

“Why?”

“Since you and I haven’t had dinner and I was supposed to be with Oscar for lunch but I’m here with you.” You explained. "He's wanting dinner plans."

“He saw you all of yesterday and this morning.”

Carlos' complaints made you smile. “We’ll go out us four. You two can bond again.”

He only huffed. “When have we ever bonded?”

“When you got over yourself and asked him for antinal because you wouldn’t stop shitting?”

Carlos’ response was to reach his hand up and flick you on the nose.

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gilbirda · 6 months ago

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Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 26

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

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The rest of the visit at the Wayne Manor was more relaxed, or at least Jason thought so. He wouldn’t forget Jazz’s tense shoulders while they listened to Danny’s explanation of Jazz’s actual role in the Infinite Realms.

Was she tense because she hated being an executioner? Because she found that dreadful?

He wasn’t sure, and the doubt was capable of consuming him — did she really understand him, what he tried to do for Gotham, or was she projecting her own insecurities in him and wanted him to “reform” like she seemed to be doing with herself? Because it didn’t escape him how she went from such a violence-heavy role to completely focusing on reforming Gotham rogues.

If all Jazz could see in him was a pet project to “fix” in any way, he knew it would completely crush him. After all they’ve been through, there was still doubt that any of this was real. That what they had was real.

No. He had to try. To believe.

He still felt shaken after the rapidfire revelations one after the other — Jazz was the Crown Princess of another dimension, the Spirit of Gotham was Bruce’s mom, Jazz’s actual job was scarily close to his, and the personification of fear wanted to marry his girlfriend. He knew he would be thinking about all of this, and come back to every little detail, that night while he was supposed to sleep.

He just knew.

Especially because when he closed his eyes, he could see Danny’s haunted eyes when he pulled him aside to talk.

He expected a shovel talk, he expected vague threats from a caring brother, or maybe a rundown of what it means to consort a Princess.

He didn’t expect what actually happened.

“My sister… Please keep an eye on her. I wasn’t kidding when I said she takes the bad stuff and deals with it on her own,” he smirked, acknowledging that he knew the couple had been eavesdropping, “but what I didn’t say is how she disregards her own wellbeing.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Jazz self-destructs, she… It’s almost as if she punishes herself for wanting more. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into it; but she is always so quick to accept the worst and plans for it without thinking that things could just… Work out. It doesn’t help that things have been hard for us for so long – self fulfilled prophecy?” He chuckled. “I’m more aware of things than she gives me credit for.”

Jason kept his gaze straight ahead, watching the rest play in the backyard, a tiny green dog — Cujo — running around and imprinting on Damian almost immediately.

“She loves you.”

“I know.”

“She lied to me for you.” Danny looked at him funny. “I’m not saying it's your fault or anything. Just observing. She was ready to face the Justice League over a misunderstanding rather than telling the truth.”

Danny hummed, storing the new piece of information.

“She would make rivers of blood to protect you.”

Danny stayed quiet, so quiet that Jason assumed the conversation was over.

“She already has.” Danny’s voice was small. “One time, she was sent with an entourage as a political representative to an ambivalent community, to negotiate their alliance. Or find out if they would support Vlad. She came back a few weeks later, alone, and covered in blood. She only said that we didn’t need to worry about those people anymore.

Her wounds were fatal, and we don’t know how she not only survived but made the trip back. The funny part? I think that incident marks the beginning of her descent into the executioner role she finally took. It was almost as if— She was changed. I could see it. My worries were confirmed when I got word that the city she had visited had been burned to the ground. No one ever found any remains, of either faction. Just blood and rubble.”

“Darling?”

“Hmm?”

He looked down, finding the teal eyes of his girlfriend. It was the same face, the same eyes, the same worried expression.

A few weeks ago, she was the woman he was so scared to reveal himself to. Now, she was so much more. It felt silly to worry about what she would think about his other life, how she went from “just” being the girl he was interested in to whatever they were now.

He couldn’t see her in the same way. Not after learning what he knew now.

“Are you okay?” Her cold hand was on his cheek. When did she move? “You’ve been quiet.”

He kicked himself in his mind for worrying her. It’s just… After saying their goodbyes and getting on the road back to their apartment building, he started to let his mind wander and hadn’t come back to the present yet.

They were in front of her door, the fluorescent lights illuminating Jazz’s face looking up at him.

“Sorry.”

She bit her lip. “Don’t say sorry. No blood, no fault.”

“Har har,” he smirked, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Smart-ass.”

She giggled. All thoughts and doubts left him as he let himself bask in the moment.

He leaned in for a kiss, smiling when she got on the tip of her toes to meet him halfway, her arms sneaking around his neck to keep him there.

Her kiss was the same. Her smell was the same. Her touch, and the way his hands fit on her waist, was the same.

She was the same person, he reminded himself. Even if every answer he got only opened more questions, Jazz was still here with him, and she still wanted him.

The door opened behind Jazz, and Jason had to quickly grab the door frame to prevent the pair from falling to the ground.

“Time to sleep.” Danny was there, arms crossed, a small smirk on his face. He enjoyed his sister’s grumble and annoyance. The little shit.

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, turning to look at her boyfriend. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

She looked so uncertain and hopeful. Did she think he would run?

“Of course.” He gave her another quick kiss, smiling when she giggled.

He nodded at Danny as they parted. He nodded back, his smirk turning something more dangerous for a second, but back to a normal smile when Jazz passed by as she went inside the apartment.

Jason stayed an extra second, waiting to see what Danny had to say.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

He arched an eyebrow, expecting anything but that. He took it anyway. “Goodnight.”

With that, Danny almost slammed the door shut in his face. Jason scoffed and went back to his own apartment, still reeling from everything that happened.

He only turned on the kitchen light, got some coffee started — if he wasn’t going to sleep, why the hell not — and opened the fridge to see what leftovers he could quickly reheat for dinner.

With a warm cup and some food, he sat down on his shitty couch and turned on the TV to have background noise to think and organize his thoughts. It was some stupid procedural show, mainly focused on criminal psychology, something he knew Jazz would love.

He chuckled, sighed and put the half eaten leftovers on the coffee table.

He wasn’t that hungry anymore.

Why did he feel like this? It didn’t make sense — it wasn’t like it was the first time he was involved with people with superhuman abilities and a complicated past. Back when he was Robin, he had gone with Bruce to the Watchtower more than once and met enough members of the Justice League. And after his resurrection he had been involved with the Al Ghuls, who were irreversibly affected by the Lazarus Pits.

No. This was different.

Jazz was… She was supposed to be a civilian. The one normal thing in his life. He agonized over telling her about his other life, but deep down he wanted to have something that made him feel less like he was adrift in life, drowning, feeling like his only purpose had become vigilantism.

He wasn’t stupid. Jazz’s status as a meta was something he knew early on, and the way she had been hinting at some kind of hero's life was ironic, but he could handle it.

I couldn’t give you normal even if I tried.

She warned him. She told him she wasn’t sure that their relationship should happen at all. She told him she risked a lot to be involved with him, and that it wasn’t in her plans at all to love him.

He’s different. We clicked.

She told Danny that what they had was different, and he believed her.

Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms. Warrior. Executioner.

Jazz had no place playing human in Gotham, making friends, enduring shitty bosses, having a human boyfriend.

What he understood from what the siblings explained, her actual life was a fantasy story like the ones from his childhood books – with Kings and dragons and magic and insane stakes.

A tiny part of him resented her, he discovered.

Jason leaned forward and put his head between his hands, the stupid show on TV forgotten.

Why did she involve him in this? She knew the kind of burden she would put on anybody she dated, at least anybody she was interested enough to involve in her true life. How could she think she could just give him hopes and love him and then… then what? Did she plan on leaving without an explanation when her internship ended? Was she okay with breaking up, making up a shitty excuse to feed him hoping he eventually forgot about her?

She said she planned on telling him, but how much really? How much would she have told him if Bruce didn’t poke things he wasn’t supposed to?

He refused to feel grateful about what the old man did, he still treated Jazz poorly and jeopardized a lot of people’s existence in Gotham; but it was difficult to let go of the thought that if Barbara hadn’t looked, if Bruce hadn’t confronted her like he had been too much of a coward to do… That Jazz would have fed him half truths and lies by omission to protect Danny up until the day they parted ways.

His eyes felt a little damp. He blinked the moisture away and pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars.

No. This is ridiculous.

Jazz was very smart in many ways — she guessed everyone’s secret identities after all — but she could be so dumb about so many things too. He remembered their fight, how her voice changed when she admitted she didn’t know why or how she loved him. He thought about how she could remain oblivious to a guy crushing on her for years. He thought about Danny’s admission that Jazz tended to be too harsh on herself and set unnecessary hard limits.

He could believe that Jazz’s living in Gotham was a little experiment, a game of pretend that she was going to eventually end no matter who was hurt in the process, or…

Or he could believe that she was winging it so hard she contradicted herself all the time. That she was used to putting others above herself so much that she didn’t consider the possibility she didn’t have to end things. That there was no game, no further motives, no plan.

That the Princess of the Ghosts loved him, and she felt as lost as he did.

He breathed in, trying to calm down his racing thoughts.

It was useless to ponder and guess what her motives were, if she had them at all. They said they’d enjoy what they had while they still could, and going by what they learned that day, Danny gave the OK for them to be together — in a very strange and convoluted way, that is. And from what he overheard, Danny was this all powerful entity that made the rules.

A loud thud interrupted his thoughts, followed by his girlfriend’s voice screaming Danny’s name.

He smiled, picking up his food and considering finishing the rest of it. It was probably cold, so he decided not to. Instead, he picked up his coffee and the remote and decided to change channels, looking for something that didn’t require a lot of brainpower and maybe fall asleep to.

It didn’t help that everything either reminded him of Jazz, or thought it was something she’d enjoy.

***

Sunday was uneventful.

He decided to sleep in, pushing away the thought that sleeping alone never felt so cold before. He was being ridiculous. Everything about the situation was ridiculous.

He stayed in bed as long as his hungry stomach allowed him to, going over every conversation, every touch, every look. Trying to organize the new information and memorize every piece of detail, unsure of when exactly he’d have another opportunity to gather so much about the siblings’ secrets.

He allowed himself a few moments to burn the visual of Jazz wearing her armor in his memory. She looked comfortable in it, powerful, and very inhuman. Nobody brought it up at the moment, but she glowed when she wore it. It was subtle under the daylight, and next to the living light bulb that was Danny in his King form she didn’t stand out; but he had been distracted by the way everything about her had a bit of supernatural glow that separated her from the humans in the room.

It was different knowing all he knew and seeing it for himself.

Liminality. He wondered what else he still had to learn about her. What else he had to learn about himself, too. Going by how much information the Fentons gave him and after… After Jazz gave him pure ectoplasm, he was sure to expect some kind of change.

He hoped he found time to talk to Danny about the topic, and maybe coordinate a visit to these yetis they kept talking about.

The situation was ridiculous, but might as well embrace it. He had been The Chosen One for a secret sect of warriors oathbound to rid the world of an ancient evil — he could take whatever The Infinite Realms threw at him.

The rest of the day was relatively quiet, if you take into consideration the noises coming from his neighbor’s apartment — seriously, what were the walls made of? Paper? — and Jazz and Danny’s voices when they left in the afternoon for dinner. Jazz texted him a few times asking how he was and sending a few pictures of stray cats she saw while out with Danny. It was cute.

But he also had messages from his goons that they had some information about the Black Clovers gang. Finally.

He informed them that he would be around the base to discuss what they found. They better have something good, because he really needed to get these guys out of his turf. They threatened Jazz. Well, not her specifically, but they were looking for a redhead woman that helped Red Hood, with the vague description those guys Jazz fought a few months ago gave.

So long had changed since that fateful day. For starters, it was imperative he stopped these guys from going after his girlfriend.

And he couldn’t tell her.

Jazz was dead set on trying to be normal. She came to Gotham deadset (heh) on living a normal civilian life, and she got involved in this mess because of him. She didn't need to worry about something like this, especially since he was going to make sure the Black Clovers never had a chance to find her if he could help it.

He ate a quick dinner and got ready for tonight, geared up and jumped out of the window to the adjacent rooftop — he spared a glance at the place from where he had watched Jazz like a creep for a whole afternoon. What an idiot he had been, suspecting her like that. He shook his head.

He looked down at the street when he heard approaching voices, finding Jazz and Danny walking towards the apartment, probably coming back from their dinner.

Jazz looked happy as she listened to her brother talk, nodding along his story and a small smile curving her lips. This was a side he hadn’t seen yet — how she carried herself differently than when she was alone, how she kept one eye in every dark corner, every shadow. She was Danny’s protector, even if the other probably didn’t need such protection.

Both stopped walking once they reached the entrance of the building, but instead of getting inside, the siblings looked up – looked at him — at the same time with the same eerie eyes reflecting the street lights like a cat’s.

He chuckled, waving a hand at both. Danny rolled his eyes and Jazz waved back with a big smile, her cheeks slightly red. Cute.

With a slight nod, he turned back to continue his way to his base, and did his best to not look back and check she was still looking at him.

***

Jazz held her gaze on the rooftop, waiting to see if he turned back, but he never did.

She sighed.

“You are ridiculous.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother. “Oh, shut up.”

“This is worse to watch than the thing with Johnny.”

“Johnny happened so long ago, don’t be an idiot.” Danny opened his mouth to protest. “Eh, eh, eh. I was sixteen. You can’t judge me.”

“And you judged me for Paulina.”

She lifted her chin. “Deserved it~”

Danny scoffed, but didn’t add anything else.

The walk to the elevator was quiet. Jazz played with her keys, wondering where Jason was going, and if she could wait up and see if she could glimpse the vigilante passing by on his patrol route. Maybe she was being ridiculous, feeling this giddy about her boyfriend.

“Jazz.”

She looked at her brother, humming in question.

He looked back with serious eyes. “We need to talk.” She blinked, not really knowing what warranted this. “You have to tell me what happened with Batman.”

She froze, but tried to play it cool. She made time walking out of the elevator when they got to her floor, and continued towards her apartment without saying anything.

“Jazz. You know you have to.”

“There’s not a lot to say — he found some documents and I tried to fill in the blanks as best as I could.”

Danny grabbed her hand when she pulled out her keys to open the door. “Bullshit.” She wasn’t sure what kind of face she was making, but Danny’s expression softened. “I need to know, Jazz. As your brother and as the King.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

He let her go and open the door, walking in after her. Neither bothered with the light switch, allowing the soft light of the full moon coming from the curtainless window to be enough for their conversation.

Jazz felt a sensation of déjà vu when she sat down on her couch and Danny pulled a chair to sit across the coffee table. It was another apartment, another situation; but she still had to give explanations about roughly the same things.

When would this nightmare end?

She licked her lips and got ready to talk.

“It started last week. Jason and I went on a date — our first official date —” she smiled when her brother made a face “and it was in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout.”

Danny nodded. “Unsurprising.”

“Yeah. So, he needed to go back to the fight and our date was interrupted. I waited up — no, shut up, let me finish — and he finally showed up. He was half dead and losing it and I really thought he was done for.”

“And you used your vials.”

“I did, and he got better.” She nodded. “But Batman wasn’t that far behind. He found us, and he found out I knew about them, and we… we kind of had a fight.”

“You fought Batman?” Danny was amused.

“No… Not really. I managed to kick him out without an actual fight, but he just,” she pulled her hair back, frustrated, “he couldn’t let things go. Apparently, he and Oracle — yeah, that Oracle —” she nodded “joined forces and researched us. All of it, Danny. I don’t know how the Ancients they managed to get some of that stuff, I’m positive Tucker had tight security.”

Danny’s back straightened. “He does. He was.” He narrowed his eyes. This was a huge breach of security. Both knew that measurements will be taken about this. “Tell me everything.”

She leaned forward, placing her arms on her knees, looking down and avoiding her brother’s eyes.

“Batman — Bruce waited for me, and found me at Arkham, when I would be alone, and ambushed me with two more of their colony accompanying him.”

Danny’s eyes were glowing bright green when she looked up. She swallowed. After such a nice weekend she had to relive all that happened earlier in the week, and she feared his reaction.

“Go on. And spare no detail.”

---

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pianokantzart · 1 year ago

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I posted something somewhere about Papa Mario’s “these are boys” line being wholesome (and made more so because of who voices the character!) and I got some comments from people who hated the line because it was clear Pio “didn’t give a shit” about either of his sons and only accepted them once they gave him something he could brag about. In other words, he only “cares” about them when they make him look good. I don’t think this is the case, and I get the feeling you don’t either. Can you do a brief analysis on the character given what little we’ve seen of him? :)

Yep, I 100% agree with you. Mario and Luigi's dad may have his flaws, but he definitely cares about his kids.

The thing about Pio is that he strikes me as the family patriarch? At least for as long as the grandpa has been in his twilight years. Not only does Pio appear a lot more emotionally restrained than Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur, but he's bulkier and moves with a lot less pep. Either he's a good number of years older than either of them, works a far more physically demanding job, or both. Whatever the case, he takes matters with a lot more gravity, and his lapse of judgement at the dinner table seemed to be out of genuine worry rather than disdain or apathy. At first he did his best to talk about anything other than Mario's failing plumbing business, keeping his head down and eating his pasta while everyone else was either defending or teasing Mario and Luigi.

It's only when Mario directly asks his dad for his opinion that he gets right to the heart of the matter:

"I think you're nuts. You don't leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You're bringing your brother down with you."

It's harsh, but you can tell he means well. This is not the face of a man who "doesn't give a sh*t." This may be a big joke to Arthur and Tony, but to Pio it's dead serious. Mario's taking a huge gamble with his and his brother's financial stability. Yes, this is Mario AND Luigi's dream, and Luigi is perfectly capable of making his own decisions... but it's clear who's leading the charge and making a lot of questionable choices along the way. If Pio has a place of headship in the family like I suspect, then this statement has a lot more weight to it– he knows what it is to have other people's wellbeing rely on you. It's important Mario understands that if this longshot fails, he won't be going down alone.

Did Mario already know this? Yep. Was telling him he was bringing his brother down a step too far? Absolutely, but Pio was not trying to emotionally gut his son the way he did.

When Mario storms off, he looks blindsided by the reaction.

When everyone stares at him in surprise he asks "what did I say?" in a tone of genuine confusion. This was meant to be a wakeup call for Mario, not a slap in the face. Apparently, Luigi's inability to read a room is hereditary.

But Pio's not a man of pure stoicism, he's still a hot-blooded Italian at his core, so of course he gets so excited when his kids appear out of nowhere to decimate a giant turtle dragon and his invading army??? (Please note the way he's leaning way too far out of that window in his excitement. It's lucky he's got good core strength or he'd be falling right out of the third story into what is still an active war zone.)

When the smoke clears both Mia and Pio are climbing over wreckage to get to Mario and Luigi, well before a crowd has gathered to cheer. The "these are my boys!" was a continuation of the pride Mario's dad had already expressed before he realized anyone else was watching. He has absolutely no idea what just happened, but anyone with eyes can see that Mario and Luigi just did something fantastic! And as much as Pio sees Mario in the leading role– responsible for his and his brother's failures– he also sees him as responsible for their victories.

So yeah. Conclusion: Mario's Dad is a flawed guy who makes big mistakes, but there's no doubt in my mind that he cares a lot about his kids.

#anyways I'm on the Pio defense squad and my opinion will not be shaken easily #super mario brothers #mario movie #Mario Family #mario headcanons #mario analysis #Local father who is VERY bad at communication tries to teach his son the importance of responsibility #and accidentally delivers psychic damage. More at 11 #askbox #anon #long post

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wonderer399 · 4 months ago

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Antis are now playing their dirty pathetic game again...Their plan was to mass report shipper accounts while people are in their summer break! They mass reported our top 2 sebaciel shipper accounts!! Therefore these 2 Sebaciel shipper accounts are now permanently banned or deactivated !! They even flagged my recent sebaciel post out of pure hateful spite!!

I have been watching BB since 2012 ( I was like 14 at that time, almost same as Ciel's age and height ) and shipping Sebaciel as I have fallen in love with their love for each other...Sebastian is just soo perfect anime man in my eyes...I will defend Sebastian no matter what ... Sebastian is the best for Ciel's wellbeing....BB is my comfort anime which I truly adore and Sebaciel is the main purpose why BB have become such comfort anime of mine...mainly because of their complex dynamic of sebaciel!! Sebaciel is my happiness!! I never stopped shipping them...I like other yaoi ships as well but sebaciel is my comfort ship above all!

Antis live in the similar motto of 'Playing violent videogames like COD makes you a real life mass shooter'....if that's true then Japan and South Korea would beat the US charts in the mass shooting satistics....it is as same as 'Proshippers are pedophiles' stupid statement... Am I a pedophile then? I personally stay miles away from kids as I find them annoying...when will they learn that Fiction =/= Reality ?!?!

Antis call us 'Proshitters' ...we proshippers don't care what you call us ....If you don't like it, then you shouldn't engage with it . But don't ruin other people's happiness just because of your own personal morals, opinion and personal values. Everyone has their own personal freedom and rights , falsely accusing of someone then reporting to tumblr A.I. police LMAO!!

From the deepest respect of deactivated fellow Sebaciel shippers :

#1 @Lunerium

#2 @Cielconsumer

Fellow remaining loyal sebaciel proshippers, Please find a tumblr loop hole where you can restore these account or any actions against cyber bully? please let me know...

We need to Avenge Lunerium and Cielconsumer ....We need to stop this mess!! If this keeps happening someday I will get vanished too...Antis will start filliping tables when will they see canon sebaciel in green witch arc! We need to stick up for each other!

Thank you for listening to my ted talk !

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebaciel #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #proship #yaoi bl #fanfic

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onmyyan · 2 years ago

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If requests are still open may I please ask for a crumb of yandere papa scarecrow/crane from the dark knight series with a darling who’s like deathly anaemic 😳👉👈💐

A/N: This took me like a year oh God I'm so sorry anon if ur still out there this one for you babes NOT EDITED OR SPELL CHECKED LMAO

TW'S: YANDERE, SCARECROW IS HIS OWN WARNING LMAO, HE THINKS HES SMARTER THAN YOU, DRUGGING

Yanpapa Scarecrow is a menace to everyone but his baby, sure he doses you with fear toxin, but not for his usual goulish reasons!! He genuinely thinks he's helping you in the long run, the moment he realizes his attachment to you, and two things happen.

He feels an overwhelming gut punch of feelings he thought himself long incapable of, concern for another humans wellbeing, fear? For their safety? It was nauseating and exhilarating all at once.

He both loathes and loves how you scramble his mind, of course he has to take you home the first chance he gets, it's the only way to truly keep you safe, because ignoring the fact that you're a fully capable adult completely unrelated to the mad doctor, once he decided it, you were his, and comparing the two of your minds made you basically a toddler to him.

He felt like he was doing you a favor by stealthily breaking into your home, hiding in the shadows of your once safe apartment, tainting the air with his foreboding aura, even though you didn't see him, you felt him. Eyes suspicious as you checked behind your shoulders, the almost childish way you left the lights on, hesitant to be in the dark for some reason, until you had to rest no matter the chills up your spine, you turn off the lights and all but sprint to bed, your chest pounding so hard it's all you could hear.

He's breathing heavily, slowly as he watches you in your natural habitat, his eyes never leaving you as you clutch your blanket closer to your stiff body.

He knows you know somethings wrong. He loves how this feels and before you can open your eyes to face the monster in your room, he's injecting something in your neck with surgical precision, the drug forces your eyes to remain shut, a dreamless slumber, it was a small kindness he could offer you before he began 'fixing you', it would be hard, but he knew you could make it through, you were his kid after all.

He lifts you with ease, taking care to handle you with an uncharacteristic softness. He brushes a stray lock of your hair from your face as he stares down at your peaceful, slumbering face.

"Don't worry, you'll be fearless soon, nothing will ever hurt you again."

Once the two of you settle in a routine, one where he let you out of the terrifying, dark, dank, lab he'd been desensitizing you in, you fell into an oddly comfortable if not occasionally tense relationship.

He's ontop of your health like nobodys buisness, makes you take your medicine on schedule no matter what he's doing at the time, if he feels like you won't on your own he will pause mid torture of some poor soul just to send you a text, "Remember your medicine dove! I will bring home dinner." He says smiling to himself before continuing his torture, his mind half on his research and half on what you'd like to eat.

If you never try to leave him he is surprisingly wholsesome, has absolutly stopped a rouges meeting to answer your call, gases anyone who even thinks of clowining him for it, you two have father daughter bonding days where he has you as his lil assistant, proud of everything you do.

"Go ahead and press the plunger down now darling, don't mind the screaming, it means you're doing well! :) " All and all a great platonic Yandere father figure to have as far as sadistic psychos in Gotham go 🎃🧡🖤

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere DC #yandere dc x reader #yandere scarecrow #platonic yandere #platonic yandere scarecrow #yandere scarecrow x reader #sorry this took FOREVER OMFG #yandere x y/n #yandere dc imagine #yandere Jonathan Crane

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bthemistake · 6 months ago

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The adults running the club wouldn't have ignored a bear

[Image Description:

CW, this description may be upsetting to those with SA or sexual harassment related trauma, especially directed at children, or if you find those topics upsetting, please view with caution for your own wellbeing.

Black and white, greyscale, digital drawing of a young girl sitting on theatre-style seats with a large bear sat next to her, a paw on her upper thigh.

The girl is wearing a plain t-shirt, leggings, and children's trainers with a star on the heel and hearts down the middle. She has hair past her shoulders, mostly pushed behind her, and round glasses. Her expression is uncomfortable and worried, looking off to the side for help, and her hands grip the sides of her seat as the bear keeps getting closer.

The bear is almost twice her size with glowing white eyes, spit hanging from its maw, and staring directly at the child. It could not be more obvious what it is doing, there are so many shadows of people around them, and it knows the adults are watching over the kids. It is only because no one stopped the bear, because the girl doesn't know what is happening and only that she didn't like it, that the bear keeps going.

End of Image Description.]

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ghost-bxrd · 11 months ago

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Hey! I was the anon asking about your thoughts on Bruce being a bad dad (or really just closer to who he is in recent times) and honestly I just wanted your thoughts on it, so thank you!

I also love reading batfam fics where Bruce is a father that loves his kids and believes everyone can be redeemed regardless of whatever crime they may have committed: that’s honestly the Batman I like reading about bc thats what got me into his comics. But it gets complicated when I read fanfiction that uses stuff like UTRH as part of the fic’s lore and then just glosses over Bruce nearly killing his kid to save the Joker, bc that’s very uncomfortable to think about. It’s hard for me to believe that Bruce and Jason are cool when Jason now has the experience of his throat being torn open by his ‘father’ (bc I wouldn’t call someone like that my parent), and our last glimpse of him being his body crumpled to the floor in a pool of blood. Like thinking about how much had to happen between then to ‘now’ in the fic takes me right out of the fic bc that’s just what mentions of times Bruce was a bad father do to me 😭

I prob could’ve worded that more succinctly and shorter but as you may notice I expand a lot on my thoughts lmao. But if you do think up any prompts on Bruce being a complicated father in regard to Jason’s rule over Crime alley, please share!! I’d love to read them and MAYBE write something if the creative juices start flowing

Side note: Good mom Talia is my life blood. Like the struggle of trying to raise her children in such an unforgiving environment where she’s been trapped since SHE was a child OR in a place that, while not actively harming them (in a League where Ra’s isn’t evil), isn’t giving them the opportunity to shine the way she knows they could. Good shit.

Very valid. Everyone’s got their own preferences regarding tropes and world building 💚 and I can totally understand the batarang incident part. Jason should be pissed about it. Rightfully so. On the other hand I refuse to view this part as canon because the Batman I know would never and I steadfastly refuse to write this part as anything other than an accident/misunderstanding in every single fic ever lmaooo

Hehe I’ll try to come up with some complex parent Bruce Wayne prompts soon, so keep an eye on the corresponding tag ✨

And y e s, good mom Talia is awesome. Talia’s life hasn’t been easy but she’s trying to make the best of it and carve out her own little space of happiness for her and her son, and upon realizing that it’s still not enough immediately prioritizes her son’s safety and wellbeing to send him to live with Bruce. Something I imagine would be absolute agony for any loving mother. 🥺

#ghost talks #jason todd #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #musings #I still think people are allowed to write Talia however they want tho #there’s just too many character inconsistencies across the DC multiverse to have one correct characterization #and half the fun of fandoms is that you’re allowed to switch things up a bit #go wild

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millersdjarin · 2 years ago

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I Only See Daylight

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Chapter warnings/tags: injuries, medical stuff, panic attacks, angst, negative self-talk/self-image, flashbacks, past emotional & physical abuse, lots of love despite all that though, violence, graphic (?) depictions of injuries, PTSD, scars, cults

Chapter length: 10k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: SO sorry for the 2 week wait, y'all. the end of march is a crazy one for me, and i'm not all that well to top it off. hope this long chapter makes up for it! grab a drink, settle in, and enjoy❤️

and i can still see it all (in my mind); all of you, all of me (intertwined) i used to think love would be black and white; but it’s golden

Din is woken up by a soft scratching noise against the door.

You’re still in his arms, pressed against his chest now where he lies on his back. It takes him a second after he’s awoken to realise that he’s not wearing his helmet. He looks down at you, fast asleep against him, your head rising and falling with each of his breaths.

The kid coos outside.

He closes his eyes, sighs. The last thing he wants is to let you go.

His underwear is on the floor by the bed. Untangling himself from you as best he can without waking you, his feet hit the floor, and he pulls his boxers on, then opens the bedroom door just a crack, enough to pop his head around it. Grogu is standing there, and seems surprised to see him without his helmet on. Pleased about it, though.

He reaches out a hand like he wants to touch Din’s face.

“I’ll be out in a minute, buddy,” Din promises, keeping his voice low. “I just need to get changed, okay?”

Happy with this, Grogu turns and waddles off into the living area, lifting himself up onto the couch.

Din smiles fondly at him, then turns back to look at you. You’re lying on your side, still asleep and snoring, your hand laying against the mattress where Din just was.

Last night, it was like you thought he was going to leave. And he needs you to know that he won’t.

He wants to get back into bed with you, hold you, never let you go.

Instead, he gets dressed. For the first time, he hesitates before putting his helmet on.

It’s weird, unnerving, and he can’t let himself pay it any mind.

Din has been out most of the morning with Fett and a few of his soldiers.

“It’s just a few Pykes,” he’d told you that morning, pouring you a cup of caf. “Nothing dangerous. Shouldn’t take long.”

He was right about that part. But not about the not dangerous part.

Because now this is happening.

You’d been sitting in Fett’s lounge, enjoying your third mug of caf of the morning while overlooking the town below. Just a regular day, the suns shining, people going about their business in the streets, ships taking off in the distance. The kid is playing with a child-minder in the corner, fascinated by the selection of toys she brought out for him. You’d been enjoying watching the world go by, not worried for a second about Mando’s wellbeing, because you know how capable he is. And he’d told you not to worry.

That’s the last time you do what he tells you to do without question.

You hear a commotion downstairs, including Mando’s modulated voice in the midst of it. You know something is wrong, so you drop your mug, rushing over to the hallway and down the stairs towards the entryway, where you find the group of soldiers that had gone out on the mission, Boba at the front, with an injured and bleeding Mando hanging from his side.

“Mando!” You cry, only just catching yourself before you say his real name.

“I’m alright,” he says, but no, he’s not, he doesn’t even sound like himself, he can’t even hold his weight up—

“Get the doctor,” Fett instructs one of his workers, who nods and hastily rushes off down the hall.

You rush to Din, your hands frantically trying to find something to do, to help him, but all you can do is stare at the place on his thigh that is currently bleeding badly down his flight suit, crimson blood dripping down the beskar.

“I’m alright,” he says again, looking at you, at the fear on your face.

It all happens quickly. Before you can ask what happened, before you can tell someone to fucking get him sitting down and elevate his fucking leg, there’s a crowd of people coming into the room with a stretcher and a doctor in tow. They get him sitting on it, then lie him down, and it takes half a dozen of them to carry him down the corridor, and away from you.

You’re just standing there, your head swimming, and somehow his blood is on your hands even though you don’t remember touching him.

Shand comes to your side, looking like she’s going to try and reassure you, but you’ve already taken off down the hall, following the group of people who are taking Din away from you.

You jog to catch up, following them into a med bay tucked behind a sand-coloured door. It’s substantial, all white-walls, divided into sections with silvery metal dividers, beds between each one. It’s empty in here, Mando the only person currently in need of help.

Which is probably for the best, because he can’t get himself off the stretcher and onto a bed; he can’t put his weight on his leg at all. So everyone has to help him, which you know he’ll hate, you can see it in his body language that he’s not just uncomfortable from the injury, but from all these people fussing over him. From the fact that he can’t help himself.

“What happened?” You rush to his bedside, ignoring the woman who tries to tell you to go away. As if.

Mando looks up at you, his hands clenched tight into fists on his stomach. You stand by his head.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Din says, voice more strained than you’ve ever heard it, pain evident in the set of his shoulders. “I was standing too close to a detonator.”

“You what? A detonator?”

“I—shit,” his gaze moves to the doctor, who is currently looking in detail at the piece of—holy fuck, there’s a huge piece of fucking shrapnel sticking out of the side of his thigh, ripped right through the thick fabric of his flight suit. It’s only an inch away from the armour. Fucking unlucky. And to make it worse, there are smaller gashes around it, where metal has obviously struck him and fallen out, which is what’s causing the bleeding.

There are three people on him, pressing gauze into the open wounds, holding pressure to stop the bleeding. Another person is gathering a blood bag and an IV, readying the transfusion. Someone else is cutting into his flight suit, removing the plate of armour from his leg to allow them full access.

Then his skin is on show, and it’s fucking littered with cuts and bruises, some actively bleeding, some not—

“Holy shit,” you breathe, feeling light-headed again. You stare at his leg, wide-eyed, tears stinging in your nose.

Mando’s hand is in yours, then. Holding tight. “I’m alright,” he says, again, and it’s obviously a fucking lie because he is not alright! He is so not alright!

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I need you to step back,” the doctor tells you.

You look at him, more offended than you’ve ever been. Making a point, you hold Din’s hand tighter.

“I’m sorry, I need to stand where you are if I’m going to help him as best I can.”

“Cyari’ika,” Din’s voice is pained but soft, calling you to look at him instead of glare at the doctor. (Which is probably unfair; he’s only trying to save Din’s fucking life.) “I’m alright. Let them take care of me. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

It takes everything in you to let him go.

Your hands are shaking as you step backwards, pressing yourself up against the room divider.

The doctor moves in straight away. He asks Din if he can remove his helmet, check for signs of concussion; Din says no, of course. But he does accept the heart monitor they want to attach to his finger, removing his bloody glove to clip it on. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time, even when the doctor is asking him questions about what happened, how he’s feeling, if there’s anywhere else he’s hurting.

The room is alive with bustling chaos, but Din’s eyes are warm on you, even through the visor—as always—and you force yourself to focus on it, on the rise and fall of his chest. And then, once the heart monitor is hooked up and beeping away with each beat of Din’s heart, you focus on that, too.

You don’t know how long you stand there for, watching it all happen.

They stop the bleeding of the smaller wounds, stitch up the ones that need it. Then they go to remove the large piece of shrapnel, and the heart monitor picks up speed as they pull it out; you hear the squelch of it against his flesh, see the blood start to pour from the wound the minute it’s open, the way every muscle in him clenches against it. His breath hitches. He doesn’t let out noises of pain, but you can only imagine how he’d feel if you could touch him. How his face must be twisted in pain.

At first, his gaze on you had been for your own comfort. But now, as he stares at you, you can tell that he’s the one seeking the reassurance.

So, you don’t look away. You hold his eyes like you wish you could hold his hand. You clasp your hands over your heart, feeling it racing just as fast as his, and try as hard as you can to make yourself look reassuring. Comforting. Familiar.

At some point, the crowd of doctors and medical assistants thins out, only a few of them remaining now that the bleeding has stopped.

His leg is stitched up in seven places, bandaged to within an inch of its life. They had to cut through the entire leg of his flight suit. The armour that sat upon it is on the floor, kicked beneath the bed. It feels wrong. He removes it so methodically, treats it with so much respect and care. Now it’s just been haphazardly kicked beneath this hospital bed, and it’s covered in blood, and you know that that will upset him just as much as the injuries themselves.

But, he’s alive.

Covered in blood, cuts, and bruises, yes.

But alive.

“Can I…?” You take a tentative step closer to Din, looking at the doctor for affirmation.

He gives a polite smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

You’re at Din’s side in a minute, reaching out to grab his hand. You nearly knock the heart monitor off his finger. Your other hand lays flat on his chest plate as if searching for his heartbeat.

He holds your hand tightly, looks up at you.

“What the fuck happened?” You whisper, feeling suddenly weak in the knees. You’ve been holding back from him for the last fuck-knows how long, but now you can touch him again, now he’s here, and all the fear that you’d kept locked away for his sake as he looked at you for comfort is coming back.

“It was a bigger cell than we thought,” he explains, “they had detonators.”

“Fuck,” your head falls, presses against his chest plate. You take in the rise and fall of his lungs, the breathing you can hear through his helmet.

“I…saw one of Fett’s soldiers standing too close when it landed. Pushed them out of the way.”

You shake your head. “Of course you did,” you say.

He takes a breath to say something, but you’re both momentarily distracted by the doctor coming back into Din’s space, holding a chair out like an offering.

“I thought you’d like to sit down,” he says, smiling and placing the chair behind you. You feel bad for glaring at him now. “He’s stable, as you can tell. I’ll be back shortly to check his vitals, but for now, just rest.”

“Thank you,” Din says, so sincere and earnest that it hurts.

You sit down, pull the chair in as close as it can get. Your face hovers above his helmet, gazing right into his visor. He lifts his spare hand and brushes it down your temple and cheek, cradling your jaw in his palm.

“I’m okay,” he says.

“You’re not okay,” you protest, laughing humourlessly. “You’re very much not okay.” The blood bag is hanging above him, half empty.

“I will be,” he promises, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“You told me it wouldn’t be dangerous.”

“I…believed it when I said it.”

A surprised laugh comes out of your mouth. You shake your head, disbelieving. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

For another second, you look down at him. Then, shaking your head again, you lean in and rest your forehead against his cowl. It smells of sand, blaster fire, and burnt metal. There are tears in your eyes, hanging painfully in your nose and throat.

His gloved hand carts back into your hair. “I’m okay,” he says, again, this time in just a soft whisper. “I’m here. You don’t have to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” you say, “I think I should have been.”

Footsteps enter the room then, and you both look up to find Boba and Fennec standing by the divider, both of them carrying their helmets under their arms.

For a second they look like they’re worried they’ve interrupted something. But you lean back from Din, sit in your chair, and they step closer.

“Just came to check in,” Boba says, looking guilty.

“The doctor says I lost a lot of blood,” Din explains, then gestures to the bag above him, “but I’ll make it.”

Boba nods once. “I’m sorry. I should have known it would be worse than it was.”

“You didn’t ask me to come along,” Din reminds him.

“No, but you saved one of my men. I owe you much.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“At least let me buy you a drink,” Boba says, then, with a glint in his eyes, “Well, once you’re up and about again, at least.”

“How long’ll that be?” Fennec asks.

“The doctor said a couple of days at most. But I heal fast; I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

“We can get you in the bacta tank,” Boba offers, but Din shakes his head.

“Can you get me in there in my full armour?”

“…We can clear the room,” Boba smirks.

“There’d still need to be someone to take him out,” Fennec points out.

Boba sighs. “Make sure you rest,” he says, abandoning the bacta tank idea. “If you need anything, either of you, you know where I am.”

Both you and Din nod. “Thank you,” you smile at him.

Boba and Fennec nod too, then turn to leave.

You look back at Din. “You’re not planning on resting for a few days, are you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Have you?” You raise an incredulous eyebrow.

As if it’s his answer, he lets go of your hands and starts to push himself to sit up. Like a fucking idiot. He grunts with the exertion, and you roll your eyes, putting your hand on his chest.

“Stay there,” you tell him.

He stops. Looks at you. “I don’t do well lying down.”

“You don’t do well filled with shrapnel, either, but here we are,” instead, you reach down to the bed’s control panel, and push the button that lifts the top half of it up. He rises with it, slow, and you let go when he’s finally sitting up. “There. Happy?”

He takes your hand again. “Better.”

The door opens again, more footsteps coming close. Then, the child-minder pokes their head around the divider, and you see a glimpse of Grogu’s big eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” they say, “but the Child has heard about what happened…”

Immediately you stand from your chair, rushing over to take Grogu in your arms. You turn him away from Din at first, and thank the child-minder, excusing them from their duty. “Alright, kid,” you say, holding him up in front of your face. You look over his shoulder to Din. “He’ll want to see you.”

Grogu cranes his neck, trying his hardest to look around and see Din. He protests when you don’t let him, an angry babble as he throws his fists down against your hand.

“It’s okay, Grogu,” you say softly, “you can see him. It’s going to look a little scary, but your dad’s okay, and you don’t need to worry. Okay?”

Grogu’s ears turn down a little, but he blinks, softens in your hands.

You walk back over to your chair, and place the kid on the bed beside Mando, who immediately scoops him up into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, kid,” he says, obviously smiling beneath the helmet.

He looks at Din’s leg, then back to his helmet. Reaches out one hand, brushes it down the beskar, like he’s saying Are you okay under there?

“I’m alright, kid,” Din assures him, pressing his forehead into Grogu’s. Grogu closes his eyes, his palm pressed to the cheek of Din’s helmet. “I’m alright. Yeah, see? You can feel I’m alright, can’t you?”

Grogu coos sadly, his ears still turned towards the floor. But he relaxes at Din’s soft assurances, and leans down to press his head into Din’s cowl.

Din pats his back comfortingly, turns to look at you. You offer him a sad smile.

He reaches for your hand just as someone else comes in. This time, it’s the doctor again, and he’s carrying a clipboard.

“Alright, sir,” he says, “your vitals are looking good. But you’re going to need a couple day’s bedrest before you can be up and at ’em again.”

“I can’t do that,” Din protests. Because of course he does.

The doctor glances at you for just a second. “You’re injured,” he says to Din, cautious, like he’s maybe just a little bit afraid of his patient.

Which, you can’t blame him for, because when Din speaks again, he’s using his Don’t fuck with me tone (which, ironically, isn’t all that different from his I’m going to fuck you voice, but you digress), “I feel fine. I’ll be alright in a couple of hours.”

“…With respect, sir, you’re on painkillers at the moment, which will be making you feel better…”

“Great, so I can get up soon.”

“That’s…not exactly what I meant…”

“I have things that I have to do,” Din insists, almost growling now, “Do you understand? Are you going to chain me to this bed?”

“N—no, sir, I—I can’t force you to stay here, only recommend—”

“Right. So I’ll decide when I feel well enough to get up.”

Wide-eyed, the doctor glances between the two of you, holding his clipboard with white knuckles.

You offer him a smile that you hope is reassuring, and place a calming hand over Din’s. “Thank you, doctor,” you say. “I’m sorry, he’s just not used to being…well, still.”

The doctor relaxes just a little. “Yes, I understand. You were very lucky, Mr Mandalorian, sir, that the shrapnel didn’t hit any bone. So maybe you’ll be better sooner than we think.”

Din nods once, curt. “I heal fast.”

“Right,” he smiles, nervous. “The IV is giving you fluids, but it’s important that you drink enough when the transfusion is complete. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” And then he’s gone, leaving just a little too hastily for it to be casual.

You turn to Din, and give him a Look.

“What?” He asks. “You were the one staring daggers at him earlier when he asked you to step back.”

“Because I was worried about you,” you protest, “and I was having a crisis. You have no excuse right now. You’re pumped full of painkillers.”

His voice is lilted with a smirk. “You were rude to the doctor.”

“So were you!” You find yourself smiling despite yourself. “You were very rude to him. He’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t appreciate people telling me I have to stay chained to a bed for days.”

“He literally told you that wasn’t what he was doing.”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Being able to fight is part of who I am.”

“Oh, so you’re the first Mandalorian to ever be injured?” You challenge, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re allowed to rest, Mando. In fact, you kind of have to, if you ever want to be able to fight properly again.”

He sighs. His helmet turns away, facing the ceiling. When he speaks again, he sounds surprisingly bothered. “I can’t afford to be hurt right now,” he says, so quietly.

“Hey,” you run your fingertips over his arm. “We’re safe here. You can recover as long as you need to.”

“I don’t need long. I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

You sigh. Gently, you take hold of his helmet, turning his gaze back to you. You stare at him for a long minute, taking him in, hearing the gentle beeps of his heart monitor. Tears sting at the backs of your eyes again, as memories of the last few hours come back to you. “You scared me,” you whisper, staring into his visor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back.

“The fact that you’re okay is the most important thing,” you say, “you know that, right?”

He shakes his head. “You and the kid are the most important thing.”

You look at the kid and smile. He’s still got his face against Mando’s cowl, and you can hear him breathing, just soft little puffs of air. He’s so content to just be here in Din’s arms and beside you, not even looking for mischief like he so often is.

“We’re all here,” you look back to Din and smile. “That’s what matters.”

Din nods. He’s about to say something, taking a breath, lifting his hand to brush against your face—

Bang.

A flash of orange light down the hall.

Rubble clatters all around, scattering across stone floors, falling into the medbday doorway.

Metal beams fall outside.

Screams.

It’s the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

Din has shot up in his bed, leaning across to throw his arm over your body, cradling the kid between both of your chests. You look up at him, wide-eyed, and it seems like this little corner of the building is the only one untouched by the dust and rubble, by whatever the fuck just happened, the explosion—

“Are you okay?” Din asks you, running a hand over your face, searching for injuries.

You barely hear him through the ringing in your ears. Frantic, you nod. “Are you? Grogu, are you okay?”

He’s peering up at you with wide eyes, but he’s okay. All three of you are uninjured—at least, not from that fucking blast—but you can hear shouts and cries coming from the rest of the building, and then, a voice above them all—

“It’s an ambush!”

Fett.

Your hand flies to the blaster at your hip, dread dropping deep into your stomach.

Because you just know.

You know that Fett has enemies, that there are many people who still want to take him down. But you also know that a large portion of those people were taken out just this morning, and it’s really unlikely that anyone would launch an attack of this scale just after he and his soldiers took out a rogue cell mere hours ago.

So, naturally, your mind goes to places you wish it wouldn’t. That you wish it didn’t have to. And you just know you’re right.

Din is moving, trying to get down from his bed. He grunts and strains and you reach out, holding him down.

“You can’t move right now!” You argue, keeping your voice hushed, because you don’t know who—or what—is out there. “Din, you can’t.”

“I have to—”

“No. You have to stay here, and watch the kid.”

“I’m watching you, too,” you can hear the frown in his voice, “You’re not going out there.”

You’re about to say that you won’t, that you’ll stay to protect him and Grogu, but then there are footsteps running down the hall, and you see through the window one of Fett’s men, running towards the where the explosion came from. They trip, probably over some of the rubble. You hear them cry out and you stand, rushing to help them before you can even think twice.

Din shouts after you, tells you to come back, but you ignore him.

The man is on the floor, crawling backwards towards the wall.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, crouching down to his level. He’s got a cut on his eyebrow, and he’s clutching his arm to his chest, pain creasing his face.

“My arm, I—I think it’s broken,” he grits out.

You take hold of his good arm, help him towards the medbay door. “Come on, come in here,” you say, and he follows gratefully. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion at the front gates. A dozen people are trying to get in, saying something about—” he gasps in pain when he stumbles again and instinctively catches himself with his bad arm—“something about a girl.”

Oh, fuck.

Once he’s settled against one of the room dividers, you look across at Mando and Grogu, who are still on the bed, looking really fucking vulnerable and helpless and, kriff, you can’t let anyone hurt them—Mando can’t fight for himself right now—

Your hand finds its way to your blaster.

“It’s them,” you say to Din. “It has to be.”

He nods. He’s still trying to get up, keeping the kid in one arm, using his other hand to try and swing his injured leg over the bed. Blaster fire starts up down the hall, shouts of battle making their way through to you. “We have to get you out of here. There’s a back exit—”

“They’ll have covered the back exit!” You exclaim, feeling desperation rise in your chest and your voice, because they taught you that. You think back to the day Mando arrived on your doorstep, when you thought he was sent by Them. You didn’t bother using the back door, because you knew they’d be waiting for you.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Mando has ripped off his monitor, so it’s just one long beep now, and flashing red on the screen above his head. He’s about to try and rip out the IV, but you stop him.

“You need that blood,” you say.

“No, I need to get you out of here—” He’s cut off when his foot lands on the floor, and it must send excruciating pain up his leg because he cries out, pulling back like you’ve never seen him do before.

“Stay,” you instruct, holding him down. “You have to stay here. I’m going to help them. I can fight.”

“No!” He grabs your arm before you can walk away, hard and tight in his gloved hand. His voice isn’t demanding. It’s desperate. “No! You can’t—stay with me, I can protect you here—”

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“They’ll take you!”

“No they won’t. Fett has a whole army. I’ll be fine.”

He says your name, both a warning and a plea, but your mind is made up.

If They get any further down the hall, they’re going to find Mando, and they’re going to find Grogu.

They’ll know who they are. They’ll take them, just to get to you.

And you cannot let that happen.

You lean in, press your forehead to Din’s. “I’ll be back,” you promise. “Stay here. Protect the kid. Please.”

And before he can protest, before he can grab you again, you’re running away and heading down the corridor.

The lounge is full of dust and rubble, the blast having come from just below it, blowing a hole in the floor. There’s no one in here, but the blaster fire is coming from downstairs, from the gate. Good, you think, They haven’t made it inside yet.

You drop down through the floor and land behind a pillar, using it for cover. Fett’s soldiers are dotted around the room, leaning out from cover every few seconds to fire their blasters. You take a second to peek around the pillar, trying to see who they’re shooting at, and where they are.

Your stomach drops when you see them.

Not your family. They’d never come to do their own dirty work.

But their people. You’d recognise them anywhere. Their faces, their clothes, their voices. Though you don’t know their names, you’ve been surrounded by them your whole life.

Fuck.

It really is them.

“Hold the line!” Fett shouts as he comes running down the hall from the gateway. “There’s only three left! Let’s finish it!”

His soldiers advance towards him, firing with newfound confidence.

You’re frozen in place.

Your heart is beating wildly, so loud in your ears that it almost blocks everything out.

They’ve found you. They’ve found you, and they’ve caused all this destruction, all this damage, probably taken innocent lives just to get to you. Din and Grogu are upstairs in the medbay. Din is hurt because you had to come here, because of you.

You should have just gone back when the blackmailer gave you the chance. You could have been the only damage done. Now, the damage is all around you. They’ve not only found their way into every corner of your life, but into every corner of everyone else’s, too. Everyone who has only ever tried to help you.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t focus.

Before the final blaster shot, something lands in front of you. Something small, round. A blinking red light on top of it.

It takes your mind a second to catch up to the fact that it’s a fucking concussive detonator.

You’re just about to jump back, about to scream, when all of a sudden there’s a wall of beskar on top of you, throwing you across the room and into one of the glass windows in the interior walls. You hear the glass shatter, don’t even feel it piercing your skin, going so deep into your flesh. There’s metal too, the structure of the window.

Your body falls to the ground, landing with a loud shout, and you’re not sure if it came from you or from the Mandalorian on top of you—in the haze, you don’t even know if it’s Din or Boba, just that it’s someone very hard and very heavy, someone very strong who has literally tackled you twenty feet away from the detonator—

Bang.

Not as big or loud as the initial blast.

But it sounds it. It feels it.

Pain spikes and spreads across your back. It’s blinding, white-hot, black spots appearing over your vision. The room is black and then it’s not, it’s dusty and then it’s not, it’s blurry and then it’s not—

The person on top of you rolls away. Someone is screaming, panting desperately for air.

It’s you.

Screaming at the top of your lungs.

The pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt. Not even close to everything They did to you, not to the knife in your shoulder by Din’s target, not the branch that stuck in your leg.

It’s fire against your skin, deep in your flesh. Every single one of your nerves is alight with it. You almost expect to not be able to feel your legs, but you can, the pain spreading right to your toes.

There are people rushing around you. If you could hear anything other than your own screams, you’d hear that the blaster fire has stopped, the fight is done.

You try to roll over, the pressure of the floor on your injured back more than you can take, but people are holding you down, someone’s hands on either side of your head to stop you moving your neck—

You try to push everyone away because you’re suffocating you can’t breathe you can’t see—

They slide something underneath you, a stretcher. The pain is indescribable.

Everything goes black.

You’re in a field.

It’s serene. Green pastures, rolling hills. Shindl birds fly overhead. A creek is flowing nearby. The sun shines in a clear blue sky.

When you sit up, you expect to see him there. A shiny wall of beskar, soft just for you. A green child, staring at you with wide, beautiful eyes.

But instead, you see Them.

Your parents. Standing beside you, looking down at you with nothing but disgust on their faces.

“Look at you,” your mother says.

You do. You look down at yourself, and are horrified by what you find.

Your arms, bleeding fresh, crimson blood. Cuts all the way up them. Your stomach, just open flesh. You feel welts on your back, warm blood dripping down your spine.

It’s the day that they did it to you. The Ceremony. No one else will ever want you, now. You are his forever.

“Don’t look at me—” You beg, and then, Mando is there in front of you, staring at you with his helmet on, covered in blood—“Don’t look at me, stay away, I—”

Gasps pull into your throat over and over, and it’s too much air and not enough all at once.

Then you feel it. The glass. It’s falling out of your back, coming from your flesh like it was made there, scattering around you in the grass and into the mud and over your skin—

You wake with a gasp.

Or, maybe you don’t.

Either way, you’re not in that field anymore. Instead, you’re lying on your side, staring at a metal wall. There’s a bright light above you. Not the sun. It’s white, harsh.

“Can you hear me?” A familiar voice says. You frown, trying to place it. Then he comes into view, the doctor from earlier, peering down to look at you. “It’s alright. You’re just coming around from some anaesthesia. Can you hear me?”

You nod. The movement stretches the muscles in your neck, sends pain shooting down your back.

The scars. Your family. They—it’s the day it happened—

No. You’re not there. You’re at Boba Fett’s home.

“I hear you,” you manage to say. “What happened to me? Why am I—why can’t I—”

“You’ve got injuries on your back and your right arm,” he tells you softly, pulling up a chair to sit by your bed so you can see him. “We had to place you on your left side. I understand it will be disorienting, but please, try not to move.”

Panic strikes your chest, but you do as he asks, staying still. It’s only because you know him from before that you don’t immediately suspect him of working for the enemy.

The enemy.

They found you.

“Grogu—Mando—are they—”

“Everyone is okay,” he assures you quickly. “No one was killed in the fight. Just some injuries.”

You look around as best you can, craning your neck despite the pain it sends through your nerves. You realise you’re in a private room, not the one that Din was in. It’s much smaller, dimmer.

The air is cold on your back. It matches the cold dread that hits you—a familiar feeling today, it would seem—when you realise that your back is bare. “I’m—what—what happened—”

“You fell through a window,” he explains, gently. “Mr Fett saved you from a concussive blast, but the window’s glass and metal framing injured you significantly. Some debris had to be surgically removed. Due to the…scarring on your back and arms already, some pieces were hard to remove, and many were too stubborn to be sutured.”

You screw your eyes shut. The scarring. The fucking scarring.

You’ve avoided it all these years. You don’t even look at yourself when you wash. You can’t remember the last time you properly looked at your arms, let alone turned around to look at your back in a mirror, looked down at your stomach.

And now, you’ve been scarred again. And you’re bare here in this room. Whoever treated you has seen you. All of you.

“Where’s…where’s Mando?” You ask, not daring to open your eyes.

“He’s just outside,” the doctor says.

“He got up?”

“He was there, when you were injured.”

Your eyes fly open. “What?”

He smiles just a little, shaking his head in disapproval. “It seems he’d tried to follow you into the entryway,” he says, “but didn’t get there in time.”

A heavy exhale slips past your lips. Your throat is raw. You remember, then, the way you’d screamed. The excruciating pain that went right into your spine, down every nerve. “Am I on painkillers?”

“Very much so,” he nods. “We kept you under until they started working. I…should tell you, ma’am, that your injuries are quite significant. It will take a while for you to recover, and you’ll need to be on medication for some time. Fett has offered use of the bacta tank, but we will need to get you more stable before that will be an option.”

Your mind is reeling, racing. All you want is to see Din, to see Grogu. To hold their hands and know they’re there and hear their voices.

But your skin. It’s on show. Some is bandaged up, but you still look a mess.

The kid alone would be traumatised by the sight of you, even if your existing scars weren’t bad enough. You can’t do that to him.

“I don’t want you to worry,” the doctor says softly. “Mr Fett has assured me that the threat has been neutralised, and security has been tripled. Not to mention the Mandalorian outside who hasn’t dropped his blaster since it happened.”

You almost smile at that. If you weren’t in so much pain, and at war with yourself over if you can handle seeing him or not, you’d smile.

“He’s been asking to see you,” the doctor says. “But…before we took you in for surgery, you were…talking.”

“I was?” You have no memory of it.

“You…didn’t want anyone near you.”

“…Even Mando?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

Oh, shit. The words you said in your dream weren’t just in the dream.

“He very much wants to come and see you. I…told him I’d ask your permission first.”

You screw your eyes shut. Guilt hangs heavy in your chest. You know that if the roles were reversed, you’d be fighting everyone who dared to stand in between you and Din. Hell, the roles were reversed just earlier today.

“You’re all bandaged up,” the doctor says carefully, sounding like he’s dancing around the topic of the aforementioned scarring, that he and the other doctors have not only seen, but had to operate through. “I can pull the blanket over you, if that will help.”

Kriff. He knows why you don’t want Din in here.

“Did he hear?” You ask, keeping your eyes closed as though that’ll keep all of this darkness away. “When I said I didn’t want him to see me?”

“I’m not sure.”

You’re surprised he hasn’t fought his way in here, actually; just barrelled right through everyone in his way. Though, if he heard that it was truly your wish to not have anyone near you, he’s probably respecting that over anything else. Despite the fact that he’s probably desperate to see you, as you would be him.

“He gave me this,” the doctor says into the heavy quiet.

You open one eye and see his hand in front of you, holding the commlink that Din gave you the day you took off with them. You stare at it. The doctor doesn’t need to say anything else. There’s a light blinking on the comm, signalling that someone is trying to get through it to talk. Tears hang in your throat and you don’t have the strength to swallow them down.

Despite the painkillers, your back and arm are throbbing, stinging, and aching. Your skin is covered with bandages, but there are still parts of your back exposed to the air, your wrist and upper arm out in the open for everyone to fucking see. You can’t even look down at yourself. You know that some scars will be visible. And, even those that aren’t, you’re still a mess. Wounded, bandaged up, lying here unable to move or roll over or cover yourself without it hurting. Just like you were back then.

“I can’t see him,” you find yourself whispering as a tear falls onto your cheek, sliding down to the pillow.

“He said he just wants to talk to you,” the doctor says softly. He’s still holding out the commlink. “We have more to discuss regarding your injuries, but I think seeing, or even just talking to, someone you care for will help your morale. I can give you a moment alone, if that’s what you’d like to do.”

You look at the commlink. To the doctor. Close your eyes.

You’re in pain. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You feel trapped, caught, and worst of all—hideous.

But you need to hear his voice.

With a trembling, weak hand, you reach out and take the commlink, grasping it in your fist. You tuck it up in front of your chest, hold it to your lips.

The doctor gives you a sympathetic smile. As he stands, he says, “I’ll be back soon. If you want to let him in, just tell me through the commlink. But you don’t have to.”

You give him a shaky nod before your eyes are closed again, and you wait until his footsteps have gone and the door is closing behind him before taking a long, deep breath.

You press the transmit button.

Your voice is thin and reedy, see-through like wet paper, ready to fall apart with the next tear that falls. You’re trying so hard to stop yourself from crying, even though the tears are forcing past your defences. “Mando?”

“Cyar’ika?”

The sound of his voice sends a rush of relief through you. “Hey,” you manage, weak.

“Hey, I—are you alright? How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been chewed up, digested, and shit out by a bantha,” you close your eyes in your best attempt to hold yourself together. Your throat hurts from the effort. Your hands are shaking. You hurt. It all hurts.

You just want to hold his hand.

“Sweetheart, can I…” his words fade. Through the distortion of his modulator and the commlink, you can only just tell that his voice is strained. When he speaks again, it’s just a whisper. “Can I see you?”

Even though he won’t see it, you shake your head vehemently. No words come that you can speak. You can’t say no. It feels like you’d be rejecting him.

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, and you imagine him out in the hall, sitting down or standing against the wall, holding the commlink to his helmet and trying to speak quietly, keep the conversation just between you. Like it’s just you in the cockpit of the ship, in the middle of hyperspace where no one in the Galaxy can find you. “Why can’t I see you?”

A shuddering breath surprises you as it pulls into your lungs, loud and jarring. Tears release alongside it, a sob escaping your throat before you can stop it. “I—” you can’t, you can’t, you have to, he deserves to know—“You can’t see me like this,” you confess, a broken whisper. “I—I look…I can’t wear clothes right now. There are…parts of me you can see…I’m really injured, Mando, and I can’t…you don’t want to see me looking like this…”

“It’s more worrying to me when I can’t see you,” he says. “No matter how bad it is.”

You sob again. You press your fist against your mouth. Get it together.

“I understand not feeling ready to show me yourself,” he speaks again, this time even softer somehow, quieter, “I do. But—”

“You’ll be disgusted,” you manage to get out from behind gritted teeth, the effort of holding back every single sob that wants to wrack through your chest now hurting your wounds, spreading across your skin. “You’ve never—Mando, I’m scarred, okay? Not just from this. Before this, I am covered in scars. My family, they...” You don’t have the strength to hold back the truth from him anymore. If you’re not going to let him in to see you, he deserves to know why. Deserves to understand, to agree that he doesn’t want to see that, because why the fuck would he want to? How could he stand it? “It’ll work,” you breathe shakily.

“What will work, sweetheart?”

“What they did. My family. To make no one else want me. If you see me like this, with the scars they gave me, it’ll work.”

Silence.

Good, you think. He knows. He agrees.

But then, “There is nothing,” his voice is low, “you could ever show me about yourself that would make me want you less. That would change how much I—how I feel about you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, salt pooling on the corners of your lips. Your eyes are screwed shut so hard that it hurts. Your back hurts, it’s on show, your scars both new and old, the most vulnerable parts of you…

“Please,” he whispers, all fuzzy and distorted through the comm, “let me be there for you. I promise, I won’t look at your wounds, any of them. I don’t need to see them. I just need to see you. Please.”

You’ve never heard him like this before.

Through the modulator and the soft buzz of the comm, you could swear it sounds like maybe he’s crying.

And the thought of that breaks your heart. Hearing him but not being near him is breaking your heart.

You think of the pain in your arm and back, feel the bandages. The shame that comes with every single scar; the shame you have carried for so many years, that will probably take the rest of your life to fade away. It certainly won’t be healed if, by some miracle, Din sees you and decides he still wants you. The shame is your own. It’s yours to work out. And you don’t see that ever happening.

But…

“Please,” he says again. “I just need to know you’re okay, Cyar’ika. I need to hold your hand, I need to tell you…” his voice chokes. “I thought I’d lost you today. Please, Cyar’ika. Gedet’ye.” The Mando’a falls from his tongue like a prayer, ged-et-yay. You don't know what it means, but you know he's pleading.

Another sob forces its way past your tear-soaked lips and onto your fist.

You don’t know at what point you decided.

In fact, you don’t even know if you have.

But still, the only word that you can form, “Okay.”

He’s there in less than a minute. You hear the familiar sound of his footsteps, heavy boots along the vinyl flooring. The door closes behind him and he’s limping hastily towards your bed, coming from behind you, which really just adds insult to injury—

You expect him to stop, to catch sight of your back and your arm and the fucking state of you and then turn and leave, but he doesn’t. He keeps coming closer, and soon he’s beside you, sitting in the chair that the doctor had been in.

You can’t open your eyes. Tears are pushing violently past your eyelids.

“Hey,” he says, so soft and worried and shaky. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m here. It’s just me.”

You know that. You know him, trust him. And yet you still can’t look.

Gently, his gloved hand reaches out, and eases your grip on the commlink. He carefully takes it from you, places it on the table by the bed, then replaces it with his hand, holding so tightly that you can feel his concern through the grip.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, his voice so close to you, “Kriff, sweetheart, I…you’re okay. You’re okay.” He breathes out, heavy and relieved.

One of your eyes cracks open. It’s blurred entirely by tears, but you can just about make out the outline of him, shiny silver beskar in the harsh, white light of the room. The sight of that alone is enough to open your eyes completely. Because he’s here.

Shit, fuck, kriff, he’s here. He’s not looking at your back, or even your arm, despite the fact it’s right in front of him, his hand holding yours. He’s just looking at you, at your face, hovering right in front of you as if he can’t ever look away from your eyes again.

“Hey, there you are,” he says softly and reaches out his other hand to brush pieces of hair from your face. They’re soaking wet, either from tears or sweat. Your pillow is soaking wet, come to think of it, and so are Din’s gloves now as he reaches out and wipes your tears away—

The dam breaks.

He’s here. He’s touching you. He’s looking at you with anything but disgust; even though you can’t see his face, you know that’s true.

Because it’s Din. You know him. He knows you.

A loud, harsh sob comes from your throat and hits the silence like a tank. It’s the first of many. The tears become too fast for Din to wipe away quick enough, so instead he leans in, puts his face right in front of yours, uses his spare hand to smooth over your hair. You cry, and cry, and cry, violent sobs wracking your chest, shaking your entire body.

Everything comes over you at once. The blackmailer from Coruscant, how you were going to leave Din and Grogu behind, then when Din found you and you confessed some of your darkest secrets to him. Every panic attack you’ve had since you escaped your old life, every moment that has been tainted in your memory because all you felt was fear. Din’s arms around you, his lips on your skin, how you wanted so badly to see him and let him see you but you couldn’t because of what they fucking did to you—

And then, today, Din getting injured and then the explosion, the ambush, your family’s people coming to get you no matter what they had to do. People fighting for you, Din fighting for you, even though you’ve given him every opportunity to say no and walk away, to decide you were too much—

And now your body is bleeding and scarred, and you’re never going to be the fucking same ever again.

Din lets you cry. You can’t let yourself think about how hard it must be for him. About how much you wish he could take his helmet off, kiss your forehead, hold you in the dark with no clothes separating you.

“I’m here,” he whispers as your loudest sobs begin to subside, quieting down to soft weeping, the tears still flowing just as freely. “It’s alright, Mesh’la. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Mesh’la.

Even now.

Even like this.

“Din,” you reach out for him suddenly, hand scrambling to find his shoulder. You just need him. Need him close, need him here.

“I’m here,” he says like a promise, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know when the crying stopped. When your body decided it was done shaking you with sobs so harsh that they drew dry wretches from the back of your throat.

But you’re just lying here now, feeling like you’re in a pool of your own tears.

Din wipes them away with his gloved hands. Then, his hands move from your face and your hair, and it’s only because you’ve got your hand against the cheek of his helmet that you feel him go to take it off, his hands clasping over each side—

Your eyes fly open. “Din,” you say, stopping him, “What are you doing?”

“I need to see you,” he admits, and his voice is so husky and strained and filled with tears—

“You can see me like this. I’m here. You don’t have to take your helmet off.”

“I—” he falters. “I…I want to kiss you. I can’t—I can’t let you lie here like this and just be sitting here like some kind of droid while you need me…”

“I’ve got you,” you promise him. “I know I’ve got you.”

“I want to,” even though he’s whispering, he sounds more sure of this than he ever has. “I want to. Just for a second. Just—just to touch you. To see you with my own eyes. For you to—to see me.”

“I don’t want the first time I see your face to be like this,” you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. He nods, understanding. “But I can do this.” Then you close your eyes. Because you’re only human. If Din Djarin wants to kiss you, you aren’t going to say no.

Moments later you hear the soft metal thunk of his helmet sitting on the floor.

Then, warmth. The smell of his skin, sweaty after everything that’s happened, so familiar and perfect and comforting. He presses his forehead to yours, strange at this angle where he’s upright and you’re on your side. He’s taken his gloves off, too, and it surprises you when he brushes the backs of his bare fingers down your sticky, tear-soaked cheek.

“Cyare,” he breathes, shah-ray.

“What’s that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Beloved.”

Oh.

Your heart lurches, warmth blooming beneath and around it. Your hand finds the back of his neck, his hair, its favourite place to be. He’s so warm. Sweaty. Lovely.

“I was promised a kiss,” you whisper into the space between you, earning a near-silent chuckle from him.

He shakes his head again, fond this time, and then fulfils his promise: presses his lips to yours, his nose pressing into the hollow of your cheek. It’s a strange angle, and you can’t really open your mouth for him. So with both of your lips closed, you just linger there for a long moment, tasting your own tears pressing against his lips. It’s maybe one of the chastest kisses you’ve ever shared with him, but there is nothing but passion in it. You can feel the wrinkles in his forehead, his frown against your brow. He’s breathing slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to drink you in with every second that passes.

Kriff, you’re so grateful. That you get to have him like this. That this is something he wants as much as you do.

You’re probably never going to get used to that.

When he pulls away, he presses your foreheads together again, strokes his finger over the curve of your neck. “I want you,” he tells you. “All of you. No matter what.” It’s not suggestive, sultry. It’s a statement. It’s, I want you all the time.

Your heart hurts with the weight of it. It pulls on your scars, fresh wounds and old ones. More tears start to sting in your eyes, and you don’t have the energy to cry again, so you just kiss him instead of letting the incredible meaning of those words hit you any longer.

“Once you’re feeling up to moving around more, bacta is an option, if you feel comfortable,” the doctor—who you’ve only just learned is called Dr Garidan—tells you, standing at your bedside, right next to Din who’s still in the chair with his helmet back on. He hasn’t left since he came in hours ago. It’s the middle of the night.

“Did the debris hit any bone, or…her spine?” Din asks, not looking away from you.

Garidan glances at him like he’d forgotten he was there, then back to you, seeming uncertain. “I’m sorry, I should have said. I…will need you to step out for a moment, Mr Mandalorian, sir. I can’t give out information…”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, smiling tiredly. Exhaustion is weighing down every inch of you, your back and arm throbbing so much that it’s becoming simply annoying as well as painful. “He can hear it.”

“Alright, then. Well, nothing hit the spine, though it came close. One piece of metal did graze the shoulder bone, not quite fracturing it.” He gestures to the bandage brace you have wrapped around your shoulder that’s keeping your arm nice and steady.

“How long will it take to heal?” Din asks, and you’re honestly grateful Din is asking these questions for you; you’d been too scared to ask them yourself.

The look on Garidan’s face is not exactly comforting; he’s clutching his clipboard again, propping it against his stomach, and though he tries to hide it, he looks rueful. Bad news is written all over him. “…Many of the fragments went deep, as you know, hence the need for surgery. That, combined with all the damage to the skin that the smaller fragments caused, could mean that it takes months before the skin repairs itself.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You close your eyes, whisper, “How…how much damage is there?”

He hesitates. “A lot,” he says, soft. “Some parts of your arm nearly required skin grafts. If it doesn’t heal over on its own, then that will be the only option.”

Oh, fuck.

Tears are stinging at your eyes again. You’re so fucking tired. Your entire body is throbbing. You can’t deal with this right now. Skin grafts? Things not healing on their own? As if you weren’t already mutilated enough.

“Can we let her rest?” Din requests, sounding tired, too, but almost like it’s on your behalf. “Talk about this later?”

“No, it’s okay,” you force yourself to open your eyes again and look back up at Garidan, who looks genuinely sorry for all of this. “I want to know. Just get it out the way.”

He gives you a grateful, apologetic smile. “The good news is, if you spend some time in the bacta tank, the chances of healing on your own go up to around ninety percent. Not only will it help to fight off any infection, it will also give your skin the boost it needs to heal over those patches where it's been damaged or removed.”

Fucking hell. The window fucking removed your skin. It’s amazing, in the worst way, that They managed to find a new way to hurt you, to scar you, to ruin any semblance of self esteem you might have had, without even touching you this time.

“I understand that use of the bacta tank is…tough for you. We can make sure that only one assistant is in there with you to help you, and I can assure you that they are only interested in your safety, not the extent of your scarring.”

You blow out a slow, shaky breath. Mando’s hand is still in yours, gloved again, and you can feel his eyes on you even through the visor. So familiar. Comforting, even though all you can think about is how he must be seeing you. About the idea of taking your clothes off, being put in a tank, watched, helped out and clothed by someone else.

“You can take some time to think about it,” Garidan assures you softly. “There is no rush. For now, you should get some sleep. I’m about to swap shifts with my colleague, but don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands. How is your pain?”

“Fucking terrible,” you answer honestly as a tear slips down your cheek. You can’t wipe it away, your arm too sore, too restricted.

Din reaches out, wipes it away for you, and leaves his hand on top of your head, stroking his thumb over your hair.

Garidan leans over to the controller for your IV, and presses a couple of buttons. The beeping is loud in the quiet of the room. “There,” he says, “I’ve upped your painkillers for a few hours. That should help you get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a weak smile. “For everything.”

“Of course. Hang in there. I’ll see you at noon when I’m back in.”

Nodding, you and Din watch while Garidan heads out, closes the door softly behind him.

You turn to Din. “Where’s Grogu?”

“He’s being looked after,” Din assures you.

“Does he know…?”

“That you’re injured?”

Dread hitting you at the idea, you nod.

“He does. He doesn’t know how serious it is; I told him that you needed to sleep, like he does after he uses his powers.”

“Kid’s been through enough already,” tears are still falling from your eyes, and they just won’t stop, even though you don’t really feel like you’re crying. “He doesn’t need this on top of everything.” Neither do you, you don’t say.

Din shakes his head, swiping his gloved thumb over some tears on your cheekbone. “He’s okay, I promise. He wants to see you, of course, but he knows he’s safe and that we aren’t far.”

You nod. Your eyes fall closed, and you nuzzle the side of your face into Din’s hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “’M glad you’re here,” you murmur as a sudden wave of sleepiness washes over you, the painful throbbing in every single wound starting to dull. Painkillers. Great things.

“Me, too,” he agrees. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

You’re still nodding, because it feels a bit like it’s lulling you to sleep, like Din is rocking you back and forth. You push into his hand, then pull it right up to your mouth, snuggling his forearm into your chest. It’s probably uncomfortable for him. If you weren’t rapidly falling into a drug-induced sleep, you’d tell him he doesn’t have to stay, that he can go and sleep in the actual bedroom you have upstairs, in the proper bed.

But he’s here, and you need him here. That’s all you can think about. If you could, you’d pull him into the bed, and hold him.

“For the record,” Din says, so soft and quiet that you could be imagining it as you tumble towards sleep, “you look just as beautiful as ever.”

Maybe you don’t literally fall asleep with a smile, but it feels like you do.

notes: apologies again for the wait, but i hope it was worth it! thank you for all your comments on the last chapter, and also for the birthday and well wishes on my update post last week. i appreciate you all so much. thank you for being here, for reading, for letting me know your thoughts, and for enjoying this story as much as i am ❤️ as always your comments help more than you know. all the love, always. xo

Mando'a translation:

Gedet'ye - Please

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@competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @ellesvoid @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #gif cw #my post #my post: fic #i only see daylight

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wandafiction · 7 months ago

Text

10 Out Of 10 Dive - Just Us Chapter 36

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2671

Series List | Chapter 35 | Chapter 37

================================

(Wanda PoV)

I freeze on the spot. Holy shit I didn't mean for those words to come out of my mouth, but they did and it's too late now, there is no turning back. Y/n hasn't said anything but I did feel her grip me tighter, so I know she definitely heard. What if she doesn't feel the same? What if this was all a huge mistake? Me and my big mouth I couldn't just keep those words buried deep down inside could I? No. It felt good to say them…

She still isn't saying anything…

Why isn't she saying anything?

I've scared her off...

But she is still holding me…

Say something. Please fucking say something.

"You love me?" Okay so she said something.

I pull away from the embrace slightly so I can look up into those captivating eyes that tell 1000 different stories all at once. Her hands come to gently rest on the sides of my arm, while I move my palms flat to her chest as I rub up and down it with miniscule movements: afraid I've already scared her off with my words I don't want to scare her off with my movements. She moves her hands so they move up and under the t-shirt sleeves so there is the skin on skin contact that I always melt into and cherish. Her thumbs rubbing gently at the skin just below my shoulders. I press my lips together, gathering my thoughts on what to tell her, but I can't tell her anything different because she already heard the words. So I am going to explain why I love her. I hope she feels the same or is getting to a point where she does because of course she does not have to say the words if she is not ready. I just, subconsciously, needed her to know where I was at. Stupid subconscious for making this amazing morning into this, stupid 3 word talk.

"I do. I love you Y/n. I really do love you so much." I let out a small sigh as the words leave my lips but continue on. "I love everything about you. I love the way you take care of me in and out of the bedroom, I love how you always ask me about how I am feeling or what I want to do. I love how you ask for my opinion on matters that I thought wouldn't need my opinion, but when you ask for it my heart skips so many beats. You just care so much about me and my wellbeing it's infatuating this feeling that only you can make me feel. The feeling of being safe, of being cared for, of being someone's priority, being something to someone. You have helped me escape the cage of never feeling good enough for anyone in just the few short weeks we have known each other. You always tell me how much you adore me, how much you love seeing me smile and hearing me laugh, you make me feel enough for someone. For my kids. For myself. I dived right in head first. 10 out of 10 dive, and you have caught me like you promised you would. I am wholeheartedly in love with Y/n and I want to share that love, the passion I feel towards you with the world. I just want to shout it from the fucking roof tops. I love, I am in love with you, Y/n Barton. I want everyone to hear it. I want everyone to know it. So to answer your question. Yes I do. I love you Y/n."

I have no idea how I just did that, without becoming a nervous wreck. But I did it and I can feel my nose scrunch from the smile on my face as I go over and over in my head what I am feeling. It's just indescribable. It's love.

She hasn't said anything…

My smile drops when I realise she still hasn't said anything. I bow my head, my sock covered feet becoming the most interesting thing in the room. Why hasn't she said anything?

"Wanda." Her voice is level, calm and soothing but I don't look up. "Wanda please look at me."

I feel her place her finger under my chin, lifting my head up to meet hers. What I don't expect to see are the tears in her eyes as they become glassy, a few having already escaped. I scrunch my brows as I use the pad of my thumb to clear her face of tears that have already escaped.

"I'm sorry for freezing up. It's just, I didn't expect those words. Well not when you said them. I wanted to say it first." I bite my bottom lip in anticipation of what she is saying. "I wanted to take you back to Hela's kitchen, maybe stroll back down to the park. I wanted to go and watch and listen to that violinist again. And then I was going to tell you how I am so head over heels in love with you. It's impossible not to be. Wanda you are one of the most amazing people that I have ever met and I feel honoured to have been able to meet you, get to know you, call you mine and fall in love with you. I promise you now, that I will do everything in my power to show you just how much I love you everyday, how much I care for you and how happy and loved you make me feel. I will be there with you right by your side through everything. And do you know why?"

"Why?" My voice cracks with emotion as I feel my own tears start to fall down my face.

"Because I love you, and only you. I am in love with you."

Well shit here come the waterworks. I let my tears flow freely as I smile so wide it hurts my cheeks and I can taste my salty tears but I don't care. I don't care because she loves me as much as I love her. She is in love with me. I am in love with her.

"You worried me for a second, you went so quiet. You didn't have to say it back, but when you said nothing at all I think I might have shit my pants with how scared I was."

"I'm sorry, truly. I just. I haven't heard those words being spoken to me in a fair while and the last time someone said them they used that to their advantage. Not that I think you ever could or would, I just need you to know why I froze." My heart breaks at her confession. I hate what her ex put her through, not that I know much but I know enough to know that relationship was abusive and toxic.

"I know baby, I know. Just know that I will never hurt you the way she did." I cup her cheeks stroking my thumbs across them.

"I know princess."

"But I need you to listen, to hear it and to understand it." She bites her lip as her eyes scan mine and I stop all my movements so she can concentrate on my voice and only my voice. "I will never hurt you the way she did. I will never use your feelings or my love for you as an excuse to hurt you."

Her bottom lip quivers as she wraps her arms around my body bringing me in for an emotional hug as I feel her tears drip from her face and down onto my shoulder as she whispers thank you in my ear over and over. My arms are wrapped around her body, and I have to go up on my tiptoes to be able to run my hand through her hair and down her head to try and soothe her a little bit, my other one rubbing up and down her back. Damn her and her tall stature.

I feel a small body wrapped around my legs, making me jump a little bit but when I look down I smile at Nathaniel who is hugging my leg resting his chin on my hip as he smiles up at me. Y/n's left arm unwraps from me and I feel another body join us snuggle into my right side, as Y/n's left arm wraps around the body and me. It must be Tommy as he is just below my height and it was easy for Y/n to wrap her arm around the both of us. Her other arm moves and I feel my other son, who is annoyingly taller than me, join our huddle. When Y/n wraps her arm around Billy she plants her hand on the top of Nathaniel's head running her fingers through his short hair.

I want to stay in this moment forever.

(Natasha PoV)

My movements stop in the doorway of my kitchen, I didn't really expect anyone else to be awake, let alone have a huddle of 5 bodies cuddling one another in there. I look past them to see a small mess in the kitchen, pancake mix it seems, it looks like they had fun when trying to make breakfast. Obviously, they got distracted because I see no pancakes in sight. I must look like a creep just standing in the doorway watching this family have a moment.

Woah.

Family.

I mean that is exactly what they look like from an outside perspective. They look like they have known each other forever, a loving and caring family. I know that's all Wanda has ever wanted, and even though vision gave her the twins who she loves with her whole heart he could never give her the family aspect of it. Sure he did his bit when he was home, it wasn't very much and it wasn't the best. He treated Wanda like a piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe, but she could never escape it because her thoughts were always about the boys.

"I am staying with him for the boys. I can't have them growing up with parents who don't at least try."

She always used to say that to me. Always. Whenever I would bring up the idea of leaving him. Now I think about it, I don't think they were ever her words. No. They were Visions. He was never physically abusive, not that I knew of as I always would pay close attention to Wanda looking for bruises that thankfully weren't there. However, I know he was manipulative and got inside her head twisting her thoughts to become his own. I will never understand what he did to make her stay for so long, or if she really just put up with him for the children until she couldn't fight it anymore.

That day she turned up on my doorstep, the twins in the car bawling her eyes out which were red and puffy, I swore to myself I would never forgive him. I also promised myself never to let Wanda get into that sort of relationship again, not that she tried getting into a relationship. It's hard when you're a single mother of two teenage boys, there is either no time to look for someone you want to be with. Or when you find that someone and want to introduce you to their kids, they run. Now Wanda had been with a few people over the past two years, but they all ran saying they were not ready for children and they were definitely not ready for two teenage boys.

And then she met Y/n.

Something changed in her, for the better. It's like she is floating on air whenever she is with her, she smiles that amazing smile i haven't seen in so long, she never shuts up about her. Which is annoying, but shows me how much she truly cares about Y/n. The night after they first met, on one of our girls nights, I had asked Wanda what Y/n was like.

"She doesn't care that I have children."

Now that sentence took me by surprise. It's not the first thing I thought she would say in a million years, that someone she had literally just met the night before already knew she had two teenage boys and didn't run. Y/n didn't run. The smile on her face when she told me that she didn't run was insane, her face creased with happiness. Then she mentioned she was 22 and to say I was surprised was an understatement, it took me a second to realise she wasn't joking. But after she told us more and more about Y/n over these past few weeks, I soon came to realise that it didn't matter how young or old Y/n was because Y/n makes Wanda extremely happy.

She has had this extra glow this past week and a bit, this extra confidence within herself. I've noticed it, I know the girls have noticed it. I'm not sure if Wanda is even aware of the change in herself, but we can all see it. The way Y/n is looking at her right now shows me she can see it too, her eyes are full of adoration and she is so gentle with Wanda. She is so good for Wanda, she has brought my friend's confidence back. She has brought my friend's smile back. She has brought my friend who I have missed for so long back to me. For that I can never thank her enough. I love to see Wanda so happy.

However, I still get the feeling she is hiding something from Wanda and I love Wanda to bits so if she hurts her I will kill her especially with how happy Wanda has been. It would destroy her. Whatever she is hiding she better tell Wanda soon, because the fallout could be huge. I am brought out of my staring at the family when I see Wanda plant a kiss on Y/n, well they must have told the twins then.

"I love you." I hear Wanda say between the two of them, my eyes go wide and I feel my jaw drop to the floor.

She loves her.

Now she better not hurt her.

"I love you too Princess." Y/n speaks the words so softly I almost don't hear them, but then she looks up to me and smirks. "Hey Natasha."

"Hello." I push off the doorway, seeing Wanda hiding her very red face against Y/n's chest. "Sorry you guys. Did I step on your moment?"

"Shut it Nat." Wanda grumbles against Y/n's chest and the boys and her laugh, me joining in too.

"So you love each other?" I raise an eyebrow at the lovebirds.

"Yeah, got a problem with that?" Wanda shoots towards me, no malicious intent behind it.

"Nope." I say popping the P.

"Sorry about the mess Natasha, me and the boys were making pancakes. It sort of turned into a messy pancake fight. I will clear it up once I've actually made some." Y/n moves away from the group hug as she starts collecting the ingredients to start again.

"No problem. Also please call me Nat. Friends get to call me Nat." I see her smile with her back turned to me.

"Okay Nat. Why don't you take Wanda and the boys into the living room to watch some TV while I cook everyone some food."

"Sounds good to me, chef." I turn to the boys and Wanda ushering them out of the room, the look Wanda is giving Y/n makes me feel very single because all I see is love. Ugh.

But she loves Y/n.

Y/n loves her.

They love each other….

Holy shit they love each other.

================================

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #just us series

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