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almostfoxglove · 2 months ago

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ELEVEN STITCHES

as voted for by you for ⭐ my milestone celebration ⭐

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x Reader WORD COUNT: 3k CW: Graphic descriptions of canon-typical injury, blood, gore, and mild body horror. use of restraints (our man's strapped down) this is just fluff with blood.

SUMMARY: After Joel comes back from patrol injured, he wakes up restrained to a bed in Jackson's clinic where you've been tasked with patching him up.

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You’ve never seen him this close. Nor this peaceful: asleep, his lips a breath apart, dark lashes scalloped over his cheeks. Scarred and battered, yes. Tried, yes. Such blue hangs beneath his eyes. But if you squint—blocking out the leather straps and silver handcuffs restraining him to the metal clinic bed—the notorious Joel Miller looks almost sweet. As you pierce him for the first time with the bite of your needle, sewing closed the end of his jagged wound, you almost can’t imagine this guy hurting a fly. He looks so soft.

Then you pull the stitch taut, the chasm of split skin narrowing, a fraction of the slick, red muscle below disappearing. One second out and the next second gasping, Joel Miller shocks to his senses like you’ve electrocuted him, his whole body thrashing against his restraints. You pull your hands back just in time to avoid stabbing him with the needle, catch his brown eyes black with terror—

No, scratch that. With rage.

“Woooah, alright there,” you coo, needle idle in your hand despite the steady drip drip drip of his blood on the floor. “Easy tiger, it’s okay, we gotcha.”

But he’s all animal, all fight. Won’t stop bucking against the leather straps leashed over his shoulders and ribs—his hands ball to fists below their cuffs, metal pinching into joints. It takes him a minute to even register you, too busy writhing, his boots kicking at the end of the bed. Makes a horrible sound. You have to say his name twice to get Joel to turn his head, then it’s over for you. You’re dead.

Or you would be if you hadn’t agreed to let Tommy strap his brother down when they’d dragged his body in. Saying, it’s for the best, doc. Trust me. Just seconds ago the man looked harmless, face slack and unmarred by the creases that now canyon his brow, and yet there’s no denying in this moment that Joel Miller could pull every kind of pain from you. Drain every ounce of your blood.

Smiling calmly in the face of his fit feels not unlike watching a jaguar growl in a zoo behind the safety of a fence: in awe of a predator’s bloodlust and naively unafraid.

“You hit your head on patrol,” you say, and your voice is a lake untouched by weather. The picture of professionalism. “You know where you are?”

He’s gonna break a tooth grinding his teeth like that, but you don’t say. You just watch him blink and scan the room again, his arms taut in their shackles. The injured one is bared for you to work on, unveiling the ropes of muscle and sinew that strangle each other as he struggles. “Jackson,” Joel grits, and fixes you with that ire again as he blinks, lucidity slowly creeping into his eyes. He’d kill you, you think, if he only had a free hand. A free pinky finger. At least until this panic wears off.

“Atta boy,” you smile. “You know your name?”

“Where’s Ellie?”

You click your tongue. “Don’t think that’s it.”

His glare spears through the center of your skull—eyes that know no color but black, two tunnels of wrath-soaked violence. Stubborn, livid, in pain. He rocks his jaw left to right before answering with a stiff, “Joel.”

“Atta boy,” you grin, then return one hand to his arm above the dip in his inner elbow, hopeful Joel might let you resume your work, but he seizes the moment your glove grazes his skin. You don’t remove it. You need to steady him, close him up.

You let out a patient breath. “You remember what happened?”

Something snaps then. His struggling returns with a vengeance, every muscle in his broad body fighting and fighting and fighting to get up. “Where’s—” he sneers, sharper now, “Ellie?”

Again the legs of the clinic bed squeal on the tiled floor, shearing as nails on a chalkboard—your ears tweak.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. She’s okay,” you hush him, lifting your hand again to show him your palms, your needle pinched between two fingers and attached to the arm he’s yet to notice is bleeding. “She’s alright, didn’t even need a stitch. We checked her for a concussion and she’s clear. You, on the other hand—”

“Take me to her, right now,” Joel growls, more animal than man.

You sigh, draw up restraint from its deep, deep well. “Can’t do that yet, honey. Gotta finish patching you up first, hm? That sound alright?”

Joel’s nostrils flare, upper lip peeling from his teeth as he snarls.

“Take me to Ellie. Right. Fuckin’. Now.”

“And here I was thinking Tommy was fucking with me when he suggested the restraints,” you tease, then soothe the palm of your hand over his bare shoulder. To your dismay Joel only thrashes again, trying to get away, so you set down the needle on the bed beside him and nudge your chair back to give him some air. “Not here to hurt you. But you got cut pretty bad, and I think once this adrenaline wears off you’re gonna be glad you let me finish this before releasing you on the world. But, here. One second—”

You hold up one finger and roll your chair back, kicking yourself over to the clinic room door. With the toe of your shoe, you shove it open a crack, letting in blue fluorescence from the hall. “Ellie?” you call into the corridor.

After a moment of quiet a far-off voice shouts in reply, “What?”

“Say hi to Joel for me, will you honey? Afraid he might Hulk out over here before I get him closed up.” A beat of silence hangs the air in which you peek at Joel with a smirk before Ellie yells out from a distant room,

“I’M FINE JOEL.”

“Thanks, honey,” you call back. When you’ve kicked yourself back to his bedside, Joel has settled to quiet seething. “Better?”

A grunt’s about as much as you could hope for. Smiling, you pluck up your needle again. “Alright. Think we’ve got ten stitches to go. Tell me what you remember.”

“I’m tied down,” Joel says instead, letting his eyes sink closed. Exhausted, you suspect. In no small amount of pain. But he doesn’t jump this time when your hands return to his arm, nor when the needle bites his broken skin. Little wins.

Like magic, you’re a seamstress again. Once upon a time blood turned your stomach—even cheesy horror movies could trigger a storm of nausea—and any needle you took up was destined only to patch a quilt or save someone’s favorite shirt, never their flesh. Times change. Now you can stare down every kind of gore with an iron stomach and eerie calm. Any skin, any body, becomes a project to you when you’re working. Just a little cloth in need of mending.

“Very observant,” you tease with a small chuckle, daring to glance at Joel’s eyes as you pull the next stitch tight. A muscle ticks in his jaw but he doesn’t move. “Humor me a minute longer, okay?”

“There was,” he starts to say, “half a dozen of ‘em, maybe. We were—mmph—a mile out, had this lookout spot on a roof we usually check.”

“Mhm,” you hum, attention fixed on the disappearance of pink.

“Don’t know how they got up there. Thought we had ‘em all but one was hidin’. Knocked me down the—think it knocked me down the fire escape.”

You nod along. “Eight more,” you interject in his next pause. “You remember how you got this?”

As his head turns, Joel’s curls scratch the stiff pillowcase and he looks down at his arm for the first time as if he too is looking at nothing more than an old quilt. Something that’s not quite his, not quite a body. “Was glass on the fire escape,” he mumbles. “Broken window I guess.”

Then he drags his eyes to you, bringing a singeing of a different kind. Maybe your jaw feathers, maybe it doesn’t. But something in your chest undeniably flares. “Well,” you grin. “Think we can rule out memory loss.”

Joel hmphs.

“Got six more.”

You begin the next stitch. More red tissue seams, breathing pride into your bones. Can’t fix much these days, not on any meaningful scale, but you can do this—close one wound. Make one small thing right for the person on your table.

“Gonna untie me?” you hear Joel say.

With a small grin you glance up at him through your lashes. “Gonna lie still?”

His jaw rocks, considering this, maybe swallowing some snarky answer—but in the end he nods. Something hard deflates in his chest, that last pillar of hostility, so you too resign. Set down the needle again; it’ll need to be cleaned. When you stand over the clinic bed the weight of him watching you grows heavier and heavier until flicking open the buckles that cross his chest becomes an arduous task, your hands slow like they’re pushing through water. The metal clink of each loosening clasp is deafening. Then the thud of the leather belts slinking away, dropping to the floor. You pluck the key for the cuffs from your silver tray, toggle open each round jaw, and Joel lifts the arm that isn’t bleeding just enough to roll his wrist out, opens and closes his fist.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Sure thing.”

Gloves snap off and a new pair snaps on. You dunk the needle into a small bowl of vodka—it’s not perfect, but you make do, grateful for whatever supplies find their way to you—and at your side Joel remains stationary like he promised. A man of his word.

“We met before?” he asks, as you return to your stool. A voice like that oughta be bottled—coarse and deep and dragged through rubble. It could do terrible things to you, now that you’re listening. Now that you’re aware of being observed—feeling the tables have turned, that you’re the one being observed.

You don’t look at him. You stitch the quilt, bid adieu to thinning red tissue. “I haven’t worked on you before today,” you say evenly.

Joel goes quiet again.

“Four more,” you go on, pulling the thread.

“Don’t know your name,” Joel says.

“Like I said, honey,” you reply. “First time patient.”

Below your hands Joel’s arm twitches at honey, or else it looks like it does, but he keeps it where it lays. “Meant outside of here,” he says.

A grin tucks into your cheek as you shake your head. “Seen you around,” you admit, eyes fixed on his closing wound. “But no. Not officially.”

You swear you feel him squint even though you can’t see his face, not hunched over like this, focused. “Officially,” Joel echoes, as if he’s trying out the word. Rolling it on his tongue, getting a taste. It’s a question without the punctuation—he wants you to elaborate.

“Three left,” you tell him, heart quickening.

Another hmph. A wordless press, another way around asking while still asking. Stupid, you flick your eyes to his face for only a moment, find him already staring at you, his eyebrows folded down so thoughtfully.

“Holding up alright?” you say.

“What’s officially mean,” Joel asks.

Two stitches, that’s all. Two little knots and you can cut the thread of this conversation and send him on his way. Catch your breath before it shortens when he’s close enough to hear. You shrug. “Means we haven’t introduced ourselves. Haven’t really spoken before.”

He’s frowning in the corner of your eye. “But we’ve met,” he extrapolates.

“Last one,” you say.

“Dodgin’ my question.”

A traitor, your mouth slips up and grins—brief but telling, that shy tense of your cheek. “Barely,” you reply, pinching the needle through his arm once more. You secure the final knot with a small tug and reach behind you for the scissors, then snip. Project done. Quilt mended.

“Alright, just need to clean and wrap it and you’ll be a free man,” you tell him, rolling yourself back on the stool to browse your tray of supplies. Your fingers dance briefly over the gauze and medical tape as you consider your instruments, all the final touches necessary to make things tidy and neat.

Behind you, the clinic bed squeaks as Joel shifts but you don’t hear his boots touch the floor.

When you roll back to his bedside, he’s sitting up, one leg hinged on the papery bedsheet and the other hooked over the edge at the knee, his boot swaying and laces hanging loose like two long streamers. Impatience bleeds across his face, and though it’s not quite anger in his eyes you nonetheless feel something in your body straighten. Sitting like this, Joel looms over you and your stool. No longer shackled, filthy and blood stained. Dangerous.

This isn’t fear, though—it’s something worse.

You hold out one gloved palm, closing your fingers twice in a silent give it here and Joel obeys, setting his forearm in your hand. Warm and heavy and tense—muscle ticking as you drag the alcohol-soaked pad across his stitches.

Your silence broods in the stale clinic air. A vapor you can feel on your skin.

“I was a dick, then,” Joel presses, breaking the uneasy quiet. He’s looking down at his arm as you wind stripe after stripe of stale gauze around the trunk of his injury as if entranced. As if shy. As if ashamed.

“Wasn’t your fault,” you surrender.

“Doubt that.” A dry chuckle follows, to your surprise. Such a warming sound.

Perhaps unprofessional, you laugh softly too and Joel’s head lifts at the sound. “You, uh—” you begin to say, pausing to find the right word. When you’ve got him wrapped well enough, you clip the gauze from the roll. “ We ran into each other in the mess hall, sorta bowled me over. Don’t think either of us was looking where we were going.”

You leave out the bit where he’d spat out watch it as he went, not slowing down for a second. Even then you didn’t blame him—sure, you’d bristled. Frowned, even, as he glared back at you over his shoulder. But he’d been with Tommy, clearly in the middle of some argument, and the anger he swung at you was wrongly aimed. You didn’t care. Later you even found it kind of funny. You’d glimpsed him for years at a distance, heard whispers, and more than a few of your friends had expressed hopeless infatuations with the inscrutable eldest Miller. Reporting that you’d run straight into his solid chest by accident had all of you laughing.

Joel looks to be remembering. Or rather he appears to be failing to, scowl deepening as you tuck the bandage’s end. Without thinking, you bend over to reach for his boot and retie his lace. There. Safe, secure. Fixed.

“Voila,” you say, then push yourself back from him with a smile. “You are good to go.”

But he doesn’t move. Joel just sits there with his wrapped arm—his bare arm—resting in his lap, twisting one way and then the other, fidgeting. Eyes ticking between bandage and boot, perhaps surprised. “Don’t remember that,” he says. Like this you can see the crown of his head, all those silver laced locks that lick up in all curling directions, tousled and untamed after patrol. His broad frame droops as he sinks into something that looks too much like shame.

Shaking your head is pointless; he isn’t looking at you. “Was more than a year ago, honey,” you say. “And it really wasn’t anything. I laughed about it, promise.”

Before he can answer, the door swings wide and a grin appears in its frame, squared by that eerie blue light. Ellie’s hair is getting long, the front bits tied back from her face, and the side of her baggy shirt is stained with darkness—Joel’s blood, if you had to guess. Long dry.

“Hi,” she says to you, eyes round like she’s surprised to find you’re still here, since Joel’s clearly handled.

“How ya feeling?” you ask.

A short nod, mischief in her grin. “Pretty good.” Then she turns her attention to Joel. “I’m starving.”

So you stand to give them some privacy, collecting everything from your tray that needs cleaning up, bagging the small mountain of red-stained scraps that had mopped the worst of the blood. Another metal creak, then the thump of Joel’s boots as he stands. You hear Ellie say, “Thanks, doc,” and twist over your shoulder to give her a wave.

The door swings closed.

“I wanna see those stitches in a week,” you tell Joel, busy with your tools. “But take the wrap off in a day or two, keep it dry. If you have any trouble—”

“I know where to find you,” he finishes.

He’s almost grinning when you turn your head, eyes crinkled but lips flat, pulling the second sleeve of his flannel back on. Yes, soft was right. You can see it again, clear as ice or moonshine—the tender center tucked under battered shell.

You watch Joel cross the room with long, loping strides. Your friends might’ve been onto something, unfortunately. You like the shape of him up close, the surety in the way he moves. With his good arm, Joel opens the door and steps into its frame and though you expect him to go without goodbye, he hesitates in the doorway. Props the entrance open with the toe of his boot.

You lift an eyebrow at him and the muscle of his tongue wets his bottom lip in reply. Fine—your friends are definitely onto something. You feel likely to melt if he intends to keep looking at you like this, with something dark in his eyes. Animal of a different kind.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Joel says, voice drawled and low so as not to be overheard, and here’s another peek at that something softer: his lips curling once more, just enough to dimple one cheek. “Promise.”

“See you in a week,” you tell him, and Joel nods before going.

You expect seven days to pass before you see him again.

He comes back in four.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #jackson!joel #fluff fanfic #almostfoxglove #myfics #fic: elevenstitches

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sunflowersandsapphires · 27 days ago

Text

What Goes Up

Small Creatures, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings: swearing, Matt being a grump, Matt doubting himself, mentions of canon typical violence, one very brief mention of vomit, fluff

a/n: HI EVERYONE! I am so sorry for being so absent this month. I dislocated my knee, spent 2 months getting a doctor to agree to fix my dislocated knee, and also bought a house. What a time. ANYWAYS here are two of my loves for you all to enjoy. This chapter is mostly Matt.

w/c: 4.1k

A soft breeze waltzed over your skin, making a skipping sound as it hopped around you. It whirled toward him, carrying the subtle powdery scent of your skin, the aroma left behind from various soaps and lotions.

It mingled with the smell of freshly cooked pasta, tomatoes and salt, the taste of potatoes bursting across his tongue. A source of deadly comfort, like the magnetic pull of unconsciousness when one is bleeding out. Warm and tempting–with a jagged, perilous edge.

Thudding steadily, your pulse looped through his ears. Too quick for his liking, but solid and real nonetheless.

“...did you feel it?” Your heart thumped consistently, providing a ticking rhythm underneath your question.

“Yes.” He murmured, in awe of your ethereal presence. Something about you seemed intangible and hazy, as if you were made of mist.

“So, that means we're...” Your pulse grew louder, booming in his ears as your body flooded with adrenaline. Inhaling sharply, Matt grimaced as the acrid taste of cortisol slipped beneath the weight of carbs on his tongue.

Across from him, you began to fold in on yourself, breath coming in rapid pants. Panic flared in his own chest. A shrill whistle somersaulted in his ears, piercing the soft tissue of his ear drum. The mouthful of pasta he had yet to swallow dissipated into tiny, ashen granules. As he took a harsh breath, his throat constricted, his lungs fighting for air.

“We’re…” You repeated, your mellow voice distorted by the thundering in your rib cage. With each sprinting beat of your heart, you trembled, bones rattling together like chattering teeth.

Someone was choking. He couldn’t tell which of you it was–too distracted by the sound of crackling, gasping breaths.

Continuing to hunch over, you backed away from him, afraid. The muscles in your legs creaked as you tensed up, desperate to escape him. Your terror was palpable, sticking to him with invisible barbs, forcing distance between you.

Oh Matty, He flinched as a gnarled hand gripped his shoulder. His former mentor’s hoarse, mocking tone freezing him in place. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Love is a death sentence, nothin’ more.

Warmth spread over his fingers as a thick, crimson liquid seeped toward him. He scrambled away from the slick puddle, angling his head away from the metallic smell as it drew tears from his eyes. The blood wasn’t his. It wasn’t his.

With a jolt, Matt erupted out of bed, a gurgling echo repeating in his ears. His lungs ached as he fought to catch his breath. Clenching fistfuls of silk sheets, he rested his forehead atop his knees, exhales coasting over the goosebumps dotting his flesh. With a shudder, he ripped free of the tangled blankets, toppling out of bed.

Water. He needed water. Something to clear the charred taste of blood and flour from his throat.

Dragging himself into the kitchen, he fumbled for a glass with clammy hands, nearly dropping it in the process. Pull yourself together, kid.

His teeth ground together in frustration as Matt tossed back a mouthful of lukewarm tap water, ignoring the horridly familiar metallic taste. Carefully setting the cup on his counter, his pinky brushed against the edge of a scrap of paper before he recoiled guiltily.

Your business card. Rather, the card you’d given him “in case he needed to contact you.”

In a moment of overwhelming optimism, he’d scanned the sliver of cardstock with a screen reader, noting the number on his laptop. After a drink, or three, he’d mustered the nerve to call. It was possible the voices in his head were blowing your reaction out of proportion and you truly wanted him to reach out.

Or so he’d hoped, until reaching an automated “out of service” message instead of a politely nervous photographer. Twice.

Slamming a thumb down to end the call, he’d hurled the card across the room, where it had fluttered to a halt on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t been man enough to truly throw it away.

Of course it was a fake number. You didn’t want him. Who on earth would ever want him? You felt obligated to thank a stranger because he’d saved you from serious harm. Isn’t that exactly what you’d said?

“I just wanted to show my appreciation for the other night.”

Matt should’ve known better than to let his hopes run wild.

Murdock men weren’t destined for love. They had the Devil in them, just like his grandmother always said, and there was no way anyone out there would ever choose the Devil.

Turning his palms to the ceiling, Matt squeezed his eyelids shut, hoping the motion would clear the disgusting gritty feeling he’d been battling for hours after the dream. Losing sleep always dried his eyes out, every blink irritating them further. Add another night without rest, and he started suppressing migraines. He was in for a treat this week, no doubt.

The solution was less simple than it seemed. He wasn’t choosing to lay awake for hours on end thinking about you. He’d much rather lose consciousness than relive the horrific sound of your voice cracking, your anxious pulse when he’d grabbed your hand without thinking. You were terrified of him. Rightfully so, he supposed. You’d had the misfortune of meeting him as Daredevil.

If things were different, if you’d met him as Matt Murdock, maybe it would’ve worked out. Maybe he could’ve locked the suit away, pursued another path. But that wasn’t God’s plan.

With an aching arm, Matt stretched towards his nightstand as he blearily fumbled for the compact plastic clock residing on it. Grasping it with one hand, he pressed the button along its side, grimacing at the mechanical voice that screamed back at him.

“SIX OH TWO A.M.”

A more reasonable waking time than when he’d checked two hours ago. Digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he groaned as the muscles in his abdomen bulged against bruised skin. Dozens of broken blood vessels stretched with his torso as he sat up, protesting the whole way. He’d be lucky if he could walk without constant wincing. Foggy was going to kill him.

The short walk between his loft and the office cemented his sour mood. Navigating the city with a cane was frustrating on a good day–the infamous New York City apathy leading to people tripping over the thing, ramming into him from every direction, and screaming at him for using a mobility aid. Heaven forbid disabled people live in urban areas. Didn’t they know random Wall Street broker number 7 had places to be?

Gritting his teeth against every jostling movement and snippy comment, Matt nearly howled back when a massive dog tackled him against a shop window, barking angrily at him and slobbering all over his tie as the owner tried to pull the creature off his hips.

“He’s friendly, I promise!” She yelled over the deafening roar of the dog, dragging him away by the scruff of his neck.

Matt said nothing, stalking the final few blocks to their building, failing to ignore the ringing in his ears and lingering musk of the dog hair littering his shirt. Shoving at the exterior door with his shoulder, Matt narrowly avoided breaking his nose on the musty glass panel when the entrance refused to budge. Guess it was too early for maintenance’s opening shift.

Growling under his breath, he dug out his keys, unlocking the door hastily and stomping up the stairs.

Most days, stepping foot into the office filled him with a sense of pride. The ramshackle space was a representation of everything he’d accomplished, the payoff of years of hard work courtesy of both himself and Foggy. It wasn’t overly spacious. There was barely enough room for their daily onslaught of new clients–the excess body heat making the sputtering AC tremble with exertion. The suite was perpetually dusty and home to more than a few pests, but it was theirs. Most days, that was enough for Matt.

Today though, all Matt could focus on was the scent of mildew wafting up from the ancient carpet and the aggressive scrabbling of tiny claws in the building’s walls. Prying his tie from around his neck, he rolled his shoulders, collapsing into his second-hand office chair with a groan. Rifling through the files in his bag, he withdrew the flimsy folder containing their firm’s notes on an ongoing guardianship case.

This specific file wouldn’t lighten his mood in the slightest, but it had been nagging at him for days. The client had requested their assistance only about a week ago, looking for someone to help him revoke his court appointed guardian–his mother.

After an accident on the highway left him nearly entirely paralyzed, Mr. Sandoval had endured years of reconstructive surgeries and other invasive medical practices, unable to properly advocate for himself when his only known form of communication was ripped away from him. Contrary to the story his mother had pitched to the judge, he was capable of making his own decisions, he just required certain technological accommodations to speak his mind.

While under the guardianship of his mother, he was intentionally kept from any text-to-speech tools and subjected to emotional, as well as financial, abuse that his parent claimed was punishment for driving under the influence. Mr. Sandoval had been stripped of his autonomy and dignity because of a rushed court order and blatant ableism from the court officials. Matt and Foggy had readily agreed to represent him when he challenged the existing ruling.

But the case was proving to be more frustrating than they’d first imagined. None of the judges within the jurisdiction were willing to sympathize with someone who had committed what they deemed as an immoral act. The fact that he was not simply the cause but the only survivor of the crash always sealed his fate. Yet Matt was determined to keep trying.

Persistence was one of his few remaining virtues.

He was so engrossed in the paperwork, fingers flying over the lines of braille repeatedly as he grew more enraged, that he didn’t hear the office door open.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Came Foggy’s cheerful greeting.

Matt groaned in response, earning him a laugh. “I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. If you ended up in bed at all last night. Geez, Matt, you’re carrying a family of suitcases under those eyes.”

“Good to know.” Matt muttered, not moving from his hunched position. “I’ll get right on that.”

“You know, for a professional liar, you need to step up your fibbing game, Murdock.” His friend exhaled forcefully, planting two palms on Matt’s desk as he leaned forward. “You look like microwaved crap.”

Chuckling in surprise, Matt flapped a hand over his chest in feigned gratitude. “You really know how to boost a guy’s ego, bud. Really lifting my spirits here.”

“Stop deflecting.” Foggy hissed, his glare surely intense enough to drill two parallel holes in Matt’s skull. “How late were you out last night?”

And that was the other half of the issue. After failing to reach you and properly introduce himself, he’d been too busy spiraling to fill his best friend in on recent events. Now, so much time had passed that the omission seemed deliberate. If he asked Foggy for advice now, would their firm survive another argument about honesty? Matt doubted it.

He could still hear Foggy’s trust being torn to bits in his living room, the other man’s voice quivering with hurt and thinly veiled fury as he interrogated Matt.

“What the hell do I know about Matt Murdock?”

Letting Foggy assume he’d been losing sleep over crime in the city seemed less harmful somehow.

Shuddering against the crowning mass of guilt in his abdomen, he shrugged.

“Late.” His reply was clipped, anything beyond curt would give away the battle raging within him. “Didn’t mean to be, it just happened.”

At least that much was true.

“For fuck’s sake, Matt, you’re going to kill yourself gallivanting around in those stupid pajamas–”

“Not pajamas.” Matt interrupted, not bothering to hide his smirk when Foggy grumbled over him.

“Getting stabbed by whatever low lives are lurking in the shadows. And I’m, what, supposed to pretend you aren’t scaring the shit out of me?” Skin chafed along denim as Foggy’s hands landed on his hips.

Fiddling with a torn corner of the case file, he swallowed the lump crawling up his throat. “Foggy, I’m–”

“You’re not, Matt!” His partner exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air with exasperation and worry.

“Not what?” A second voice asked, the question light and curious, rather than filled with weeks of resentment and strife.

Both men whirled towards the open door in surprise, no doubt giving Karen an amusing spectacle, jaws dropping to the floor as they stared toward her.

“Uh–” Foggy blurted out, head swishing between the pair of them indecisively.

“Well..” Matt grimaced, threading his fingers into his hair as he desperately sought out a response. Unfortunately for his quick wit, exhaustion had coated his brain–the metaphorical wheels within screeching to a halt. Before he could even close his gaping mouth, Foggy had come to his rescue.

“Not letting me pay for coffee! Seeing as he totally foiled my plan to get here before both of you and hold my diligence over your head for the rest of the day.” Foggy sighed wistfully, no doubt dreaming of the high horse he wasn’t able to hop on.

Hands stilling over a line of text, Matt gave an exasperated huff. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Foggy smiled, grabbing Matt by the elbow and towing him out of the office. “Karen, hold down the fort, will ya?”

Karen scoffed, slightly miffed as the two men made their escape. Still being dragged by the fabric of his shirt, Matt dug his heels into the gritty carpet, yanking free of his friend’s grasp.

“She’s not gonna just let this go, Fog.” Hand fumbling for the bannister, he began his trek down the creaky stairs, Foggy hot on his heels.

“Well considering that someone has a certain illegal alter-ego she can’t know about, I’m not quite sure what I can do to remedy that.” Foggy griped, footsteps harsher than normal as the pair descended to the lobby.

Matt’s teeth clenched together as the stiffness in his jaw grew increasingly tight. “I’m sorry, Foggy. Truly, I–”

“Yah, yah, you’re sorry. I got it.” Foggy snapped, whisking past him to open the lobby door. With a sigh, he extended his arm for Matt to grasp. “Just…promise me you’ll rest tonight? You and I both know it’s been quieter this month, and I’m not kidding, dude. You’re like a walking Ambien ad.”

Accepting Foggy’s elbow, Matt hummed thoughtfully. “For you, buddy? I’ll try.”

Matt was trying. He was.

In the interest of keeping his promise to Foggy, he’d planned on executing a quick loop around the kitchen before heading back to his loft to crash. Somehow, after his third useless tussle with a criminal, he’d actually followed through. Heaving trembling breaths, he stood on the roof of his building, rivulets of blood trailing down his limbs and onto the concrete at his feet. He had no idea if the crimson liquid was his or someone else’s. Probably both.

Cool air coasted over the tip of his nose, making his nostrils flare with a sigh. The tiny reprieve from the sweltering heat made him sink to the ground, following the trail of air desperately. His knees collided with concrete, sending a tremor through his bones. Head swimming, he flattened his palms along the rough surface, clenching his jaw against the roiling nausea in his stomach.

The Kitchen hadn’t been too active tonight, his last wild goose chase ended with him landing a well-aimed punch into a drunk man’s uneasy stomach, causing the guy to spill his guts across the pavement and Matt’s shoes. He’d have to throw this pair out. No amount of detergent or vigorous scrubbing would remove the scent of partially digested alcohol from the tightly woven fabric. Letting his own bile escape his sealed mouth would certainly not help the issue.

Swallowing roughly, he inhaled a slow breath, the devil whirling amidst the chaos within him. Starving for a fight, for a chance to be set free. Every cell within him was wound too tight, the primal need to unleash something strangling him, exacerbating the pounding in his head and sloshing in his gut.

On days like these, he missed her. His other half. The only person to witness his rage and accept it wholly, not shying away or asking him to dampen it. In fact, she encouraged it. Taking him to Fogwell’s, begging him to throw a punch her way, to surprise her.

That night in the ring, he’d shown her his mark. After they’d sparred–and practically devoured each other–during the brief moment of peace, he’d revealed the one thing he managed to keep from his childhood. And, with a kiss, Elektra had told him they were soulmates.

She believed it, too. At least, that’s what her heart had told him–so Matt was willing to do anything to stay with her. Indulge her every whim. Fail his classes and abandon his future if he had to, anything for her.

But it wasn’t enough. She still left. They always did. Whatever demon the clergy had failed to exorcize when he was a child had matured, mutated. Dripping fangs and barbed claws whirling around within him. Insatiable. Pushing her away.

She’d abandoned him. Leaving him alone, like his mother had his father. It was almost poetic, the way he followed in his dad’s footsteps.

His mother. His father. Stick. Elektra. Foggy had returned for now, but Matt would inevitably lose him and Karen too. Everyone he’d ever loved, gone because he was too much to bear.

A monster, a martyr, a pariah.

Nobody feels sorry for you and nobody ever will. Stick’s nasally voice taunted him, dancing around his head when he desperately shook it. He was wrong. Foggy and Karen cared. They did.

You sure about that, kid?

With a deep growl, he drew back a fist, driving it into the pavement. Knuckles quivering upon impact, he curled his other hand, mirroring the motion. The noise of the city faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Hit after hit landed on the stagnant target, scraping away layers of skin and testing the strength of his bones. Without realizing it, his mouth opened, a barbaric roar tumbling from his vocal chords until they ached.

Relationships are a luxury men like you and me can't afford.

Stick was wrong. He had to be.

Hazy memories flowed over him, like a shallow current of water he was face down in, seeping into his mouth and lungs–ridding them of breath. A brief glimpse of his father’s smile, the feeling of a hand vigorously ruffling his hair. The press of plush, warm lips against his as a whiff of jasmine perfume made heat coil in his gut. The cool, clammy exterior of a beer bottle in his grip as Foggy and Karen bickered good-naturedly across the table.

You’ll be the death of ‘em, Matty. Every one of ‘em.

His cry dwindled to a rasp as the scent of copper slid over his tongue, his blood staining the cement as the skin across his knuckles split. Heaving breaths shook his torso, pained whines shuddering through him as he crawled towards the half-wall, sinking against the cool brick.

It was all too much. The blaring horns and the stifling heat and the musty scent of half-charred cigarettes. The pulsating weight in his sinuses and the sharp tang of lingering vomit spilled over his shoes. The frustrations of a difficult case and a failing justice system, only made worse by sleep deprivation and overstimulation. He wanted it to stop, all of it. Just one moment where the world wasn’t turning and time wasn’t passing and he was allowed to catch his fucking breath. To exist without feeling like a goddamn burden. To love and be loved without it feeling wrong and full of tension.

His shoulders bumped against the stiff surface he had propped himself on, trembling with the movement of his lungs. He couldn’t quite tell if he was laughing or crying. Did it matter anymore?

The stern voice of his former mentor struck him like a branding rod.

Never were strong enough, were you?

His meaning was left unsaid, though Matt heard it anyway. Not strong enough to keep his mind from unraveling. Not strong enough to be a soldier for his war. Not strong enough to keep him around–not strong enough to keep anyone around.

Fists clenching against the despair building in his chest, he tilted his head up towards the heavens, silently begging for guidance. His prayer was rewarded by a pelting droplet smacking his forehead. Pure, untainted water began to weep from the sky, slinking through the seams of his suit and crawling over his skin. The moisture soaked into the suit, forcing the material to cling to him forcefully.

A hand flew up towards his chest as it clenched painfully, his breaths became shallow and quick, as if his body had forgotten how to process oxygen. He couldn’t do this anymore.

Staggering for the door to his loft, he heaved the slab of metal open, cringing as it slammed closed behind him. The suit was ripped off, piece by never-fucking-ending piece hitting the floor of his place with an echoing slap. Finding them all again would be tedious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. As his thick-soled boots finally left the staircase, touching down on the floorboards below, his mind was buzzing as it tried to sort through the dozens of stimuli.

The static of a TV blaring through a busted speaker in an apartment down the hall.

The piercing scream of a baby being sleep trained a few blocks away, apparently not ready to self-soothe.

The patter of an anxious heartbeat darting past his window, the thrum mingling with the pounding rain. Familiar and absolutely haunting.

A pained cry escaped him, hands whipping over his ears as he tried to drown it out. He needed to focus on something else, anything else.

But it was too late. As if he’d been teleported back to that moment, he once again stood before his soulmate as she agonized over their bond. It didn’t matter that he was crumpled in a ball on the floor of his loft, he could still hear that same tuft of air careening toward him, carrying the scent of powdery soaps and saline. It mingled with the acidic smell of tomatoes draped over pasta, the taste of potatoes lingering on his tongue. Tantalizingly warm and comforting, but cursed all the same.

Your hesitant pulse looped through his ears, matching the one scurrying down the block. Too quick. Far too quick for his liking, but no longer solid or real. A figment of his imagination, taunting him with a life he’d never live.

“...did you feel it?”

This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t with you. Your heart wasn’t convulsing wildly, supplying a horrifying rhythm beneath your question.

“Yes.”

Only God could judge him for speaking the words aloud. He was too desperate to keep you near, to hold onto the last remaining sliver of your ethereal presence. You were fading from his grasp, falling through his outstretched fingers like grains of sand.

“So, that means we're...”

He braced himself for impact, for the booming stream of beats exiting your anxious heart. The same soundtrack that had been interrupting his sleep at night because he was practically sick from the crippling guilt and his own pathetic misfortune.

Instead of growing louder, saturating his brain until he could feel each contraction of your heart, your pulse began to fade–as if…

Gritting his teeth, Matt straightened his posture, trying to pinpoint the sound. It took a moment, his exhausted brain sorting through each stimuli like a slug sorting rocks, slowly and inaccurately. Eventually, he found it–a few blocks away now, accompanied by stifled sobs and shallow breaths as the person darted through an entryway.

This wasn’t a memory, this was real.

Unless Matt had lost the final ounce of sanity he’d managed to cling to all this time, it wasn’t some random woman barreling down the streets of Manhattan, just out of his reach. It was you. And every bone in his body was convinced that something was very, very wrong.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @yarrystyleeza @sarahskywalker-amidala @lotrefcp @silas-aeiou @harleycao

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cherryskyies · 30 days ago

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A Fight with Bo

I can't believe it has been ten months since I have posted, but here I am! Hopefully it is decent, college has been eating me alive. Was supposed to be a one-shot, but it is too short, so it is hdcs. Plan to expand on it later and post another with the rest of the slashers. Warning: Foul language, reader is female, but it can be read as GN. Masterlist || Navigation || aO3

Your hand falls through your hair, pinky finger catching on a knot. The nervousness surrounding the situation makes you hesitant to speak. “I feel like I'm giving too much of myself to you, Bo,” the words flow out before you can stop them, but it is the truth. “My innocence, my morals… You’ve ruined me, Bo, you know that right?”

The words sting as you say them, the realization that you will never live a normal life with the amount of blood staining your hands hits like a ton of bricks, but Bo does not bother to look up from the car in front of him, eyes inspecting a cracked coolant hose. “I didn’t ruin you darlin,’ you did that all on your own; I don’t need no credit.” he mocks, finally making eye-contact, “Can’t blame me for the lives you’ve taken.”

You feel anger rise within you, the betrayal of his words sinking in. “Hard not to when you’re the one that made me do it. I never wanted to kill,” you pause, eyes searching his face for an ounce of empathy. “— even Lester knows this. Says a lot about the ‘love’ you have for me when you don’t even listen to me!” You spit, feeling as if Bo is the worst thing that has ever happened to you. “I hate you,” and you swear you have never been more honest.

Bo slams his fist against the side of the car before angrily pointing a finger in your face, spit flying with every word he says, “Then leave,” he seethes, face contorted in anger. “Leave and never come back to this fucking town!” and he swears he has never told a bigger lie; he does not want you to leave, but his anger is its own animal, and it consumes him whole. “Never want to see your ungrateful ass again,” he adds, much quieter as the weight of the situation settles on his shoulders.

You pause at his outburst; all your fights were never this bad. If your mother had raised you any weaker, you would have begged for forgiveness right then and there, but neither of you dared to back down. “I don’t know how or why all of this love turned to anger, but I do know that you are a nasty man, Bo.”

You will leave, he will not follow. Bo will be damned if he is going to chase you and beg you to stay — even though he really wants to.

He simply cannot help it. Bo is not the kind of man that can apologize, at least not right away. Guilt will follow him, but he will convince himself he was in the right.

In the end, life will go on and your picture will remain on his night stand. You will never see each other again.

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letterstotheflre · 2 years ago

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cw: a little angsty. hurt/comfort. 18+ plus [sexual situations, mention of scars and child abuse, daryl has body image issues :((]

a/n: ummm this was supposed to be a cute little blurb. maybe 4-5 paragraphs. it became this angsty mess tho </3

thinking about how daryl never takes his shirt off during sex bc he doesn't want you to see or feel his scars </3 he thinks you'll be disgusted by him, that you'll think he's damaged goods. maybe you never want to touch him ever again. maybe you'll never want him to touch you again.

and at first you don't even realise he's doing it because you don't have the privacy or the time to get fully naked. most of your hook ups consist of quickly scurrying off your jeans and underwear to your knees. if it's summer you might get to lower the straps of your tank top to free your boobs. but being so out in the open, so defenceless, doesn't allow for complete stripping.

it's not until alexandria that you start to notice the fact that you're always naked and daryl always keeps his shirt on. sometimes his vest, too. you don't ask though, wouldn't ever pressure him into doing anything he's not comfortable with. you guess he might have his reasons.

until one time when he's buried so deep inside you that you just might lose your mind so you grip his shoulders to keep some of your sanity. and he keeps thrusting, keeps hitting that spot and god, you want him even closer. you don't want him to move an inch away from you. so your hand slips. down to his waist, where his shirt rode up just a little. and he's so warm. so you keep touching him, hand spread open as it moves up to his shoulder and that's when you feel it— the raised, jagged skin.

and the size of it is not even small to have been from an accident or a fight. it throws you off completely. "daryl, what's that?"

he's tense above you. "nothin'," he grunts and nearly slaps your hand away from his back. he pins both of your wrists above your head and thrusts again, hoping that he might be able to make you forget about it.

"daryl—" you gasp when you feel the spongy tip of his cock nearly in the back of your throat from how deep he's fucking you.

"it's nothin', don't worry about it."

"but—"

"jesus, i said it's nothing, woman!" he nearly screams at you. he pulls out completely and looks for his jeans, quickly getting dressed. "that so hard for ya to understand, huh? need me to spell it out for ya?"

"no," you say quietly, looking for some of your own clothes to cover up a little. "i just want to know if—"

his boots slam down on the hardwood floor as he finishes tying the laces. "there's nothing to know!"

you know daryl would never, ever hurt you. still, you can't help but freeze at how loud he's being.

the room is completely silent for the first time in an hour. daryl watches as you stand there in just your panties and tank top, right next to the soft bed, and use the tip of the nail on your pinky finger to pull at the skin around your thumb. he swallows down his shame. "i'm going out," he states and walks out of the room.

you let him go, knowing that he's feeling caged in right now. that his emotions are too big for him sometimes and he needs to get out because he might explode from the sheer size and weight of his anger. it's almost like little daryl was never taught how to process his emotions safely, how to avoid reacting with rage at the first sign of a confrontation.

it's late at night when he sneaks back into the community. if you had to guess, the front door opens at around 11pm. you hear him take off his boots and pad to the living room, where you're sitting cross-legged on the couch with a book laying on your legs.

he's dirty, that's your first observation, but when is he not? he takes his crossbow off and places it on the coffee table then holds a string of 3 three dead squirrels and a single rabbit with his whole fist. "brought dinner," he says.

you look at the pot of cold spaghetti on the stove. you might be able to cook the rabbit and then reheat the pasta in the oven. when you look back at him, daryl is shifting his weight from one leg to another, clearly uncomfortable with the tense silence.

you close the book and stand. "you wanna skin the rabbit?"

he nods. you touch his shoulder in passing and offer him a comforting smile. he follows you into the kitchen and gets to work with his knife, quickly cutting the best pieces of meat on the chopping board and storing the remaining bits he knows you won't eat in a tupper that he'll put on the fridge for another day.

you eat in silence. daryl practically swallows the entire plate in under 10 minutes, sauce splashing into his shirt and all over his face. a light orange hue tints the area around his mouth.

you wash the dishes in silence. you brush your teeth in silence. you get ready for bed in silence. you're about to turn the lights off and go to sleep with your back facing him when he finally speaks. "it was my dad."

he's not looking at you as he talks. instead, he stares at a random spot on the wall in front of him. "he drank a lot, y'know? used, too. didn't matter if it was pot or cocaine or heroin. anythin' he could get his hands on. sometimes he'd be in a real good mood 'n he would take merle and i out for ice-cream. other times... most times," he corrects himself, "he'd be real pissed off. he'd lock me up in a room, no food, no water, and let me out the next day." he gives you a melancholic smile. "s'how i learned how to hunt— had to eat somehow. taught myself how to shoot. found some survival books at the public library that said a lot of useful shit."

he sits up, back facing you completely, and takes his shirt off. you cover your mouth in shock at the sight. three scars in the shape of an 'x' cover most of his shoulderblades. there's others too, smaller only in comparison to the huge ones, littered across his lower back. tentatively, you reach forward and trace the shapes, the puckered skin somehow very soft to the touch.

"when he was really mad, though, he'd use his belt and just... hit." he takes a shuddering breath and rubs his face with his hands, feeling a little wetness around his eyes. "anyway, this ain't even the worst he's done. merle had it worse. spent a lot of time alone with him before i was born and even after he'd try to get him to leave me alone. tried to protect me," he laughs like the sheer idea of someone wanting to keep him out of harm's way is ridiculous.

you scoot forward and hug him sideways. you gently turn his face to you, thumb rubbing soothingly on his chin. "i'm sorry, daryl."

"s'not your fault," he says immediately.

"that's not what i meant. i meant," you pet his head and look him in the eye, "i'm sorry for what happened to you. you didn't deserve any of it, you were just a kid. merle too," you add, knowing how important his brother was to him, even after everything. you kiss his sun-spotted shoulder. "it wasn’t your fault.”

he swallows down the lump in his throat. “i know.”

you keep stroking his hair. “is that why you never took your shirt off? because of the scars?”

“yeah.”

“why, baby?” you whisper incredulously. he shrugs one shoulder. “were you embarrassed? scared i’d say something?“ he is still for a few seconds, almost like he’s considering telling the truth, but ends up shrugging anyway. you know you hit the nail, though.

you shift and sit on his lap, holding his face with both hands so you can look him in the eyes. "those scars... they only show how brave and strong and resilient you are. they're part of you. and you're beautiful, dayl." you kiss him once. "i love every inch of you, including those scars, even though i hate the reason you have them in the first place."

his eyes gleam with tears. they gather in his waterline and he tries his best to keep them away. one manages to stream down his cheek. you brush it away. "it's okay to cry."

almost like he was waiting for your permition, daryl breaks down in a second. he hides his face in your chest, wetting your skin with salt streams. his shoulders shake so much with the force of his sobs that he ends up shaking you, too, caged inside his arms that circle around your waist. there's nothing else for you to do but hold him, allowing him to process his pain for perhaps the first time in decades.

it takes him minutes to calm down. half an hour maybe. when his sobs subside and his hold relaxes, you kiss the top of his head and lay him down on the bed with you. while he's usually the one who holds you at night, this time you are the one holding him. you fall asleep like that: with daryl's face tucked in your chest, your fingers combing through his long hair, nails scratching idly at his scalp.

when you wake up in the morning there's no sign of daryl. you go downstairs, following the sounds of a pan hitting the stove with a little too much force and daryl's loud curse. stepping into the kitchen, you see him, shirtless, throwing away the egg he attempted to crack. you can't help but giggle quietly in amusement— he always underestimates his strength and ends up breaking the entire shell instead of creating a crack big enough to let the gooey egg fall onto the pan.

"morning," you greet, picking up another egg and breaking it for him. the pan sizzles.

his smile is crooked. a little shy. "mornin', sunshine."

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon blurb #daryl dixon angst #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon

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yunaboveclouds · 1 year ago

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Jotaro Kujo (Part 3) x Reader

Dating Jotaro Kujo would include:

- Boy I don’t even know how the hell you got him to fall for you. You probably didn’t bother him like his fangirls and just talked to him like a normal human being. I feel that’s all he wants

- It might take him a while to actually start liking you, he’ll slowly start falling though as he realizes you’re a pretty cool and chill person

- Chillin with him while he smokes whether you join him or not

- If you don’t like the smell of smoke (like me and my lungs fr) then he won’t smoke in front of you, though that doesn’t mean he might have the scent of cigarettes on him

- We established he’s a tsundere, he loves you a lot just doesn’t know how to show it straight up, especially in the beginning

- If you ask him out he’d accept, probably acting like he doesn’t care and pulls his hat down to hide his face and smile

- If he asks you out he’d keep it very straightforward, short, and simple. It’s just “Let’s go on a date.” And you BETTER accept, do not break this big guy’s heart :(

- The first date would also be simple, maybe a small picnic in the park or going out for food

- I feel a lot of the dates wouldn’t include a ton of talking, and if there is talking then you’d be doing a good amount of it. Jotaro comes off as the type of guy who enjoys just being in your presence

- So basically his love language is quality time

- He’ll give you small gifts like seashells and jewelry or have Star Platinum get things for you if you wanted

- As your relationship progresses his gifts will get bigger. Such as giant ocean animal plushies

- More dates like going to an arcade so he can win you prizes effortlessly and impress you

- There will be aquarium dates, might be the place where you first kiss. Picture it, standing under a tunnel of fish swimming all around you and he pulls you in for a kiss

- Will beat people up for you, no questions asked

- You got a girl from school picking on you? Don’t worry, his fists are rated E for everyone. Equal rights equal fights

- Will not let his fan girls bother you, like they will never even get close to you (don’t ask how)

- Listening to music together whether it’s blasting in his room, on the car while you guys watch the stars, or sharing ear buds

- Even though he holds up his bad boy personality around everyone including his mom, he has his moments where he just melts with you

- Please hold his face once in a while, he’ll love it

- Very minimal PDA, closest you get is you and him wrapping your pinky fingers (if his giant hands let him)

- His mom would love you so much oh my god, sweetest woman alive

- She’d invite you to come over so often and loves that someone got Jotaro to settle down with

- Jotaro’s friends would be so surprised if they found out he was dating someone, Kakyoin wouldn’t be as surprised but Polnareff? Polnareff would be so lost as to how Jotaro got a girlfriend before him

- Forehead kisses, he has to bend down all the time to kiss yours

- Probably has back problems because of you

- Despite his fists being brutally scarred and coarse, he’s so gentle whenever he touches you in any way. I feel his hugs are the best and he’ll try to be careful when you hold hands

- Will carry you

- Let’s you wear his hats and clothes (but not for too long cause he wants them back)

- If you ever go on any transport, plane, boat, train, you name it, he will let you rest on him. Just don’t bring Joseph, it’ll give Jotaro PTSD

- Carefully caresses your face and admires every part of it, even plays with your hair

- If you can see Star Platinum he would love you so much, they say that Stands are a reflection of one’s soul. So basically Star will be very excited to be out and to see you

- Jotaro will smile with you a lot more than others

- He’s not the best at communication but once you get to know him it’s very easy to tell how he’s feeling

There’s probably more stuff but that’s all I got for this one. I am currently going through a JJBA brain rot please let me know if you have any requests!

#jjba #jjba part 3 #Jotaro #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro #star platinum #stardust crusaders #jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo x reader #jotaro x reader #x reader #jjba x reader

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sapphire-dreamsky · 11 months ago

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the promise of a distant future

inspiration: heavily inspired by The Hunger Games starring: ryomen sukuna | female reader pairing: sukuna x reader warnings: violence| death of minor characters setting: alternate universe | hunger games universe previous

Ten minutes. That was the amount of time allocated to tributes to spend with their family before they are whisked away to the train leading to their deaths. As if ten minutes would be enough time for a family to say farewell to their sons and daughters.

His mother held him tightly while his father patted him on his back. Ever so awkward, the man was distant in physical affections but eloquent with words.

“I know you will come back to us. Make us proud.”

Of course. His parents knew that their son wasn’t one to back down or to let himself be killed. But they weren’t disillusioned either. Amongst the sea of tributes, there were two districts who would be threats to Sukuna. Despite how cunning the fourteen year old boy, he was the youngest selected tribute this year. He was at a severe disadvantage to the older, more experienced and skilled tributes of District 1 and 2. Still, they believed in him. Because if they lost faith in Sukuna, who would believe in him?

The next one to visit Sukuna had less time with him. She was not family. But she was a friend.

“Only five minutes.”

As soon as the peacemaker closed the door on her, (name) threw her arms around Sukuna, sobs racking through her body as she clutched on him like he was her lifeline. And maybe he was. For once, he didn’t chide her for showing her weakness. Instead, he hugged her just as tightly while kissing the top of her head. Her red ribbon tied her hair in a beautiful french braid that his mother must have helped her with.

“You have to come back. You have to.”

Her words were muffled against his grey coat but he could hear her clearly.

“Brat. As if I was one to back down. I will be returning as victor. So don’t you dare shed a tear while I’m out there. I need my prettiest fan to give me her full support.”

“Your prettiest? How many fans do you have?”

He could hear the pout in her voice amongst her sniffling. His smile was soft. Something that was uncharacteristic of him. And yet, at this moment, he couldn’t care less. It could very well be the last time he ever saw her. As much as he would love to return as victor, he knew the games were ruthless and pitiless. Only the strongest came out of them. And as a child from District 12, and the youngest at that, it was pretty much certain that no-one would really be rooting for him. He would have to fight the hardest to come out alive.

“Time’s up!”

They ripped her away from him. But before she was taken forcefully from him, she closed his fist around something. When the door closed on him, he looked down only to find a necklace with a silver ring dangling off the chain. He recognised it immediately. It was the one she always wore on her right ring finger.

“Come back to me Sukuna. I will make matching ones!”

As an orphan, (name) had to start working since she was young. She couldn’t go to the mines due to her age and her frail form. So instead, she found herself doing some odd jobs here and there. Sukuna was always watching out for the young girl. He was her protector. Everybody in District 12 knew that Sukuna was not afraid of bruising his fists if anybody dared to lay a hand on his promised girl. That was how she was referred to. Sukuna’s promised wife. She didn’t know when the rumours started but Sukuna could care less. As long as it kept away the lecherous men hanging around the Hob, then so be it. She was his promised wife.

The owner of the only jewellery store in District 12 was a friend of the young girl’s parents. She took the young girl in and taught her the crafts. This ring was the first jewellery she crafted. It was originally meant to be his but she got his measurements wrong. The ring was too snug even when he tried it on his pinky finger. With an embarrassed face, she promised to make him another one when she would be more skilled. Still, the ring was oddly hers. It fit her. So, he took her right hand in his, and slipped the ring on her ring finger.

“It’s not an engagement ring. It’s too early for that. But this is a promise to you. As long as I’m here, I will protect you.”

Ever since then, the girl wore the ring religiously. Sukuna proudly held her right hand every time they hung out. It was a slap to the face of the boys in his class. The misfit managed to get a girl before any of them. The girls could only watch with jealousy as the handsome pink-haired teenager showered (name) with attention; treating her as if she was the most delicate flower. When his mother heard about his ‘engagement’ as everyone in their neighbourhood liked to call it, she tugged on his ear and gave him a scolding.

“You are only twelve! What are you thinking? What if this doesn’t work out? What if you two end up disliking each other in the future? You have already made it known that she belonged to you now! No other boys would want to properly court her!”

His father was sitting at the table quietly. The cup placed in front of him had long gone cold. His father was a man who didn’t let his expressions show; he was often compared to the stone-faced peacemakers. A trait that Sukuna inherited from him. In retrospect personality-wise, Sukuna was the most like his father. Physically however, he was the spitting portrait of his mother, inheriting her pink hair and ruby eyes.

“Good. There are no boys who are worthy of her attention in this world anyway.”

“And you think you are?”

His mother shook her head disapprovingly. Her head snapped up to glare at his father.

“And you have nothing to say? Your son is going around, claiming a young girl to be his future spouse.”

“Only one advice Sukuna. The answer is always “yes sweetheart,” irrespective of who is wrong in an argument.”

His mother promptly rolled the daily newspaper and wacked his father over the head with it. To his father’s credit, he at least had the decency to look a bit bashful under the heated gaze of his mother.

Sukuna clutched the ring in his hand and brought it to his lips.

“Watch me (name). I will come back to you no matter who I have to kill.”

He tied the necklace around his neck before hiding it underneath his layers. He would be damned if anyone took that ring away from him.

tag list:

@imisshim2much | @tenshis-cake | @black-swan-blog27

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna x reader

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is-on-its-way · 4 months ago

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This post from @unremarkablehouse got me writing an entire scene for Scully telling Emily about Mulder... and also because I like to torture myself...

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ⋆

“Hey, Hey, Hey” she said softly into the little girls baby shampoo scented hair.

Emily was sniffling into her neck, refusing to let her arms be pried from around her.

“Ill be back tomorrow Emily, I promise.”

She stopped fighting her and hugged her back closing her eyes against her burning tears, against the orderly's stern face looking down at them both.

Her heart ached to pick her up and take her far from this place. Take her back. Her baby. She was hers.

“Hey, do you want to pinky swear?”

She felt the little girl nod against her and then release her, little balled up fists rubbing at her eyes as she sniffled big heaving sobs.

She held out a pinky and waited for Emily, who indextrously grabbed for her finger with her own tiny pinky.

Scully found her eyes and hoped with sheer willpower the girl felt just how truthful she was being, because nothing would stop her from coming back for her.

“I promise Emily, Im going to come back tomorrow. Ill see you at 10am, thats when visiting hours start okay?”

The girl nodded tears staining her face.

“Oh baby.” She couldn’t help herself as she wiped at Emilys face and drew her in for a hug. This time Emily curled in and let herself be comforted instead of clinging on like she might lose her.

“And guess what?” She looked down at her. “Tomorrow, I have someone special who wants to meet you, his name is Mu.. his name is Fox.”

“A fox?” Emily looked up excited.

“Well not quite” she smirked to herself, “He’s a person, his name is just Fox.”

She giggled.

“Well he likes to be called Mulder, but I don’t know if thats so easy to say…”

“Is Fox your daddy?”

“No, he’s not my dad, he’s..”

“Not your dad… you’re mommy and he’s daddy?”

“Oh, are we married? No, we aren’t married, but he’s my friend and he’s going to come meet you.”

Sharp pain coursed behind her sternum as if pieces of her soul were being ripped from her chest. Her daughter, even admitting that to herself was as if the world had shifted on its axis. Her daughter had referred to her as mommy. She knew it wasn’t what she meant and she was being so, so reckless to hope. But hope was growing from embers to flames at each passing second she spent with her. She felt the change, in an unyielding determination, ready to fight the entire state of California if thats what needed to be done.

She rubbed the girls cheek and said “Goodnight Emily, Ill see you tomorrow.” in as steady a voice as she could with the best smile she could muster.

She watched as the girl took the orderly's hand and was led away. At the door Emily turned and waved and she waved back. She thought, as she stood, she would be able to hold it together until she reached her car, but the flood of emotion wasn’t going to cooperate like it usually did. She avoided peoples gaze as she rushed outside, tears streaming down her face.

#dana scully #x files #the x files #xfiles #txf #txf fanfic #emily

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years ago

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—a stakeout

SUMMARY | a late night steakout with tangerine has you questioning how you really feel for him

PAIRING | tangerine x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNING | mentions of guns, hit men, murder, some angst, etc

WORD COUNT | 2k+

AUTHORS NOTES | no spoilers for bullet train! and as much as i love the rivals/enemies to lovers troupe with tange, here's some softer stuff. happy holidays!

🍊 Masterlist 🍊 Navigation 🍊 Rules 🍊

Lemon had done this on purpose.

He had always had the ability to read people well when he wasn't busy talking about that train show of his. You swore he could tell what you were feeling before you did most times—instantly there with a handful of tissues or some reaffirming words before you even knew it. Most times it was real a help.

Most times.

That was all you could think as you stared out a tinted window into the cold night. The leather of the car seat underneath you was warm from hours of constant body heat, your legs surely numb from blood loss by this point.

From next to you sat a tall figure, dressed to the nines per usual. Soft ringlets of messy brown hair fell in his eyes, only ever moving as he let out a big sigh on occasion.

Tangerine rested his head in one hand, the other drumming his fingertips across the steering wheel as he clutched it. Flashes of moonlight would steadily dance over your vision as the luminescence caught sight of the metal rings decorating his fingers.

His rings. Seperate pages in one giant book it often seemed. Each one of them told an individual story throughout his life. The pitch black ring on his pinky? The first time he'd ever gotten into a fist fight on the job, that one had left a mark deep enough in the other guys face to shed buckets of blood. A lucky hit. Tangerine often told that story with pride, boasting that you would still be able to see the scar he left behind to this day.

The chunky gold one situated snugly on his pointer? Lemon had snatched that off a random bloke that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time a few years ago. It had been right when they had first gotten into the business, presenting it to his twin afterward with a clap on the back as a job well done. A sick gift of sorts, but it still managed to make each of them smile when they looked at it.

And that smooth, rose gold band hanging around his chest—dangling loosely on a silver chain? Well that was the reason you were currently sitting in a car in the dead of night.

Lemon was no fool. The moment he had seen you pull out that small gift box for his brother last week, he had recognized that love sick smile on your face. The way your eyes shone with excitement as you practically bounced on the balls of your feet when he went to open it. Lemon should be able to recognize it after all. It was the same look Tangerine got anytime you entered the room.

It was antagonizing for him really. Watching the both of you harbor crushes for each other in your own ways. (Tangerine; constantly checking for texts from you when he was away, using more than enough loving nicknames for you just to see your ears grow red. You; buying anything and everything that reminded you of him, doodling little drawings of the man on the corner of your loose leaf nktebooks at briefings before quickly erasing them.)

Finally he had had enough, pulling you off to the side last night. He had been a bit too rough about it for his liking, but it didn't matter now.

"Here's the plan." He didn't even stop to acknowledge your confused expression, questions surely bubbling on the tip of your tongue. "I'm sick. Very sick. You're not. Tha' stake out tomorrow night? You're goin' on it mate."

"The fuck Lemon?"

"Mate, just trust me. I know you fancy m' brother. Just take th' opportunity."

He had taken your stunned silence as a yes, giving you his best smile before moving on like nothing had happened.

So far, that was the only thing you had been able to focus on the entire time you'd been sitting idle on this hill. Not your target or his friends' late night activity you were supposed to be monitoring. Just re-running things over and over in your mind until you were dizzy with the effort.

All the times you had tried to be subtle with the longing looks and sporadic gifts. All the nights you had lay wide awake staring at the ceiling. Wondering if it would even be possible for someone like him to love you back. How did Lemon know? Were you really that obvious? Did anyone else know?

More importantly, did Tangerine know?

"Alright. S' going on in that lil head of yours (Y/n). Been quiet all night. Not like you."

Tangerine was now facing you. Arm draped around the back of your seat as if preparing to back out of a parking space. Heat from his hand radiated mere inches from your neck, but you pushed your shiver down with a forceful swallow.

"The mission." You shrugged, not moving your gaze from its spot on the window. Hoping that your response would be the end of this conversation.

"Yeah right." Tangerine just snorted. "You've never cared for these kinds of jobs love."

You forced the butterfly in your stomach to be killed off one by one. Refusing to be affected by the nickname.

"Guess I do now." Your shoulders moved with the effort of another shrug.

Tangerines mouths dipped down into a slight frown. He had been looking forward to a night alone with you. Maybe even going to get some food afterwards, even if just under the guise of two friends having a meal together. He would take it. He would take anything involving you at that point if he was being truthful.

Calloused fingers gently cradled your chin, softly gripping it as Tangerine turned your head to face him. You finally got a proper look at him, seeing the way his baby blue eyes rippled with concern as they traced unseeable patterns on your face. You were so focused on his intense stare that you forgot to remind yourself not to lean into his hand.

"You alright love?"

It would be so easy to kiss him. Just a little stretch of your neck and—

"I'm fine." His hand fell away from your face as you jerked yourself away. You almost immediately regretted it, wanting nothing more to feel him against you for a moment more.

"(Y/n)—"

"I'm just peachy Tan." You snapped, suddenly feeling angry. "Can we get back to our jobs now? You know. The thing we came here to do?"

Tangerine felt his own face flare up with anger. A rare feeling when it came directed at you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He frowned with a bit more bite to his tone than he intented. The sound of it made a flicker of regret cross your face before it was replaced with a scowl. "Seriously, who fucken pissed in your oatmeal this mornin?"

"Oh like you don't fucking know." Your own teeth grit against each other as you glared at him. The both of you now locked in a heated staring match. It wouldn't be a suprise if the windows started to fog up. The car certainly seemed like it was a lot hotter than it had been a few minutes ago.

"What, so I can fucken read your mind now?" He ran a hand through his hair in a jerky movement. The way your heart fluttered at his disheviled state drove another molten spike of rage into your heart, frustrated with yourself for finding him attractive even in the middle of an argument.

"Sometimes I really hate you Tan." You hissed. How it had gotten to this point you had no idea. But each word was like a nail to the heart for you.

"Yeah? Well, you're not exactly a joy ta be around all the time either, sunshine."

"And that's another thing!" You were full on yelling now, probably looking like a crazy person to any passing cars as you threw your hands in the air. "Stop fucking calling me those names! I bet you think you can just charm your way into anyone's pants with that huh?"

"When the fuck did I ever say anything like that!? And I thought you liked the nicknames for fucks sake!"

"I do!" You hissed with clenched fists. "The problem is I like them too fucking much! I like you too fucking much Tan! And it's killing me knowing I can't do a single goddamn thing about it!"

It was only after it was already out there did you realize what you had really said.

"Fuck. Listen—"

You didn't get any farther than that before Tangerine slammed his lips into your own. A sound of muffled suprise made it past your lips before it was quickly swallowed by him, along with the rest of your breath. The faint feeling of something prickly ticking your upper lip sang in your head as you realized it was his mustache, resulting in a silent sort of laughter. Teeth clicked against each other harshly before you reached up to rest a hand on his jaw and the other in his hair, steadying his pace to a softer, more tender one.

He only broke away in time for you to notice how fuzzy your head was becoming at the lack of oxygen. Gasping for breath, you brushed a hand over your lips. As if checking to make sure that had really just happened. Or maybe to keep the moment bottled up forever, solidifying it with the graze of your fingers.

Both of you took a moment, panting for breath as a way to fill the silence.

"Did you just—?"

"Yeah."

"Did we just—?"

"Sure did."

"And that means you're—?"

"If you ask anymore questions I might have to kiss you again (Y/n)."

The smile in his voice shone through. You allowed yourself one as well, eyes watering.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that for." The englishman sighed, resting his elbows on his thighs as he watched you stare star struck at him. "Please tell me I didn't seriously misread the situation there." He added on as an afterthought with a chuckle, already knowing the answer as he looked deep into your eyes.

"I'm sorry Tangerine." The sudden apology left you with a breathy quality. Tears were threatening to fall at a rapid pace now, one or two escaping. You couldn't tell if they were from remorse or joy. "I didn't mean that. Any of it."

"What about th' part where you confessed your undying love for me?"

He laughed as you went to hit him in the chest playfully, noting how the tears in the corner of your eyes began to disappear.

"You know what I meant. And I did no such thing." Your efforts to conceal a smile were fruitless for once. "You just got lucky this time."

"This time?" He reached a hand out to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek with a sudden fondness. "Nah. Been plenty lucky for a while now, love."

"Sap." You mummbled, closing your eyes with a sigh as he continued to leave soft strokes against your skin.

"Just for you darling."

You really would have to thank Lemon when you got back home.

#tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #bullet train x y/n #bullet train x you #bullet train x reader #bullet train imagine #tangerine imagine #tangerine #bullet train #lemon #fluff #x reader #one shot

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spitefulwriters · 11 months ago

Text

JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera (2.6K) all the times they could have kissed, but didn’t. (a series, maybe)

JJ slept like the dead, usually.

Normally half dressed, when he could be bothered, stripped down to jeans, sometimes less when it got too hot. Most of the time he didn’t make it under the sheets, bone tired from surfing, from fighting waves or fighting his father, passed out on the mattress at a weird angle to avoid that one broken spring.

Face down on a pillow, salt still in his hair, an old fan aimed at his naked back, a silly amount of lukewarm air blowing onto his sunburnt skin.

He’d sleep through the TV, the angry blare of it, the smash of an empty beer bottle, all too used to the sounds that became a fucked up kind of lullaby. Alarms didn’t budge him, not really, not anymore. He would have never made it to school if it weren’t for his dad’s foot against the door, an offbeat drum, angry and shattering.

So JJ had absolutely no idea how the tiny rocks against his window pane stirred him from sleep.

One hit, two hit, three; the sound almost like the beginning of a rain shower and then it stopped. JJ groaned, nose rubbing at the pillowcase, brow wrinkling.

Something told him to get up.

Fists found the mattress, another groan, a stifled yawn and then he was pushing himself off of the bed, sheets tangled around his knees and he tripped on one abandoned boot before he made it to the window. Eyes half closed, heavy with sleep, he cracked it open, looking out into the dark, the marshes still alive, buzzing under the moon. He couldn’t see anything, not at first, not when the sky bled into the water and the greenery became inky black, shadows on shadows with nothing in between.

Then, from the treeline, a girl appeared. Just ten feet away, too scared to get too close, wary of the glow from the television bleeding from the living room blinds, slants of blue light between broken slats. JJ thought he might’ve been dreaming.

Maybe he was.

Kiara.

Half dressed in pyjama shorts and an old sweatshirt that had some kind of fishing logo on the front. It was too dark to see, but the boy thought it might’ve been his, maybe once.

JJ blinked and dragged a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers got caught in the ends, salt and sand falling onto his shoulders and he stared at the girl in her unlaced sneakers, no car, no bike, no nothing around her.

“What’re you doing?” He hissed, voice rough with sleep, cracking with anticipation. He could hear the western movie that was playing from the other room, but he couldn’t hear his dad snoring. Not yet. “What the fuck, Kie?”

Kiara edged forward, eyes wary, stare flickering from JJ’s face and back to the front door of the trailer. When nothing moved, when no one appeared, she walked through the grown grass and curled her fingers around the window edge. She was close enough now that JJ could see the heaviness on her face, the tired looking bruises under her lash line, the weight on her shoulders.

Kie’s chin jumped the sill and her fingers were so close to the boy’s, close enough that her pinky almost grazed his thumb and it wasn’t cold outside, not in the slightest, but the boy seemed to hold the sun under his skin and Kiara wanted to run to it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, her voice too awake, too alert for two in the morning.

JJ waited, knowing there was more. He could see it in her face, the bitten skin at her bottom lip, the pulled out curl that fell into her eyes, the one that held more frizz than the rest.

“Parents are fighting again,” Kie continued, staring past JJ, into his room, gaze studying the posters and photos on his wall as if she could hide her feelings amongst them all. “It’s stupid. I just— I wanted to get out of the house.”

Maybe before - years ago, maybe only months ago - JJ would’ve teased her. Made some kind of comment, something less than sensitive, something crude about seeking him out in the middle of the night, something destructive about not choosing John B or Pope over him.

But now— now?

JJ pressed his lips together and nodded. His thumb shifted, just once, grazing the back of Kie’s hand before pulling away and searching his floor for a shirt. He yanked one on, buttoned up his jeans, grabbed a cap to cover his bed mussed hair, shoved bare feet into shoes and ushered her backwards without looking at his bedroom door or thinking about what lay behind it. Kie moved, watching as the boy slid open the window a little wider, throwing one leg out before the other and dropping almost silently to the ground, like he’d done it before.

Of course he had. He’d done it plenty of times.

Just not for her.

They didn’t speak as JJ straightened up, boots crunching in the grass. Eyes locked, the boy lifted a finger to his lips and offered Kiara his other hand. She took it like she always did, with no hesitation at all, and JJ led her across the marshes, through the buzz of the insects, away from the man in the living room. They walked until overgrown grass and reeds turned into a dirt path, forged by night time walks just like this.

Neither thought to take JJ’s bike, neither thought about a car, or the Twinkie. They just walked, heading out of the marshes until the fisherman shacks were left behind, until they couldn’t hear the drone of cicadas as loudly, until they were crossing the road that took them out of The Cut and under streetlights.

They walked until tarmac turned to sand and the empty beach lay before them and like it had already been agreed, they both stopped to toe off their shoes, digging the soles of their feet into the sand just to see if it had kept any of the afternoon heat. Kiara walked and JJ followed, not speaking, not yet, not until he knew the time was right.

He’d once been a stupid kid, a teenage boy without much common sense when it came to girls and feelings - and shit, maybe he still was - but JJ Maybank was a grade A student when it came to Kiara Carrera. So he watched and he waited, following the girl in the sand, his footprints covering up her much smaller ones as she led them to the shoreline, where the waves lapped at the beach and created the best kind of white noise. A rush of water, the most pretty kind of itch that scratched at his brain and he thought Kie felt the same, because when she stopped and he chanced a look at her profile, her eyes were closed, the corners of her mouths lifting every time the ocean caught her toes.

“It was too loud,” Kie finally said as a way of explanation. The water rushed, a shell hit a rock and silence fell over them again. “They’d been arguing all night, all through dinner. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Doesn’t sound fun,” JJ agreed. He kept his eyes on the water, searching the horizon like he was trying to find something to focus on other than the warmth of the girl standing beside him. “What’re they yellin’ ‘bout now?”

Kiara’s sneakers hit the sand with a wet smack. She sighed before sitting, knees tucked to her chest and JJ wondered once more if the sweater was his before it had become hers, maybe John B’s for a week or two, maybe Pope’s. He joined her, feet planted half in the sea and his arms on his knees, waiting for her reply, even if he knew what was coming.

“Everything,” Kiara stated flatly. She let out a huff of laughter, no humour to the sound. “Me, mostly.”

JJ smiled at her bluntness and touched the brim of his hat, for lack of something to do. He was itching to reach out, to brush away the grains of wet sand that stuck to her shins. “Doesn’t sound like anythin’ new.”

Kiara shrugged. “Not really, s’all a broken record now though. Sick of the same shit every day. All they do is act like I’m some sort of broken kid, like they have to fix me.”

JJ wanted to nod and say he understood, that he knew the feeling. He’d been treated like a problem his whole life, like he’d been born less than perfect, like he was the root cause of all his fathers shortcomings. But he didn’t know what it was like to have someone care enough to wanna try and solve it. To maybe try and put his broken pieces back together. So he just pressed his lips together and stared at the sand, waiting for the moment the ocean would brush back over his bare feet again, soaking at the hem of his jeans.

“Ever wanna do something stupid? Just ‘cause?”

JJ snorted at the question, chin turning up and eyes searching for Kiara’s. She was already looking at him, more start curls escaping her hair tie, a smile on her face that JJ thought could maybe fix some of his problems, at least.

“You realise who you’re talkin’ to, right?” He replied, grinning right back. The sun that was left of his cheeks stung when he did it, nose wrinkled and a little too red because he never listened when Kiara and Pope told him he needed more sunblock. “What kinda stupid are we talkin’ about?”

Kie shrugged, stretched out her legs and let the sand coat the back of them, wet, golden grains against dark bronzed skin and JJ wondered if she’d take them to bed with her, if she’d manage to wash them off and hide the evidence of their night from her parents before she got back home. The boy wondered if she cared.

“I don’t know,” kie let her head tilt to the side, pondering. She held up one hand and started counting on each finger. “We’ve already covered running away, robbery—”

JJ snorted. “Don’t forget grand theft auto.”

“—does grand larceny count?” Kie smiled.

The boy smirked. “Gold was always ours, Kie, don’t forget it.”

Silence fell over them again, smiles never fading. If they waited long enough, they’d see the stars turn to sunlight and the sky change to cotton candy pink, creeping over the edge of the ocean.

Kie didn’t want to wait that long.

She let her head fall back, her neck on its hinge, staring up above, lights winking down at her, telling her she should be asleep.

“Maybe we’ve been going too big.” She blew out a breath, let her eyes close. “Maybe we need to start from the beginning, throw a rager, get drunk. Like kids are supposed to. That kind of stupid.”

JJ hummed, nodding even though Kiara could see. Her hands were in the sand, fingertips buried in the grains. If he moved a little closer, their pinkies could touch.

“Sounds lame in comparison,” the boy teased lightly. “Where’s the fun if we don’t got no guns?”

Kie didn’t laugh but JJ watched her smile, head shaking, eyes opening so she could flick her gaze over to him, mirth dancing in them. She looked like she was unsure of what to say next, if she should say anything at all but then she sat up a little straighter, turning so her body was facing him.

“What about something stupid like—” Kiara picked at a broken shell, a barely there piece of pearl. “—like kissing someone you’re not supposed to.”

It was like the air had been sucked off of the island, like it had up and left, leaving them with only the sound of the sea. Whilst everyone else on Kildare slept, JJ felt like his heart had exploded. Surely the sonic boom could be heard across the beach, reaching Charleston and further, surely Kiara heard it too.

But the girl was just watching him, waiting, wary and quiet.

JJ felt like he’d swallowed his tongue, but still he moved, shifted in the sand until his knee knocked Kiara’s bare one and he felt the entire night swallow him whole. He didn’t know where to look, didn’t know how to act. ‘Causal’ wasn’t in JJ Maybank’s vocabulary. He stared at the shell in the girls hand, watched the pink and green oil slick shine glint in the moonlight.

“Like— like Gary at the restaurant? Or—?”

Kie wrinkled her nose at the mention of the older boy who worked for her parents. Twenty-something and harbouring a habit from cheap whisky and younger girls, he wasn’t Kiara’s favourite person.

“What?” Kie pulled a face. “Ew, no. No— like a friend.” She swallowed a little too harshly, her fingers suddenly clumsy and dropping her shell. “Someone who people would get mad about.”

A friend a friend a friend.

JJ felt his cheeks flush, a rosy warmth across his nose that he could only hope the darkness would hide. It felt like the middle of the day, a heatwave creeping in, a tropical storm with the name of a girl, making the air too hot, ready to sweep him up and rattle him from the inside out.

He licked his lips, tried to stay neutral, hoped his voice wouldn’t crack, prayed he didn’t act a fool. “Who’d get mad at you for something like that?”

When JJ finally looked up, waiting for the girl’s answer with a breath held in his chest, he realised Kiara was already looking at him. Her lashes lowered, gaze trained in his lips, watching the way his mouth parted ever so slightly when he sucked in a burning breath.

“Everyone,” Kie whispered.

The world would have fell into the ocean then, houses and cliffs crumbling, JJ wouldn’t have noticed. Not at all.

“Because it would be a mistake?” His voice cracked, too husky. He didn’t care, not one bit. “Or ‘cause you’d regret it…?”

Kie was still watching him, eyes flicking from his mouth as he spoke, to the slant of his cheek bones, the blue of his eyes. He felt so exposed under her gaze, laid bare, even in the middle of the night, sitting on the beach in the dark. JJ marvelled over the realisation that he didn’t really mind. He’d sit like this for days on end for Kiara, if it meant getting her attention in this way.

Kie shrugged, gave a sad sort of smile and found her broken shell again, tapping her nail against the side. “Not necessarily,” was all she said.

He could’ve kissed her then, JJ was almost sure of it. He could’ve leant in, tested the waters, watched to see if her eyes followed his mouth even when it moved to her own, if she’d let him put his hand on her knee, if she’d let him pull her in by the back of her neck like he was used to doing with the girls he met at parties.

But JJ didn’t have that kind of confidence, not then. Not with Kiara Carrera. He thought about what she’d said, about the people who’d be mad at her— at them. He wondered if Kie was even talking about him in the first place.

She couldn’t be. Of course not, right?

Right?

So JJ waited until the surf was dragged back out and Kie brushed the sand off her calves. He stood, tugged off his cap to drag a hand through his hair before shoving it back on, pulling the brim down to hide his eyes, the disappointment in them. Then, the boy held a hand out to the girl and he tried to keep his heart inside his chest when she took it.

Dragging Kie up from the sand, he smiled at her, just like he normally would. “Lemme walk you home,” was all he had to say.

-Bellamy (SW#1)

#jiara #jiara fanfic #jiara fanfiction #jiara oneshot #jiarasource #jiara obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x Kiara Carrera #kiara carrera #jj x kiara #jj x Kie #obx #outer banks #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic

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handspunyarns · 21 days ago

Text

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One point Five.

pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C

word count: 12K

chapter summary: Din and Marathel both struggle with the truth, Marathel tells a story about an old friend, and Din goes clothes shopping.

warnings:  ALL THE ANGST, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse and SA, mention of murder and infanticide, mention of child SA, self-harm, mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Marathel felt completely incapable of speech. A Captain stood before her, and she was convinced that he was there take her away, that there was another Hold somewhere out there like her old Hold, with another Hunter and another Duke and another Bishop, and there was no way in Frith she would ever go back into a Hold to become a Diwhyn and be beaten for existing and kicked for being female and her hair pulled out for not obeying whatever a male desired to inflict upon her, and she wanted to scream no but the only noise she could make was a gurgling sound in her throat as she pulled on Din’s arm.

Din could feel the pull of her hand, the tremble of her arm, could practically smell the fear radiating from her, and he turned towards her, wondering if she was going to fight, flee, or freeze. He carefully gripped her hand on his arm, wrapping his fingers around the heel of her thumb, which he hoped would prevent her from slipping away. “Ma’mwsh ha’laa,” he said softly. Her eyes, with pupils dilated to nearly the size of her irises, flicked to his visor. “Don’t be afraid,” said Din, in a tone he would use with Grogu. “It will be all right.” Marathel shook her head and pulled even harder. “I know this man, Captain Teva. He’s a …” She whimpered and shut her eyes tight as he said Captain, and he realized why she was panicking. “No, ma’mwsh ha’laa. No. He’s not a Captain like that Elder monster. It’s a title, it’s his rank; this is a good man. He has helped me before. I believe he is here to help you. Will you trust me?” To Teva’s credit, he did not interrupt or step in; he merely stood still and softened his expression, waiting.

Ya-Bito stepped in to create a barrier between Marathel and Teva. “Sir, you are trespassing in a secure ward, and you are upsetting my patient.”

Doctor Dine’ and two others Din didn’t recognize came forward from behind the New Republic officers. Doctor Dine’ said, “They are not trespassing; they have the hospital’s permission to speak to this patient.” Just behind them was Siewan, who caught Marathel’s eye, mouthing I’m sorry.

“Dwy’tu’ar!” spat Marathel. “You said I’d be safe! You … pinky swore, you …” She wrenched her hand free from Din’s, leaned against the wall, and covered her face. Din gently touched her arm, but she shied away, which hurt Din’s heart in a way he didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry, my mesh’la …” began Din, surprising both Marathel and himself. Her heart leapt at the endearment, but figured it was only a force of habit, and then sank deep into despair. Who can I trust? These doctors, these nurses? Can I even trust Din?

The voices of the Dahls came to her again, sinister and so frighteningly loud. You can’t trust anyone who says they’re going to help you. You don’t deserve help. You are worthless, you stupid whore cu—…

“I have had enough of you!” whispered Marathel, pressing her fists into her temples, pulling hard on her hair. For a few moments all she could hear was her own breath going in and out, and then a new voice, this one calm and quiet:

The only one you can trust right now is yourself, old girl. And the truth is, you will have to tell your story many, many times. You owe it to the four women who died for you, that you tell people what was done to every female in that Hold. If you don’t, you will hate yourself even more.

She took one last deep breath, exhaled, and straightened up, muttering, “I’ll speak to this … Captain …”

Din nodded and began, “I’ll be right there with you …”

“No can do, Mando. My specific orders are to keep you two separated,” said Teva.

Din turned back to Teva. “Excuse me?”

“Lady ap Bishop goes with these doctors and officers; you’re with me. Let’s go.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

“Can’t be helped. This is the way, Mando.”

Din glared at Teva, who at least looked apologetic. He turned back to Marathel, who stood there, staring at the floor, looking sad and lost and … alone. He squeezed her arm and said, “It will be all right.” She shrugged and looked away. He dropped his hand and said to Teva, “Let’s go.” The little group broke up into two factions: Marathel went with the doctors and the female officers, and Din went the opposite direction with Teva and another man who said he represented the hospital. As he passed Siewan, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed on Marathel’s behalf. He muttered to Teva, “So how’d you find us? I slingshot those holos …”

“We sent away teams to both Unmanarall and here long before that, Mando. We put a tracker on your ship.”

Haar’chak. “Nice to hear that things haven’t changed much since the Rebellion.”

“I have a wife and little daughters, Mando; you can’t just drop hypotheticals about a planet like that one and expect me to leave it alone.” They came to a small conference room and went inside. As the hospital rep shut the door and frosted the windows, Teva said, “Look. I appreciate the fact you figured out where they came from, originally. We just want to get some official findings on paper before involving the Lew’elan Parliament.” He motioned for Din to sit. “The reports I’m getting so far from the crew on the ground are exceptionally distressing. The women that remain run the gamut from suicidal to murderous to …” Teva sighed, unable to think of a word.

“Propositional?” Din thought of the little Hold girl, who had offered her body to him, and shuddered.

“You could have warned me.”

“If you’d read the damn report that I sent with the holos, you would have seen that I recommended sending only female human scouts. They’re terrified of everything else.”

“So, Mando, tell me why that is.”

Din did his best. Answer the question and offer nothing, as buir would say. Unsure of what answers Marathel would give, he briefly described receiving a tip through the Unreliable Mercenary Grapevine (leaving Karga out for … reasons) about a sub-ether call for a bounty hunter, using an old unrecognizable language with sketchy coordinates. He glossed over the fact that he lived in her house for a full six days, the fact that Marathel had a … bond with the Dahls, and especially the fact that bond made Marathel screw his brains out. Unfortunately, Teva wasn’t impressed.

“A bounty, to return a woman, who lived within walking distance from the guys who wanted her back? That makes no sense.”

Din shrugged. “I don’t judge. It was a job.”

“You got paid?”

“A few Old Republic coins. Not worth much.”

“Then why not just grab her and drag her up to those guys right when you got there?” asked Teva.

“They also wanted eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Dahl eggs.”

“Those things lay eggs?”

Din tilted his helmet, and thought fondly of Marathel as he replied, “Of course they lay eggs. What else would they do?”

Teva asked, “So … what? You just hung out at her house until the eggs showed up?”

Din shrugged. “It was only a couple days.”

“Long enough to … well, ‘fuck her’ as the remaining women say. No, wait, I have that wrong,” said Teva, scrolling through his holopad. “She fucked you, and her intended Elder got mighty pissed.” Din sat silently, unmoving. “Do you deny that?”

“What she specifically said was ‘I took him’ …”

Teva raised an eyebrow. “And did she ‘take you’?”

Din tilted his helmet and glared at Teva for half a minute before he continued. “Her saying that did make her intended Elder — who was also her biological father — mighty pissed, yes.”

“Enough to … how did they put it? Make a Belwhyn out of her. So, you just left her there to be raped and tortured? Got your bounty and took off?”

Din did his best to say evenly, “I made a grave mistake by allowing them to take her into the Hold. When I attempted to rectify that, I was beaten unconscious.”

Teva nodded. “That was confirmed by the woman Klelia ap Duke, or, as my ground crew called her, the crazy blonde with the fireplace poker.” Din frowned at the choice of words under his helmet. “So, you were unconscious but were tended to by four women from the Hold: Olba ap Captain, Lorica ap Bishop, Tymfy ap Hunter, and Hylma ap Duke. These are the same women who brought out the injured Marathel and something called a … marchwyl?”

“A beskar hammer.”

“Are you still in possession of this hammer?”

Sort of. “No.”

“Why’d the women bring her out to you?”

“I … Olba asked me to take her for help. Olba raised Marathel from infancy and was her adoptive mother. Normally, when a woman is … made a Belwhyn, it is a death sentence. But since I had come from elsewhere, and had a ship …”

“Where’d you take her?” Din remained silent. “Why did you bring her back?”

“She …” Din couldn’t continue.

Teva tilted his head. “She what?”

“She told me to.”

After another hour, Din felt like he’d been run backwards through his mother’s old wringer clothes washer. Whether Teva got the answers he wanted, Din didn’t care. He said only as much as he felt he could without inviting any more questions, leaving out Grogu entirely, and only speaking of the Dahls as weird, ugly critters howling off in the distance. Teva didn’t want to leave that alone, though. “These Dahls … the women of the Hold all seem to agree that Marathel could control them.”

Din shrugged. “Marathel lived alone among them for thirty years. Maybe she tamed a few of them. Maybe they just liked her and saw her as part of their pack.”

“Any explanation why these critters would suddenly rise up, enter the Hold, and rip only the males to pieces?”

“They have good taste?”

Teva pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh before changing the subject. Din was willing to speak about the physical evidence of the brutality that he’d witnessed on Marathel’s body, and the torturous Dilimgau. Those were important matters, not the actions of freaky goat-lizard-cat things that did the galaxy a favor, in Din’s opinion.

Teva folded his hands and took a breath before asking, “Describe this Dilimgau to me.”

Din swallowed and said, “It was a cylindrical tube of metal, slightly flared on one end. The surface was studded with sharp points. It had been … inserted into Marathel’s vagina, and then … kicked into place by the Captain, according to a little girl of the Hold, who then asked me if I would be her Elder and offered to fellate me.”

Teva blanched. “Sweet baby Jawas …”

The hospital rep — not a doctor, but a bean counter, by the look of him — whispered, “I think I’ve heard enough,” and left.

Din continued, “The women removed the Dilimgau from her on my ship when they were trying to render aid. The screams that I heard from Marathel when they did that ... I have never heard such agony. Then, Lorica ap Bishop threw it at my feet, blaming me for Marathel’s injuries. Marathel later told me that it was the only one, and it was never cleaned, so flesh would rot on it, and it was used as a deterrent for misbehavior from the women. Marathel developed sepsis directly because of that … thing.”

“Where is it now?”

“I’m going to assume that since you tracked my ship, you have also searched it. There is a divot on my floor from where both she and I beat the shab out of it with a hammer, and then I shot it out the airlock so she could blast it to bits with my ship’s lasers.”

Teva sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands. “Well, I can appreciate that action.” He drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, looking over his notes. “But the rest of this situation … this is all a pile of bantha shit, Mando. It makes no kriffing sense! You said yourself you didn’t make any money on this venture. You probably went broke ferrying this woman back and forth; why would any mercenary put himself in that position?” Din did not answer. “You’ve given me nothing here! Why did she go into that Hold of her own will? Why did you take her away from there? Why did you take her back? Why did you leave her there? Why did you suddenly go back to get her? Why didn’t you bring up the situation there to the New Republic before now?”

“I’ll answer the last question first,” said Din, picking imaginary lint off his glove. “Primitive culture, blah, blah, blah.”

“So, what about the rest of it?”

Din sighed. “You really want to know?”

“Yes, dammit!”

“Off the record?”

Teva folded up his holopad and shoved it back in his bag. “Off the record.”

“None of your kriffing business.” Din stood up and moved towards the door.

“Mando …” Din turned back to Teva. “If her story is dramatically different than yours, we’re going to have to do this all over again.”

Din ground his teeth for a moment. “Are you going to extradite her back to Lew’el?”

Teva shook his head. “We’re not going to. The high magistrates of Lew’el might. After all, she is allegedly responsible for the deaths of 142 men, children, and infants of Lew’el descent. Does she wish to go to Lew’el?”

Din shook his head. “We haven’t had an opportunity to speak on much of anything. She was in bad shape and required surgery; she only woke up a couple hours ago.” Teva nodded and stood as well. “Are the remaining women being removed? Taken to Lew’el?”

“Probably. Not sure yet. A lot of paperwork must be done before that. It’s still a triage situation right now.” Teva cleared his throat. “Look, Mando … I had to interrogate you because the situation on Unmanrall is so kriffing horrible. And weird. None of us can wrap our heads around how horrible that place is. You did a good thing, helping Marathel, alerting us to the situation in that Hold. If it had been me in your boots… I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done.” Din said nothing, but opened the door. “What does your … pet think of her?”

“My …? Oh. He loves her.”

“What about you?”

Din paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t answer. He stepped out and saw Siewan sitting on a chair in the corridor, holding Marathel’s blanket on her lap. Din turned back to Teva and said, “By the way, get your kriffing tracker and your people off my ship.” Teva and Din squared off for a moment. Then Teva nodded and went back up the corridor.

Once he’d gone, Siewan stood and came up to Din. “Mando, I promise you; it wasn’t me. It was nurse Brey that alerted authorities.” She sighed. “He doesn’t quite get it, that some situations need time to let the victim work some things out themselves. That they need … a damned moment to wrap their heads around what they’ve endured.” She handed him the blanket. “Marathel won’t want to see me; she believes I’ve betrayed her. She called me something, did you hear it? Something like …”

“Like doo-ih-tuh-air? Yes, I heard it.”

“She said it before, right when she first woke up. I was sitting with her in recovery, talking to her like I normally would. Saying things like, wake up now, you need to wake up. But then I said, wake up, Mando is worried about you, and she screamed that word. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Din remembered hearing the word as well; Marathel had said it while in a semi-conscious state aboard the Crest. He was holding her, his bare skin against hers, trying to get her warm as she’d carried on a one-sided Oldtalk conversation. “Marathel speaks a dialect of an ancient language. It’s befuddled a couple protocol droids so far. It’s rather colorful. She once told me to rhaff codieh.”

“Which means?”

“‘Piss up a rope.’”

Siewan laughed. “Damn, I like her.” Me too, thought Din. Me too. The two of them started walking back towards Marathel’s room. “What else has she called you?”

“Oh … let me see … tymffod, which means ‘asshole’, cigpell pudyn, which means … ‘meatball dick’ …” Siewan laughed so hard she snorted. “And then there was gwyr’dwp bai. ‘Stupid brat boy’, apparently.”

“What did you do to earn these epithets?”

“Exist in her presence.”

Siewan laughed again. “Ya-Bito said you have a pet name for her. What was it? Mah-moosh hah-lah? Is that from her language too?”

“It is. It means ‘wounded acorn.’ I was actually …” Din let his voice trail off.

Siewan looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, they walked in silence before running into Ya-Bito. “They’re still in there, and that Captain Teva just joined them,” she said, nodding her head towards a closed door. “They took a short break a little while ago.”

Din asked, “How did Marathel seem?”

Ya-Bito considered his question for a moment, then replied, “Quietly stoic.” That sounds bad, thought Din. As if she’d heard his thought, the green-skinned nurse said, “It worried me. She’s trying too hard to keep her emotions bottled up. It seems to me she desperately needs to talk about her trauma, but she either won’t or can’t. I think you’re the only person she seems to fully trust, but …”

“But, what?”

I think she is heartbroken over you, thought Ya-Bito. Out loud, she said, “I think Marathel has decided she must build a fortress around herself to survive. What are your plans for her when she is released?”

“I … haven’t fully figured that out yet,” said Din.

Siewan, who had been looking at Marathel’s chart, said, “Well, you better figure it out quick. Her chart says that she seems well enough — physically — to be released tomorrow. If she can keep herself out of the psych ward, that is. You brought her in wearing only that blanket. Can you bring her something to wear for when she leaves?”

Din thought about her bag, remembering that the only other clothes she had were a set of those blue clothes that he hated seeing her in, and those were soiled from fixing the hyperdrive console. “Could she not … just leave with what she’s wearing now?”

Din had never in his life received such withering looks as the nurses before him were giving. He believed that his beskar helmet might melt from the fire in their eyes. “I … uh … what do you suggest?”

The two women said together, “Mise-Tusil.”

Din grabbed his weapons from the trauma center lockers, made a quick run to the Crest, and was now walking across the footbridge that spanned over the busy traffic on the Strip below. As he walked with the throng of tourists, he looked up this Mise-Tusil on his holopad. Apparently, it was quite the swank and well-loved department store of Canto Bight. It was, however, about 8 klicks away, and Din did not want to be gone too long. He’d already left Grogu in childcare for far too long today, and now he was fretting over Marathel’s mental state. He didn’t know what Canto’s laws about involuntary psychiatric commitment were, but he felt that the nurses were trying to tell him — without telling him — that Marathel was straddling an emotional crevasse that she could fall into at any moment.

And yet, they send me shopping? Haar’chak.

Well, who in blue fuck else is going to get things for her, Djarin? She has practically nothing!

Din figured clothes were clothes, so he walked into the first shop he saw that featured female mannequins in the window. Naturally, he drew a lot of interested glances as he entered. The shop featured loud music and shiny displays of even shinier clothing. Hoping for something appropriate, he went straight to the counter, behind which a not-so-young woman with enormous yellow hair and far too precise makeup stood. Woof, thought Din. This is one hard-looking woman. She thrust her enhanced cleavage back at him with a smile. “Help you with something, metal man?”

“I’m looking for a set of clothing for a woman. Something soft and comfortable, please.”

“Well, I’m sure we can find you something that fits the bill,” said the saleswoman, with a voice that sounded like she ate death sticks instead of smoking them. She led Din to a display next to the lingerie department. “Comfortable, you say? Perhaps, something like … this?” She held up a strappy short — dress? — that looked about as comfortable as the rigging that held Marathel up in his fresher on the Crest, but nowhere near as practical.

Din tilted his helmet. “I believe I said soft and comfortable.”

The yellow-haired woman pouted her over-lined and painted poofy lips, saying, “But this is the sort of thing I like to wear when I want to get comfortable ... with someone special … who has big guns.” She reached out with a long, painted claw and ran it down his vambrace.

Nope, thought Din, drawing his arm away. “I would prefer something that the woman in question could wear as she leaves the hospital. Soft comfortable pants, and a shirt, something easy to wear.”

“Oh, well, then perhaps something more in our athleisure line, then. We have some great stuff if the woman is busty like me.” Yellowhair led him with her hotpants-clad flat ass towards the center of the store, where a redheaded woman — this one simply dressed and nowhere near as overly made-up as the yellow-haired woman — carefully folded stacks of simple shirts in a myriad of colors. “What do you think? Something in a nice blue, perhaps? Or hot pink?”

“I like the yellow one,” said Din, nodding at the shirt the redhead was currently folding.

This apparently tickled the yellow-haired tart, who sidled up against Din’s side and cooed, “Ooh, my favorite color! Well, metal man, I knew you at least had some good taste.”

As Din side-stepped slightly away from Madam Yellowhair Hotpants, the other saleswoman said, “It is a pretty yellow, but I know that this top is a bit on the sheer side, and really form-fitting.”

Yellowhair said, “It looks terrible on her, but it fits my form just fine.”

Din caught a slight eyeroll from the redhead, who said, “I recommend this. The fabric is very soft, and more substantial.” She held up a shirt with a slightly scooped neckline in a dusky purple that reminded Din of twilight on Unmanarall. He nodded in approval. “What size does she wear?”

“I’m honestly not sure. She’s a … slightly larger woman,” said Din, reaching into the bag he carried, which held Marathel’s blue clothing.

Yellowhair scoffed. “Is she fat? We don’t carry things for fat people here. They don’t deserve to have clothing like this …”

Din, fully annoyed now, turned to Yellowhair BitchFace and snapped, “You are excessively rude. And ugly. I would prefer to not speak to you further.”

Yellowhair blanched and spat, “You can’t speak to me like that! My husband owns this shop!”

“Then he has my complete sympathy, believe me.”

“What … you … walking dustbin! Peckerhead Mandalorian! Your dick probably wouldn’t fill my left ear anyway!” Yellowhair stomped towards the front door. “I’m going for a caf,” she screeched as she threw the door open and left.

Din turned back to the redhead, who was obviously amused by the exchange. “Please, excuse my behavior.”

She laughed. “Excuse, nothing. She’s an utter bitch. You made my day.”

“Is she going to cause you trouble?”

The redhead, who had freckles and a pretty smile, said, “Nah. She’s only wife seven of ten. And the only one he makes work!” Din chuckled. “So … did you have something there I can look at the size?” Din held up the blue shirt. “Well, unfortunately, it’s true, we don’t have anything that will fit your lady. This place does fit only skinny people. I recommend Mise-Tusil. That’s where I shop.”

“Then why do you work here?”

She laughed. “I get an employee discount, and my kids love these clothes. My cousin works at Mise-Tusil; let me see if she’s working today.” She tapped into a holopad for a few moments. “Yes, she’s there now. Take this token; it gets you a quickcart ride up there. Ask for Dursi. She’s expecting you.”

Din took the token. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind. Again, I apologize for causing trouble.”

“Please, no worries. I won’t see her for the rest of the day. When she says I’m going for a caf what she really means is glug glug glug!” crowed the redhead, holding up an imaginary bottle to her mouth. With a laugh, she sent Din on his way.

Din stepped up to the line of quickcarts —which were little more than a droid on wheels — and got in. He dropped the token in the appropriate slot and programmed his destination on the screen. As the cart zipped off, he felt utterly ridiculous, riding this rolling crate that seemed only slightly larger than a scooter for a toddler. As he was wondering if Grogu would enjoy such a toy, the cart stopped suddenly, making Din lurch forward in his seat. “You have arrived,” chirped the cart from a tinny speaker.

Din stepped out and looked at the impressive brass-and-glass edifice before him. Mise-Tusil, the sign read in illuminated letters in an elegant font. Din walked inside, the glass doors hissing. Here, he was greeted by fine marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and the sound of a musical trio playing pleasant music, music not unlike what he and Marathel danced to aboard the Crest. Well, this place smells expensive, thought Din.

A young Omwati man came forward and said, “Welcome to Mise-Tusil, sir. How may I be of service?”

“I am here to meet with a Miss Dursi,” replied Din.

“Of course, sir, I will let her know you are here. May I offer you a caf, or tea?” Din simply tilted his head, and the Omwati said, “Well, sir, if you would be so kind as to wait here, Dursi will be with you shortly.”

Din nodded his thanks and stood, waiting, feeling again like a ragged, drunken hobo standing somewhere so posh. At least they’re letting me hang on to my weapons, he thought as an amazingly stunning woman approached him. She looked quite exotic, taller than he but with a broader build, her skin deeply colored as rich black velvet night but with bright golden eyes and teeth, dressed in a classically cut pantsuit as scarlet as every sin Din never had the nerve to commit. “Mi- …” Din’s voice box failed him, and he had to clear his throat. “Miss Dursi?”

“Sir Mandalorian! Please, it’s just Dursi.”

“In that case, it’s just Mando.”

“Excellent! I am so pleased to meet you. Please, come with me.” Din dutifully fell in step beside Dursi as she led him to the top floor of the store. “I understand that you’re looking for some clothing for a plus-sized woman?”

“I am. She is scheduled to be released from the medical center tomorrow. I would like to find something appropriate for her.”

Dursi led him to a tall table in the center of her department. “I am sorry to hear that she is hospitalized, but I’m glad to hear she is well enough to leave there soon. It is a very good medical center; I know they take very good care of their patients. What is her name?”

“Marathel.”

“What a beautiful name. Tell me about her.”

Din was surprised that she was asking about Marathel, as opposed to starting to find clothing immediately. “I don’t know her size, but I do have some clothing of hers …”

“That’s excellent and very helpful, but please tell me about Marathel.” Din just looked at Dursi, unsure what she wanted to know. She asked, “What does she look like?”

“She’s … uh … she’s tall, almost my height. She’s between 45 and 50 years old. She’s, well, heavyset, but not overly so. She has very pale skin and silver hair and eyes.” Din was kicking himself for not being able to describe Marathel in more eloquent terms. He felt like he was giving a description to a marshal for a suspect in a crime.

Dursi smiled indulgently. “What is she like as a person?”

“She is … kind. And caring. Generous. Generous of her time and talents. Smarter than she’ll give herself credit for. Always thinking of others first, wanting to please. But … she’s fragile, and … sad.”

Dursi tilted her head and smiled. “And she’s in the hospital. I won’t ask why; that is none of my business. But here is a question I always like to ask about a lady I’m assisting: does she realize that she is beautiful?”

Din’s throat felt thick at the profound question. He thought of Marathel standing in her hut in that yellow dress, looking shocked and embarrassed that Grogu had woken him up by jumping nearly right on his groin. That was the … the first morning after. She chose to wear a dress when she’d only ever worn utilitarian clothing. She … maybe wanted to look pretty for me.

Din remembered that Dursi was waiting for an answer. “No. No, I don’t think she does.”

“So, I’m hearing that Marathel needs clothes that give her comfort, as well as give her some confidence, some elegance, some pride in herself,” said Dursi.

“Erm … sure.”

Dursi laughed. “And I’m hearing that you, Mando, are way out of your comfort zone. You have something of hers in the bag?”

“Uh, yes … here,” said Din, handing over the blue pants and shirt. “Be careful; they are soiled with engine grease.”

Dursi chuckled and pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box under the table. “Thanks for the warning.” She spread the shirt out, gave it a cursory look, and said, “Well, this is dreadful. Does it fit her?”

“Sort of?” said Din with a grimace. “I mean, it is big enough for her, but it’s …”

“The fabric is stiff and doesn’t hang well. Tell me, is Marathel more of a rounded shape or curvy?” Din tilted his helmet. “Does she have a definitive waist?”

“Well … yes.”

“Fuller on top?” Din blushed and nodded. “Any tummy? Is her, ah … aft section also on the fuller side?” she asked, chuckling at her own joke.

Din shifted side to side on his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and said quietly, “Erm … both.”

It’s a good thing this guy is a Mandalorian, thought Dursi. He’s so embarrassed I can see steam coming out from under that helmet. She unfolded the pants and saw pins holding the waistband a little tighter. “Well, that answers that question. Your Marathel is curvy.”

“I hate those pants,” blurted Din. “They are too big on her, and all those pockets make her look bigger than she is.”

“So Marathel has nice legs?”

“Her legs are wonderful,” said Din before he even realized he said a word, and he froze.

Dursi grinned. “And were the pants too long or short?”

“Too long, actually. She had to roll them up.”

“Excellent to know! I can get a measurement off these, then.” Dursi pulled out her tailor’s tape and deftly took several measurements, jotting the numbers down on a pad. She then took another look inside the bag and pulled out a purple top and green vest that Din had never seen before. “Well, these are quite nice. How do these fit her?”

“I have no idea.”

Dursi hummed and kept looking through the bag. “Oh, good, she does have some undergarments. She pulled out a folded bra and pair of underpants, grinned at Din, and said, “Don’t worry; I won’t ask you how well these fit.” She noted the sizes on her pad and put the items away. “I think we might have enough information now to find her something.” She folded the blue clothes and began to place them back in the bag.

“Could you … would you just please toss those out? They’re soiled, they’re dreadful — as you say — and I honestly would rather not see them on her again,” said Din.

Dursi frowned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “These clothes belong to Marathel; do they not? If they are her clothes, only she should have the power to get rid of them. Do not take her power away.”

Din felt as small as he used to as a child, when his father would ask him the Five Whys of Root Cause Analysis. He rocked back on his heels and muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

Dursi lightened her expression. “My goodness, Mando. I’m not going to morally censure you; I’m only reminding you that Marathel has her own mind. Lighten up a little, for the love of Frith.”

Din’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

“Did I say ‘Frith’? Holy loth-cats, I haven’t said that for years.” Dursi chuckled. “My cousin, Meejil, the one that sent you here? Well, we’re not actually cousins, but we grew up next door to each other. Her great-grandmother told us these stories from her childhood about a rabbity-kind of creature called Frith. Silly children’s stories from the planet Great-Nan came from; what was the name of it …?”

“Was it Lew’el?”

“Yes, Lew’el! I had forgotten all about that. I even had the books as a child. I read those …”

“Books?”

“Oh, yes. A whole series of stories. Great-Nan insisted they were ancient stories told for hundreds of years, back when they spoke a different old language, before Basic.”

Din couldn’t believe his ears. “Do you … would you please write down the name of one of these books?”

Dursi wrote one down immediately and handed the note to Din. “And there you are. Enough of that; let’s go pick out some things for Marathel.”

In the end, Din was exceptionally relieved that he’d finally come here. Dursi was so efficient that they’d picked out a few essentials for Marathel in a trice. They’d found two comfortable tops — one in a similar dusky purple to the one he’d seen in the other shop, and one in a russet-red color that he never would have chosen for her.

“There are three colors that all women can wear: purple, red, and teal blue,” said Dursi. “No matter their skin tone, no matter their size. Now, obviously, there are shades and tones and tints, but, that russet will put some color in her cheeks.”

Din believed her and bowed to her expertise. They also picked out a simple pair of soft jersey pants with a stretchy waist and pockets. Here, Dursi had more wisdom. “I’m sure you’ve wondered your whole life what the hell do women want? It’s very simple: Women want to be treated with respect. And women want pockets. And that’s it.”

Din shook his head. “It is certainly much more complicated than that.”

“Only if you make it more complicated than that, Mister Man. Now, let’s get her a few more foundations.”

It was shortly after that that Din learned what foundations were: underwear, and Dursi took a bit of delight in having Din pick some panties out for Marathel while she searched out a bra in Marathel’s size. He quickly chose full-coverage briefs in a simple black — he remembered Xi’an always wearing black because black hid a multitude of stains. He also didn’t want to have Marathel misconstrue anything by picking out a more … brief and revealing style. Dursi found a simple seamless bralette that had exceptionally soft fabric and hooked in the front so it wouldn’t rub on her damaged skin. She chose a pale pink color, wondering if Din would comment that they didn’t match the underpants. He did not. He thought about it, however, wondering if such a thing was allowed. Xi’an was not quite so endowed as Marathel and rarely wore a bra — which would also be black. Also, the prostitutes he’d enjoyed tended to be color-coordinated with their foundations, which generally contained one-tenth the fabric of the underwear he had in his hand.

“This should all do for now, but I expect you to bring your Marathel in once she’s released tomorrow. This is nowhere near enough for her to start her life over again.”

“I never said she was.”

“Mando, considering you brought me mostly soiled clothing and mini bottles of toiletries, I can only assume that what’s in this bag is everything she owns in this galaxy. I’m not sure what future Marathel is heading towards, but I guarantee that she will need more than this small pile here. I believe that even you have more clothing in your dirty laundry than what’s right here. Speaking of …” Dulsi closed Marathel’s bag, then held it in her hands, instead of sliding it across the table to Din. “I believe I will take home this bag and launder these things for her, so that it will be one less worry for her. Also, that means she must wear her new clothes and show herself she is beautiful. Besides, I want to meet her. I think I’ll like her very much.”

As Dursi was walking Din back to the entrance, he saw a colorful display for the children’s department. “Do you mind? I think I should see what the well-dressed toddler is wearing this season,” said Din.

“You have children? You and Marathel?”

Din stammered, “No, uh … no. The boy is a foundling, my traveling companion. Marathel and I are not a couple.”

Dursi, who couldn’t keep a Sabacc face if her life depended on it, managed to keep from laughing out loud. Oh, please, Mando. If you weren’t besotted with her, you wouldn’t have been so embarrassed by my simple questions. Still, she asked questions about Grogu’s size and play habits, and located some items for Din to consider. After a brief look at appropriately-sized clothing, he decided the boy had enough clothing for now. His eyes did fall on a large, pillow-type stuffed frog nearly Grogu’s size. Din would never admit it, but he wanted to get toys for Grogu, although he almost never did. The Crest was too small; and anyway, Grogu seemed to be the type to prefer to play with the box a toy came in. But the pillow frog was relatively useful as both bedding and a toy, and besides, the kid had been a real trouper lately.

He purchased the pillow frog, making sure to use his own credit book. Most of the purchases lately had been on the credit book that was technically Marathel’s. Captain Teva had been correct: he’d lost practically all his funds on this venture. He and Marathel would have to chat about that. She’d said before that she didn’t want the money, but that was before she’d essentially become a fugitive, and she would now need to learn about how to handle finances and take care of herself.

You also might as well contact Karga; get that ball rolling again. Things are what they are. It’s for Marathel’s future, and she needs all the help she can get.

By this time, Dursi had walked him back to the concierge. “Thank you, Dursi, for your kindness and expertise. I am grateful.”

Dursi held out her lovely hand for Din to take. “You are most welcome, Mando. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Here is my direct contact information; please let me know when to expect you and Marathel.”

“I will.”

“Please consider also, that we have a fine restaurant here as well as a salon; Marathel may well need some pampering to rejuvenate her soul after a hospital stay.”

“Perhaps.” Din was concerned about the costs of such things; he had little experience in these matters, and he didn’t want to overspend Marathel’s money for her. The clothing seemed to be good quality but was substantially more expensive than what he’d normally buy for himself. Again, he only had his experience with Xi’an in these matters, and he felt that the first store he’d visited was more her style. Still, Xi’an had better taste than Yellowhair Hotpants, thank Frith. Damn, that woman was janky. Belatedly, he asked, “Oh, where do I get tokens for the quickcarts?”

“There is a vending machine on the other side of the footbridge, or, in your case, I give you one. No, two, actually.” said Dursi, dropping two tokens into his palm. “One for tomorrow.”

“Thank you again.”

“My pleasure, Mando.”

Din left Mise-Tusil and walked across the footbridge to catch a quickcart back to the medical center. On the way, he made a quick detour to purchase some things from a food vendor; he felt that he’d been taking some advantage of the childcare’s snack arsenal. Hoping that Marathel had finished with the New Republic officers, Din went to the tower where Marathel’s ward was and left his weapons in their lockers before going upstairs, giving no fewer than three spit samples to access Grogu. He gave a couple of the purchased meals to the childcare workers, collected Grogu, and went back to Marathel’s ward, where he was met by a closed and locked door.

Siewan was now on duty, and she met Din by the door. “She finished up about an hour ago. The shrinks still want to talk to her, but they think she’s run out of spoons and needs a break.”

“Run out of spoons?” Din rattled his helmet in confusion. “Do these spoons have something to do with the fork?”

Now it was Siewan’s turn to be confused. “Fork? What fork?”

“Marathel made a point of showing nurse Ya-Bito a fork on her lunch tray. I had no idea what that meant.”

“Oh … my. I need to talk with Ya-Bito,” said Siewan. “Here, I’ll let you in. When Ya-Bito brought Marathel back here she immediately went into the fresher.” Siewan swung the door open. The room was empty, but Din could hear water running. The gowns Marathel had been wearing were in a pile on the bed along with her blanket. Siewan went to the cupboard and pulled out towels, two fresh gowns, and a folded padded something that Din didn’t recognize. Siewan tapped on the door leading to the fresher, calling, “Marathel? Mando and his little boy are back.” There was no response. “May I come in for a moment? I have towels and fresh gowns for you.” Din heard a muffled okay from behind the door as he set up Grogu on the chair next to the bed with a box of fried fish nuggets. Siewan disappeared into the fresher room, saying, “Honey? Are you doing okay?”

Din heard Marathel mutter, “I’m okay. I’m all right.”

Siewan then said, “I just want you to know that I wasn’t the one who told those authorities about you. The person who did meant well, but that is not something I would have done without your permission. I am sorry that you had to go through that against your will.”

Din heard Marathel sigh. “It’s okay.”

“Can I get you anything else?” Din didn’t hear Marathel answer; she must have shaken her head, because Siewan said, “Okay, then. If you need some help when you’re done in here, just press that button there, and I’ll come help.”

“Okay,” Din heard Marathel say flatly, thinking that Marathel sounded about as okay as he’d felt after that Blurrg of Kuiil’s had thrown him for the fourth time.

Siewan came out of the fresher room and looked at Din, shrugging. As she passed by him on the way out, she patted his arm and whispered, “Good luck.”

In the fresher, Marathel was sitting on a hard bench that she’d folded down from the wall. She rather liked this fresher. It was bigger than the one on Tatooine, and probably three times as large as the one on Din’s ship. There was no lip to step over to get inside, and the drain seemed to be at one end of the cubicle instead of the middle. She was curled over, her elbows on her knees as she hugged her shoulders, letting the hot water spray hit her upper back. She’d unbraided her hair and it had been pushed forward by the water over the top of her head, where it hung nearly to the floor. When she’d first sat down in here, she’d put the elastic band from her hair around her wrist, and she’d snapped it hard against her skin over and over and over, relishing both the noise and the painful sting it made. But it visibly abraded her skin after a while. She didn’t want new wounds where others could see them, so she removed it from her wrist and placed it on the extra fresher stool that sat against the wall.

She had no idea how long she’d talked to the women in that closed room with her, the doctors and the women in the grey-green uniforms, and then, eventually, that Captain Teva. She just kept talking and talking, like how she’d spilled her guts to Din on Tatooine. But unlike that time, she kept certain pieces of information to herself. Certain things were for her memory only. Certain things were to protect Din and Grogu.

She didn’t tell them Din’s name, only referring to him as the Bounty Hunter. She didn’t say Grogu’s name; she didn’t even mention the child at all. They’d questioned that, for some of the remaining women mentioned a green child, and Marathel shrugged and said, “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

They asked, “How many days was he there alone with you?”

“A couple.”

“Did you have sexual relations with him?”

“No.” She was surprised at how comfortable she was, telling that lie. But I wasn’t fully myself anyway, so, not quite a lie.

“Why did you tell the Elders that you did?”

“So that they would take me into the Hold; that meant the Bounty Hunter would get the coins as a reward.”

“You knew about the coins?”

“Yes.”

“How many coins were there?”

“I don’t know. I never saw them.”

“Where are the coins now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did the men of the Hold hurt you so badly?”

“That’s what men do. That’s how a Belwhyn is made.”

“When the Bounty Hunter took you away, do you know where you went?”

“No.”

“Why did you want to go back to your home planet?”

“I was too scared to be anywhere else.”

“Why did the Bounty Hunter take you back there?”

“I told him to.”

“Why did you go back into the Hold, Marathel?”

“The Elders needed to die. They’d only ever hurt me, abused me. They killed the women who helped me.”

“Did you kill the Elders?”

“Yes.”

“All four?”

“Three of four. The Duke died before I could get to him.”

“How many men did you kill?”

“All the males are dead.”

“Let me rephrase that, Marathel. How many men did you directly kill?”

This took a while. Marathel closed her eyes and recounted each life she took, starting with the one who caught her staring at the Round Wall, and ending with the Bishop in the courtyard. She described the manner each one had raped her on the platform, the ways they had abused her, then the manner she’d taken his life, all in great detail. She also told them about the men that she’d injured but had not died in front of her, like the boys she’d shoved down the stairs, and the underling the Hunter shoved at her. And then, Talric, who’d cut his own throat. Once she’d finally finished, the women in the room whispered to each other until Marathel asked, “How many?”

One of the Republic officers blanched and said, “Thirty-four.”

“Hmmm,” mused Marathel. “That many? I suppose so. That’s a good portion of the adult males who raped me on that platform. The little boys who did things to me would have been in the long building.”

“The little boys and infants that the Dahls ended up killing, yes?” Marathel shrugged. “Why did the Dahls do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did the Dahls get into the Hold? It was a walled and gated courtyard.”

“I left the gate open.”

“Why did you do that?”

“So that I could get out.”

“You intended to escape?”

Marathel shrugged again. “If I could.”

“Did you think you might die?”

“Perhaps.”

“Did it matter to you if you survived?”

“Not especially.”

“Why did the Bounty Hunter come back for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Marathel, did you know that the Bishop was your father?”

“Yes.”

“And you were to be his … Whyn, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“We understand a Whyn to be a concubine, that is, a dedicated sexual … slave, for the lack of a better word.”

“… Yes.”

“A Whyn is also tasked with bearing children. Her father’s children. Sometimes, her brother’s, or her uncle’s children. And sometimes, even her son’s children?”

“That is correct.”

“And this is done willingly by the girl in question?”

“I don’t understand.”

“They would — you would do this of your own free will?”

“What other way would I have known?”

“But you know a different way now?”

“Yes.”

Such a good girl. You used to be such a good girl, my sweet girl, until you spread your cunt wide open and became a fucking whore, inbred incestuous monster whore for a criminal who feels nothing for you …

There was a tap on the door, which startled her, and she was back in the fresher. She turned her head towards the door, could just see it through her veil of wet hair. “What?”

The door opened a tiny bit. He heard Din’s mechanical voice saying, “It’s me, Marathel. Are you all right?”

She turned her gaze back to her hanging pendant, watching rivulets of water drain from the clam shell to the tops of her feet, down her toes and towards the drain. “I’m okay.”

Din, on the other side of the door, looking away from where he’d cracked it open, asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m all right.”

Din didn’t believe her any more than he believed Xi’an that one time she’d tried to convince him she was pregnant shortly after the land mine incident. He’d dragged her to a termination center, where it was discovered that she was not pregnant, but had lied to hang on to him, she’d said. He was so different after the land mine injuries, she’d said. He might have been okay with her catching pregnant, despite his vasectomy by explosion, despite her promising that she had ten-year implants, but the lie had been the last straw. He’d then told her, shove a blaster up your cunt and ride it straight to hell, bitch, and left her there. Even she didn’t deserve that, he thought to himself. That had been the moment their relationship ended, not the land mine blast itself.

Have I always been such a bastard asshole sonofabitch meatball dick? A stupid brat boy?

Din tapped on the door again. “May I come in?”

“Suit yourself,” replied Marathel.

Din opened the door so he could get through. “I’m averting my eyes.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Din looked at her, sitting hunched over on a bench, her hair hiding her face, the water sheeting down her back, following the lateral scars and dripping off her sides. He scanned the rest of the skin he could see and noticed a series of shallow puncture marks on her thigh. He pulled up the extra fresher stool next to her and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, mimicking her pose again, stretching the hair band over his gloved fingers. “I’m sorry about Teva and the Republic officers.”

“It doesn’t matter. I suppose I should answer for my crimes sooner than later.”

“I don’t think you’ve committed any actionable crime, Marathel.”

“But you’re not in charge of law and order, are you?”

Din blinked. “What do you know about law and order?”

“Cobb told me. He explained what a marshal was.”

Cobb, again. Haar’chak. “Teva told me that the Republic more than likely won’t seek legal action. They will, however, bring it up to officials on Lew’el. “

“Lew’el. I think I saw that painted on the Large Round Wall. I’d been looking at those squiggles my whole life, not knowing there were such a thing as letters, until Cobb showed me. He … wrote, is that the word? Wrote my name on a paper and gave it to me. That’s how I knew they were letters. Painted on the Large Round Wall. Then I killed a man for calling me a cunt. The very first one. The first one out of thirty-four. I even thought to myself, would Din love me more, now that I’m a murderer, like he is? How stupid of me, thinking like that. Now I know better.”

Concerned that she was now babbling nonsensically, Din said, “I’m turning off the water, Marathel.” She only shrugged. He stood and reached across her back to shut off the spigot. He took a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, carefully blotting the water off her back and arms. “Dry off and get warm, Marathel. I don’t want you to get chilled again.”

Again? “Okay.”

“Do you need help getting dressed?”

“I’m all right.”

Din stepped out, but remained on the other side of the door, listening. It was a few minutes before he heard her moving about. He heard the rustle of towels, her sighing dejectedly, and some muttering that sounded like bloody things as he heard something sliding against her skin. He then heard a sharp intake of breath and a whispered ow ow ow. “All right in there?”

Inside, Marathel had pulled up the hated disposable underwear with one hand but couldn’t manage to get the gowns on. “My shoulder. I need some help after all.”

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Din opened the door and saw Marathel, back-to, wearing only what he assumed were some kind of hospital underwear and the clam pendant. Under the harsh light in the tiny room, all of her red and half-healed wounds on her back glowed like beacons. He shut his eyes for a moment, and then took a gown and held it in front of her, unsnapping the shoulder closure so she wouldn’t have to maneuver her arm in a weird position. Once on, he re-snapped the shoulder closure and tied the two ribbons in back. He then repeated the same action with the second gown, but as a robe. He took her by the elbows and led her to the bed, sitting her down. He found the fuzzy socks and dropped to one knee to put them on her feet. He stood back up, found her hairbrush, and carefully brushed her hair — it was much less tangled this time around — and braided it just as he had done before, using the hair band at the end.

Marathel, who had been silent this whole time, said, “You were the one who braided my hair before, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Marathel.” Din lifted Marathel from the edge of the bed and placed her in the center, spreading her blanket over her legs.

Marathel’s eyes fell on Grogu, still sitting in the chair, working his way through the box of fish nuggets. “Hello, my little Godynferth. I’ve missed you today. What are you eating?”

“Burra fish nuggets.” Din peered into the box. “Could’ve left a few for me, kid.”

Grogu cooed and Force-carried the one remaining fried nugget to Marathel. She plucked it from the air, saying, “Thank you, love.” She took a bite and said, “This is awful.”

“They’re better hot. Grogu likes them,” shrugged Din. He took the half-eaten nugget from Marathel, turned his back, lifted his helmet, and popped it into his mouth. Turning back, he said, “C’mon, you bottomless pit. Let’s wash those hands.” He picked up Grogu and took him to the sink.

Marathel felt her spirits lift slightly, reminded of those simple days on Unmanarall when they were a family. “Where did you go, anyway?”

“I went shopping.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I bought you some clothes.”

Marathel colored. “You didn’t have to do that. I had clothes in that bag.”

Din turned, drying Grogu’s hands. “They were soiled. And awful. They didn’t fit you.”

“Fennec bought those for me. And I liked the pockets on those pants. You didn’t have the right to get rid of them, Bounty Hunter,” snapped Marathel.

Din blinked. “I’m … I didn’t … I didn’t throw the blue clothes out, Marathel! In fact, they’re being laundered by the woman who helped me pick these new things out for you. I just wanted you to have something clean and comfortable to wear if they release you tomorrow.”

“If I get released? The doctors said I …”

“Ya-Bito and Siewan are worried you may have to go to another ward here in the hospital for at least another three days. A ward for people with broken minds … Like yours.”

Marathel sat up and folded her legs under her. “By myself?”

“Yes. Alone. I couldn’t … we couldn’t be there. And if you can’t show improvement over three days, you’re kept longer.”

“But they could help me.”

“They might be able to. Maybe find the right … medication, therapy …”

“Din,” said Marathel, looking straight into his visor. “Maybe you don’t need to stay. Maybe you shouldn’t take me with you.”

Din’s thoughts went back to the sight of the small punctures on her leg. Punctures in rows of four. As if they were … the times of a fork. His heart hitched in his chest, and he sat next to her on her bed. “You’re hurting yourself?”

“I don’t know how else to cope, Din. Ya-Bito said that place — the psych ward — is not a good place to be, but I’m wondering if it might not be a good idea. And I need the little bit of pain, Din, to direct the pain …”

Din reached out and cupped her cheek. “Ma’mwsh ha’laa. I know the pain. I’ve had that pain. But I cannot leave you behind again, even though I … you’re my …” Unable to complete his sentence, Din dropped his hand and shook his head.

Marathel said quietly, “Tell me what happened, what you experienced, after I ran away from you on Unmanarall.”

Din took a breath, and began, “I didn’t even know which way you’d gone. I had taken off my helmet; I didn’t have the monitors and sensors to find you. I was screaming for you. Then, Grogu came to me, telling me it was time to leave. I went up into the ship, and by the time I’d closed the door, I had forgotten you. I didn’t even remember what planet I was on. I was compelled to leave, go to Manda’lor.

“But I somehow remembered that I had forgotten something. You weren’t quite a memory, not quite gone. I found a loaf of your bread and I knew it was important. I caught your scent off one of the blankets and I could almost see your face. Grogu kept trying to tell me who you were, yelling Mama! And then I kept losing big chunks of time, as if I’d been sleeping for two-four hours, but still awake.

“And then Cobb sent a holo of you. It was during the hours that you spent baking bread, but he’d made changes to it.” He looked through his holopad, bringing up the doctored holo.

“He was making a recording of me,” said Marathel. “I don’t understand what you mean, though.”

“Look closely at your image. He took off your face-wound and given your teeth back.” Marathel, even though she knew better, reached up and touched her forehead to see if it was miraculously healed. “He’d never seen you without your injuries. He said … he wanted to see who I had fallen in love with.” Marathel looked back into his visor, holding her breath. “He also said that if I had left you behind, that he would never forgive me.

“Seeing your face, how I remembered it, how I still see you … I finally remembered you. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten you, how I felt about you, how much I loved you. I knew I had to turn around, come back and find you.

“And then, it was as if I had been shot through with ice. I couldn’t breathe, and I was terrified I would forget you again, but it turned out even worse. I forgot that I loved you. I was calling you ner kar’ta just moments before, and then I had no more feelings for you than I would a stranger. Marathel, I don’t know what happened. Even Grogu felt it. Do you know why that was? I think you do know. Please, Marathel …”

“I will, Din, soon, I promise. Just tell me the rest first.”

“I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, then I was instantly on fire. Not just the bite mark, but my entire left side. I was in agony. I fell to the floor, sure that I was having a heart attack.”

Marathel, who had just resigned herself to the loss of Din’s love, was suddenly confused. “A what?”

“A heart attack, cardiac arrest. My heart was beating erratically, and then stopped altogether. I fell unconscious, scaring Grogu half to death, probably. I managed to call for help, and Captain Teva boarded my ship to provide medical help. The medic told me I’d shown all the symptoms of a heart attack and a stroke, but without throwing the blood clots that would cause those … That must have been when Rodanthe died.”

“You fainted?”

“Well … yes,” said Din, suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, you’ve told me that the pain you experience when you lose a Dahl is immeasurable …”

Marathel was still dubious. Yes, the death of a Dahl was painful indeed, like being sliced by a dull knife covered in salt, but … “I’ve never fainted.”

Din tilted his helmet, wondering if Marathel was taking the piss. “It might have been worse, since it was Rodanthe.”

“Perhaps it was just wai wchlas.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Din.

“Wai wchlas. That’s what we called it when the men would get sick.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Man flu.”

“Excuse me?”

Someone knocked on the door. Marathel called, “Come in.”

Siewan entered, carrying a tray. “Hello, Marathel. I have your dinner. I’m sure you don’t feel hungry but try to eat anyway. You need calories to heal. Right now, all calories are good calories. Okay?”

Marathel nodded but didn’t look up. “Okay.”

Sensing that she had interrupted an important conversation, Siewan said, “I’ll leave you now. Buzz if you need anything.” She left.

Marathel pulled the rolling table towards her, and sat up, folding her legs under her (criss-cross-berrysauce, she sang in her head) and lifting the cover from her dinner tray. Some sort of meat and vegetables in sauce over mashed tubers. A thick slice of toasted bread. A cup of tea. Another container of ice cream. “That all looks halfway decent,” remarked Din.

“Siewan was right. I’m truly not hungry. You should eat it, since Grogu ate your portion too, apparently.”

“No, Marathel. I’m fine. You need to eat.”

Marathel shrugged, and methodically began to eat, tearing the bread into quarters, working her way slowly across the entrée, not tasting it. Din watched her hands, realizing he’d rarely watched her eat. She ate in complete silence, staring at the wall before her, looking at nothing. The quiet made Din uncomfortable, so he got up and found the shopping bag with the pillow frog.

“Hey buddy, I got something for you today, too.” Grogu bleated, and then cooed when Din put the pillow frog in his little hands. “You like it? Thought you might. You’ve been something else, lately �� I just thought you might like something soft to crash on.” As Din sat back down, he noticed Marathel gazing at Grogu with a little smile.

“What a wonderful thing,” said Marathel. “Is your new friend going to have a name?”

“Fawg!”

“Fawg, of course. That will be easy to remember.” Her smile faded, and she went back to her dinner in silence. The ice cream was pink this time, and tasted like sweet berries, which she liked better than the plain stuff. She finished her tea. She then lifted her fork, showing it to Din. He nodded, and she made a show of placing it on her tray, then pushing the rolling tray away from her. She sighed deeply, and then turned her head to look at Grogu, who would alternately hug the pillow frog, then pat its plush face, quietly saying Fawg Fawg Fawg. “I had a friend like Fawg once. Tymfy made her for me. She was small, made out of old grey rags she’d sewn together. She was a lumpy thing. Probably stuffed with more old grey rags. Shaped like a lump, too. No arms or legs, no face, but I loved her. I remember the day Tymfy gave her to me. It was a terrible day. The Bishop had done something horrible to me for the first time, and I couldn’t stop crying.”

“Did your friend have a name?” asked Din quietly.

“I called her Fi’Basha. That means ‘little me.’ I kept her hidden, because if the boys knew I had her, they’d take her away from me. Tear her up. But then, Tymfy had her first baby. We were changing at the same time, but of course, I wasn’t getting regular, so … Tymfy had a little girl, so I gave Fi’Basha to the baby. If it’d been a boy, I would’ve kept her. A boy got enough attention. Didn’t need a Fi’Basha.

“Then Olba took me out of the Hold and brought me to the hut. I was so scared and lonely there at first. In the beginning, Olba would come over more often. Even the Cyiloggs coming after me was a distraction. But they stopped trying to take me back. In the courtyard, before I ... the Bishop finally told me why that was. It was the Dahls. They would attack and kill anything male that came near me. They were protecting me from the men of the Hold. And Olba stopped coming out so much. She was probably getting beaten for it, going out to see me but not bringing me back, not coming back to the Hold like a good girl should. But I was so alone, so I made a new Fi’Basha out of the scraps of fabric Olba brought me. She was as big as Grogu, and she had arms and a head and a body. I called her Tym’Basha.”

“‘Little Tymfy,’” said Din. Marathel nodded. “Why didn’t she have any legs? Did you run out of fabric?”

Marathel shook her head. “I made myself believe that if she didn’t have legs, no one could hurt her there. Such a stupid thought.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “By this time, I’d made a drop spindle and my loom. I spun brown yarn for her hair, and I put brown eyes on her, from tree nut shells. I wove my own fabric and sewed little dresses for her. I loved Tymfy, so I wanted Tym’Basha to look like her.

“But then … Olba said it was silly for me to have Tym’Basha. I was a full-grown woman, regular or not, and no full-grown woman needed such a childish thing. So … I took her apart. Took her apart right back down to all the scraps I’d sewn together. Then, I took the pile of scraps to the cliff and threw them off the edge. I went back to the hut, and I folded the little dresses and shoved them to the bottom of a basket.

“Then … however long it was after that … you and Grogu showed up. The Dahls left you alone and allowed you to come to me. They killed every other male, but they left you alone. And when I saw that little pitiful rumpled pile of clothes you had for Grogu, I remembered those little dresses. I found the dresses and cut them shorter to make those little shirts for Grogu. I made the jump-ups from whole cloth I had, but the shirts, I made from the dresses. I saw no point in keeping them in the basket if they would fit Grogu. And I knew I was going to die anyway, and I loved Grogu, just like I loved Tym’Basha, and …”

Marathel’s throat closed, and she could no longer speak. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at her blanket. Grogu jumped from Din’s lap to the bed, holding up his new pillow Fawg to Marathel. Marathel timidly took the pillow frog and hugged it tightly while she cried.

Din stood up and removed his pauldrons, his cuirass, his rerebraces, and his vambraces before climbing into the bed with her. He drew her back against him, holding her tightly against his chest as he lay back on her pillow. Grogu climbed up on Din and held on to Marathel’s thumb, both holding her while she wept until she fell asleep against Din’s shoulder, clutching pillow Fawg. After a while, both Din and Grogu, both so sad for Marathel, dozed off too. Sometime later, Siewan quietly came into the room to collect the tray. Smiling at the sleeping trio, she took the tray, turned off the lights, and left, locking the door behind her.

Future Days: Coming Soon

#din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian angst #mando angst #din djarin angst #star wars fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #pedrostories #din x plus size fem oc #mando x plus size oc #reverse age gap #plus size oc #i will finish this

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genavere · 1 month ago

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Fairy Tail - RE:Script

Episode One: Hargeon

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 7

Another fist swung just passed Natsu’s face as he pulled back his own and smashed it into the face of his would-be attacker. Flesh and bones gave way under the force of it and flames shot forward to engulf the slave trader. Screams and incoherent babbling filled the air as the man ran flailing about, colliding with others.

Several others began panicking as their clothes caught on fire, or the burning fingers caught their skin and left red burns. The chaos that swept through the mass of sailors added to the pile of bloody, burnt bodies around him. Still, more continued to file in from the stairs and the darkness of the hull. The ship had not looked that large on the outside.

“Dammit, where’d you all keep comin’ from?!”

Another swung a plank of wood embedded with nails at him. A wave of fire turned it to ash and consumed the slaver. Natsu silently acknowledged the man’s self-preservation as he watched him drop to the ground and rolled around while screeching.

A quick glance around gave him the status he needed on the current situation. Most of the women who had not been thrown into the cages yet had been set to the side. Some of them just unconscious heaps on the floor while others were leaned against others. They were far enough away from the flames and fighting to stay safe. That was one problem he could worry about later.

Around him, though, were still a decently sized group of slavers. Bulky men who lived on the sea and were used to hauling around human-shaped goods. Some were eyeing the destruction around them in disquiet, while the rest resembled beasts whose territory you stumbled into. And what is a lone wizard if not something that stumbled where he shouldn’t have? “Whatcha all waitin’ for? Thought you were gonna to take me down?”

That got most of them of them going. Some still eyed the literal charred corpses that had been their shipmates, but they all had a joke to do and cargo to put away. All of them against one wizard had to favor the force with the larger numbers!

With a shout, they stepped forward together and charged.

Natsu grinned and took in a deep breath. Lungs and diaphragm expanding outward, and his hands came up to focus the core of his attack at the group coming at him. A burning hot stream of raging flames billowed out in a straight line, expanding out just past his pinkie finger.

The flames roared unhindered toward the stairs, consuming the men who had tried to sneak away while the others fought. Their screams filled the air with the smell of burning flesh and melting metal.

What the…Natsu blinked in confusion.

None of the men who had been charging at him mere seconds before remained. Not their shoes, bodies, or their ashes. He stepped forward to look for any sign of the missing men, ignoring the burning men.

Down one of the rows of cages, a large, imposing shadow slowly straightened up to tower over a pile of bodies and limbs gathered at his feet. Blood pooled on the ground beneath them, and some still twitched or groaned in pain. Without a care, the creature stomped on the pile and turned back to fix a glare at Natsu.

A shiver of fear actually crawled down his spine at the power he felt from the—beast? In better lighting, he noticed the stature, the weapon attached to his back, the height of him—at least seven feet tall, if not taller—and were those horns coming out of his head?

“Taurus!”

Natsu jumped at the shout behind him. Ninja-swinging his arms around, he relaxed when he saw Happy flying toward him carrying Lucy. He grinned, “Happy! Lucy!”

Dark, bloodshot eyes met his and filled with tears even as she smiled, “Natsu!”

Moving forward a step, his smile fell when he noticed the blood and bruises that covered her, and even noticed some poking out from under her clothes. Worse, from the scent alone he was certain that those were not the clothes she had been wearing before. His nose coiled up, and smoke seeped through clenched fangs. “Did these bastards do this to you?”

“W-what?” Lucy recoiled inward at the tone of his voice. It took a moment, then she remembered how she must have looked and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing for her sweatshirt. “Oh, y-yea. That Salamander guy…he is the one in charge of all of this.”

“You mean the fake Salamander,” he growled, fists clenched.

“Fake?”

Taurus stepped out of the dimly light section he had stampeded the men into and rolled his shoulders. They looked up at him, noticing the gore and remains left on his clothing and hooves. “Explanations later, we need to focus getting Miss Lucy to safety first. Her magic power is waning, and I am only able to supply so much of my own.”

“Right!” Natsu punched his fist against his palm, “I’m ready to kick more ass and teach that bastard a lesson!”

He led the way up the stairs, silently glad that Happy still carried Lucy over the heated metal where several fires still lingered, and listened to the loud clonks of Taurus taking up the rear behind them. The stairs led to one of the back hallways, a similar look to all the other ones he had run through earlier, and began maneuvering them to the outside area based off smell alone.

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” he called behind, finding a door that smelled strongly of the sea air outside, “we’ll get you off this boat!” Pressing against the metal door—Taurus’ loud clopping lagging behind due to his size, Natsu shoved it wide open and stumbled out of the hallway onto the deck of the ship.

Waiting for them, several more slave traders held various types of weapons from chains to clubs. Nothing designed to kill, but could inflict maximum damage.

“Dammit! How many of these bastards does this guy have?” Taking up a stance in front of Lucy and Happy, Natsu felt a flicker of satisfaction when Taurus stepped up beside him, axe at the ready.

“Not enough for my axe,” the bull snorted, steeling himself for the fight. “They will all perish for harming my mistress!”

Laughter cracked over the sound of waves, pulling everyone’s attention up to the deck in front of the wheelhouse. Standing in front of a large, blue Lacrima that hung on the wall between the wheelhouse windows was the very man who had caused all of their problems. Blood seeped from the bandages covering the mid-section of his face making the laughter sound more like a dolphin.

“I had heard that the real Salamander of Fairy Tail might come after me if I used his name,” Bora yelled down, voice a nasally pitch compared to the bass register he hit before. “Seems those rumors were correct! Come now, Salamander, let’s see your mark!”

Eyes narrowed, Natsu kept his attention on Bora and shrugged his shoulders, letting the straps of his bag slip. A heavy thunk filled the air with a somber feel and soon his coat fluttered down to cover the bag.

Using his name for slave trading, kidnapping Lucy, being complete scum…a list of crimes committed that filled pages of legal books. He refused to let him get away with more and cause more damage.

With both arms bare, only those to his right were able to see the crimson proof of the guild mark on his shoulder. An undisputable truth. One that made Lucy worried her lower lip and take Natsu in with a different light.

Not once had the salmon-haired man next to her seem like a typical ‘bad guy.’ Not like the man above them or those she had met before. Really, he had treated her well, with a sense of welcoming that not many offered those down on their luck. “You really are Salamander.”

“You didn’t know?” Bora’s voice sneered and he leaned forward over the railing. “Renown around the land after some good PR. But,” he lifted a crowbar up and grinned around the bandages, “he does have one simple weakness.”

Lacrima shards shattered and littered the deck as the metal bar slammed into it with enough force to crack the windows on either side. The once smooth sailing of the ship dipped and waves began to rock it back and forth—gently, but enough to feel a difference. Many of the men around them grew pale and green, but kept their stomachs.

Unfortunately for Natsu, no amount of peppermint covered cloth would help the sudden onslaught of motion sickness. Stomach rebelling, everything he had eaten early came up and splashed on the deck. A cold sweat broke out over his face and he fell to his knees as he hugged his stomach.

Lucy stared down at him as he withered around like a pathetic creature instead of the man she had meet earlier. Happy cried out in alarm.

“Oh no! Without that stabilizer, Natsu won’t be able to do anything!”

Below them, the growing hum of the engines began to rev up. They were preparing to move the ship again! Quickly, she took in the situation, the crumpled-up form of Natsu, the dissipating stores of her magic, and the men closing in around them. Drastic situations called for drastic measures.

“Taurus!” she called out to her spirit. “I need you to go back. Happy! I need you to get me to the water.”

“The water?”

“Yes, please!”

“Aye, sir!” Without explanation or more questions, Taurus closed his gate as Happy flew them up into the air above the heads of the men below. Some switched at Lucy’s bare feet while others rushed at Natsu and began kicking and punching him without remorse.

“Hurry, Happy!”

Purple flames slammed into Happy’s back like a whip. The poor cat cried out in pain and his paws loosened. Lucy screamed as her body fell onto several shoulders and then the hard deck of the ship. Pain erupted through her body and was reminded vividly of all of her previous injuries.

Just briefly, she watched as Happy’s continued momentum of flying and being stuck sent him falling over the other side of the railing. From the noise of the sailors, the rocking of the ship, and the roaring in her own ears, she couldn’t tell if he had hit the water or not.

“Happy!” she cried out, pushing herself up and away from the mass of people. No hands grabbed at her, and the stuttered rumbling below sounded like the ship still struggled to move. If the propellers weren’t functioning, that meant she could get into the water and grab Happy. They wouldn’t have to worry about getting pulled in by the propellers or chopped up.

No matter what, she had to get to the water!

A pair of hands grabbed her. The straps of her pack ripped loudly and it was thrown somewhere else. Those same hands frisked over her body and a familiar weight fell with a jingle to the deck.

Her keys. Her keys!

Crying out in pain, one of her arms were pulled up behind her back, forcing her up onto her toes to try to relieve the building pressure. The arm that wrapped around her chest and reached up to grip its hand around her neck didn’t help, either.

“Where do you think you were going?” Bora’s breath blew over her ear and he bent her arm up further. A chuckle mingled with her cries. “I still need to show you my gratitude—” A loud pop sounded before her scream of pain from her shoulder, “—of your little stunt earlier.”

“Lucy!” Natsu’s voice called through the blows of the men around him. With the stabilizer gone, and the crew attacking him, he could do nothing to help himself or her. And Happy had fallen limp over the side of the ship.

Heated shame and anger flushed over his skin. They had come to save her, dammit!

Hot tears-stained Lucy’s cheeks. Nothing around her registered—the rapid beating of her heart, the sound of waves in her ears, the constant rolling of the ship and her stomach…only the burning feel of Bora’s hand slipping from her neck down her chest broke through what panic had taken over. Desperate to escape, to find a way back to safety.

Since finding herself on the streets, all of her spirits had sought to ensure she could manage in the real world alone. No servants would be there to bring her food or clothes. Tutors would not teach her lessons that would prepare her for running her father’s business. Guards would not be there to keep her safe. They stepped up and took over her teachings.

The grip on her wrist released and moved to her hip.

It was time to put it all to use.

Pressing her tongue to the top of her mouth, she snapped her head back. Flesh and bone slammed against the back of her head. Reflexes took over, and even barefooted, she raised her leg up and stomped her heel down on the top of his foot.

Bora’s hands pulled back, gripping his bloody bandages with a muffled cry of pain, and released her from his grip. Scrambling over the deck, Lucy grabbed for her keys and did not stop her movement as the delicate metal pressed against the skin of her palm or when the cold railing of the ship pressed against her stomach as she tumbled over the edge.

A sense of weightlessness overcame her. Air brushed her hair upwards with her tears and stole the breath from her lungs. It made taking a deep breath difficult as the water surface of the ocean engulfed her completely.

Cold.

It was so cold!

Toes curled inward and her limbs pulled inward to keep what warmth she had in her core and biting the inside of her cheeks, Lucy struggled desperately to keep her hand over her nose and mouth. To keep them closed and not take the desperate gasp of air her lungs ached for.

Salt burned her eyes the moment she tried to take a glance around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Happy or figure out which way was up. Desperation clutched her chest tighter, an ache blooming into an open wound that seeped bubbles instead of blood. Then a realization dawned on her, one that sent bile racing up her esophagus and irritation.

Her arm was useless.

Out of socket and blinding when moved, Lucy had willingly sentenced herself to drown by way of barely being able to handle the ocean depths. Of all the ways to die, this would be the most pathetic, the worst to live with.

Good thing if she did die, she wouldn’t have to live with it long.

A blurred shimmer caught her attention. Something near the bottom, just a small way from her. Whatever it was, she needed to make sure it wasn’t Happy. They had risked their lives to save her, and she wouldn’t fail them when it was her turn.

Pushing past the pain and the claws ripping apart her chest cavity, she pushed herself forward with a few good kicks of her legs and used her good arm to steer towards it. There, the poor cat bobbed near the bottom of the ocean, tangled up in old fishing line. Metal hooks and weights cut dances of light through the water.

Another set of icy fingers gripped her lungs. Happy looked so still! How long had he been wrapped up in the netting? How would she get him out?

There was one of her spirits she knew could cut the lines easily, but her magic reserves only allowed for one more summons.

Pursing her lips together, she kicked harder to get down to him and began to pull at the litter. One arm slipped out, but his left arm remained tangled. Bubbles rose up from her lips. Gathering him in her injured arm, she pulled the coral and vegetation from the sea floor up with the tangled mess.

Lungs burning, she gathered all the netting together and used the sea floor to push herself toward the surface. More bubbles rose up from her blue-tinted lips that begged for a touch of fresh air. The added weight of Happy and the fishing line around him dragged her downward. Each limb desperately wished for a break to rest; her body exhausted.

Air greeted her fingertips. Her head broke the surface and she gasped desperately for each lungful. Waves splashed against her face, and her legs struggled to keep her above the waves.

Stretching out her good arm, she let out a deep breath, focusing her magic. Wisps of power poured from her hand and swirled around the key in her grasp. A light similar to that of the sun enveloped her and she shouted, “Aquarius!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Is this chapter severely late? Yes, yes it is. Has it been finished since I started posting this fic? Also yes, BUT it was not edited, and I have been having a hell of a time focusing on editing for awhile.

Should only have one last chapter to go, and then Episode One will be complete! I just need to edit it (and I would post it without editing, but many things changed during the edits, and continuity errors are my biggest pet peeves, lol). I have started Episode Two, but I have been going different ways with it. Not sure which way I will end up going, though. And if we want things done quickly...editing might be out of the cards for now, lol.

I am also hoping to get a Fraxus story out before the end of this month. Just need to finish editing it a bit more, and then write up the smut!

Links: AO3 (Is locked to registered AO3 users) | FF.net

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #writing #fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #rewrite #episode 1 #Bora #zeref dragneel #fairy tail zeref #igneel #taurus #aquarius #capricorn #RE:Script #Genavere

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roninishere · 1 year ago

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right now.

part one.

Giyuu Tomioka x female reader

Warnings: angst, in the feels, anxiety, bullying, self hate, bad grammar?

Summary: Life is incredibly unfair at times, this was one of them.

“You don’t think I can handle being a Hashira anymore..don’t you?” The way your voice cracked, really made him feel guilty.

And the worst part was, he had so much to say to you, but he just couldn’t.

Neither one of you ever left things like this, never. He regretted it the very moment you left for your mission. He knew that was probably one of the worst things he could let you think, and him not say a damn word. cause it wasn’t true.

‘Lights go down and The night is calling to me, yeah I hear voices Singing songs in the street and I know’

As if his anxiety wasn’t already always so high, it kept him laying awake in bed. And he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep, little Mio would cry her little lungs out. Every night for the first week you were gone. After day four, Giyuu discovered that her sleeping on his chest after he sang her the lullaby that you use to, her chubby pale fingers wrapped around his pinky was the key.

She slept peacefully, at least that made one of them.

‘That we won't be going home For so long, for so long, but I know That I won't be on my own Yeah, I love this feeling and

Right now I wish you were here with me (oh) 'Cause right now everything is new to me (oh) You know, I can't fight the feeling And every night I feel it Right now I wish you were here with me (oh)’

Giyuus couldn’t help it but his anxiety was so bad this time around, maybe because he never failed to worry about you every time you left for a mission. He knew that you could take care of yourself, you were a Hashira after all, but something wasn’t right.

He hoped you’d complete your mission and be home soon.

Until a week turned into two weeks. No letter from you, just your crow reporting his biggest fear.

You had gone missing after your encounter with the demon.

So he searched for you, having your crow take him where you went missing. Nothing. He found nothing. It was like you vanished out of thin air. That’s what scared him.

All the worst possibilities had flooded in his mind. Not his beloved. He couldn’t lose you too. Seven days and not a trace of what could’ve happened to you.

Don’t give up. She would never on you.

‘Late-night spaces With all our friends, you and me, yeah Love these faces Just like how it used to be’

“You know, she probably just got sick of your shit and took off. I know I would with that ‘I’m not like you guys’ attitude.” Sanemi shrugged as Master called for a Hashira meeting to discuss about their missing Hashira comrade, and of course everyone was getting their lick in.

Taking shots. Giyuu never gave a shit about what they thought of him, but this wasn’t the time to being making allegations. You’d never leave him, he knew that. You’d never. They all knew that. Even if you were upset with him about your fight, you’d always come home. He and Mio were your reason for living, the reason you never gave up in this harsh world.

“I never understood what she saw in you anyways. Mr. High and mighty, must’ve said some messed up stuff.” Obanai added.

Their comments just angered Giyuu, his expression staying the same as his hand on his side balled into a fist, really? Right now?

His wife is missing, their beloved Hashira, and all they heard was that they had an argument before you left? He’s better off on his own.

Fuck he missed when you use to attend these meetings with him, threatening to fight the Wind and Serpent Pillar if he didn’t keep your husbands name out his mouth. When he had to throw you over his shoulder, and line up on the opposite side of them.

“That’s enough! This is serious, no matter what happened before she left for her mission, the situation still stands, a Hashira is still missing!” The love pillar glared at the two other pillars as she stood her ground. “Stop saying things that aren’t true! it’s not like Y/N to just go missing, especially after an encounter with a demon. Instead of bullying Tomioka-San, remember that’s his daughters mother you’re speaking of!”

Shinobu set a hand on her friends shoulder seeing she got all worked up, and was nearly in tears.

Zoning out everyone, Giyuu set towards Masters Estate once Amane came out with Mio in her arms. “Tomioka-san, still no progress?” Giyuu returned her bow as he took the toddler in his arms.

“No,” his voice was calm as the little girl gripped his index finger in her chubby fingers with the cutest burst of laughter to see her father. “Would be alright if I bring her back tomorrow afternoon?”

He hadn’t noticed the pillars stopped their bickering behind him, seeing how much the little girl in his arms looking like their missing pillar. Same eyes, same smile, and hair color. If Mio didn’t have Giyuus pale complexion and similar hair style, she would’ve been a spilt image of her mother.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a few more days? You’ve been gone for a week, you should rest.”

He wanted to, but he couldn’t give up now “I’ll rest once I find Y/N. I made a promise, isn’t that right princess?” His dark blue ocean eyes were soft as he caress her cheek, giving it a little pinch getting a squeal out of the baby.

“I understand, then of course, bring her by tomorrow afternoon,” The masters wife waved at the little girl.

‘And we won't be going home For so long, for so long, but I know I won't be on my own On my own, I'm feeling like

“almost done princess.” It was easy for him to do his own hair, but doing it on someone else, let alone a baby, was harder. Well he just had to be very delicate. His hands were gently as he brushed her hair that was surprisingly long, already down past her shoulders. The Hashira sat on his knees behind Mio who was making cute silly faces to her father, waiting for him to see her reflection in the mirror.

When he finished putting her hair in a loose ponytail, he sighed softly before looking up in the mirror to see her sticking her tongue at him before breaking out in a giggle fit before she tried to crawl away, “and where do you think you’re going, come here silly,” he crawled over to her playfully as she let out playfully screams before he snatched her up in his arms “I gotcha!”

“D..da-ada!” Mio exclaimed causing Giyuu to freeze, did she just? She just said her first word!

He smiled so big at her of happiness before a feeling of sadness washed over him, she said her first word…and you weren’t here. You were missing her first word.

If you were here, he could see you getting all excited yet jealous that of course her daughters first word was dada! You’d pout but definitely treasure this moment with him. He never dropped his smile, not wanting to upset his daughter as he fought the fears that were building up.

I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I’m so sorry. I will find you and bring you back home.

God he missed you so much, so fucking much. He felt like someone stabbed him, and was turning the blade in his stomach over and over. Like a thousand pounds were on his chest, making it so hard to fucking breathe. He felt someone had a grasp on his heart, squeezing it to see how long before its burst.

His heart was breaking every second you were away from them, every time he subconsciously thought of the worst.

After being unsuccessful the second time, he grew frustrated, but he wasn’t giving up. He made a promise to his pride and joy that he would bring you back home.

“Alright,” he stood over Mio as the little girl stood up, she had been determined for the past few days, trying over and over again, now matter how hard she fell. Definitely reminded him of you, too stubborn to stop. Slowly and steadily letting go of her hands, Giyuu walked over a few paces as she struggled to stand on her own. “Come here Mio, walk to me.”

His arms reached out for the toddler as she took a very wobbly first step, nearly falling but caught herself with her hand before pushing back up. The second step made the Hashira smile, her first steps already. The third one quickly turned into a sloppy fourth one when she crashed into Giyuus arms with a fit of giggles. Bringing her into his lap, he smothered her in face kisses “Good job princess,” he nearly folded when she reached out, tugging on his cheek.

You missed her first steps too.

Y/N, wherever you are, I hope you’re safe, just hold out a little longer.

‘Lights go down and I hear you calling to me, yeah

On his third attempt, he went nine miles north of where you encountered the demon, to find ripped pieces of your haori around the area. Picking up them up, the pieces lead him to w trail where your sword laid, nearly covered in leaves.

His heart steered to swell, his hands started shaking when he bent down to pick your sword up.

Not his Y/N. Please not her.

How much more would this world take from him?

Balling his fists, his cloudy vision searched every inch of the area for you, you were close, he knew it. “Y-Y/N?!”

The more he called out your name, the more his voice broke, where were you?

Give me a sign please.

Instead he felt the presence of a demon, gripping your sword tightly in his hands. The footsteps got closer, right behind the Hashira, and once he jumped up, flipping back to attack… he froze, unable to commit as your once beautiful eyes were now large cat like ones.

No. Impossible!

He kicked you away from him, hating the twisted turn in his stomach of causing harm to you. Once he landed in his feet, they immediately buckled, his knees crashing on the leaves underneath him. His once calm expression crumpled as his bottom lip trembled. Tears welled up in his pretty blue eyes as they ran down his cheeks uncontrollably.

“N-no…p-please…no…” he begged, his voice so hoarse.

It felt like someone ripping his heart out his chest as the quiet environment echoed with his sobs.

Please, someone wake me up from this horrible nightmare.

Until reality hit him that this was REAL. Tomioka, Y/N, the love of his life, his beloved, the mother of his daughter…

A demon.

The loud nasty snarls escaped your lips made him wince as you bolted to him, ready to attack.

I can’t do it, I-I can’t, he told himself.

Getting to his feet, he once again dodged your attacks with tears down his pale cheeks “Y/N! Snap out of it! P-please! You know who I am!” He cried out as he tried to regain you back, regain his wife.

Even though you should’ve been faster and stronger than him, despite his emotions, he easily blocked your sloppy movements coming to conclusion that you haven’t fed on anyone, yet. And you wouldn’t, especially if he had anything to do with it. Remembering him, he had to get you to remember, remember your life over your desire for human flesh and blood.

“I-it’s me! G-giyuu, your husban-nd!” Tossing the swords to the side, he wouldn’t attack you, he refused. He couldn’t hurt you. He sniffled, wiping his face as he side stepped to avoid you “r-remember the day we-e first kissed? It-t was under the fireworks-s, you were so beautiful-l in that orange k-kimono. I-it was fall,” he held back a sob as you growled like a beast in the shadows “come-e back to me Y/N, f-fight it!”

Fireworks? Kiss? You in an orange kimono? Oh when you felt those butterflies in your tummy? When you thought you were pass out from how overwhelming feeling of love and desire you felt for him? That day? You remember that day! You had just turned eighteen that fall.

Seeing your eyes widen and halt for a moment, he kept going even when you went for a hit “M-Mio! H-how hard you cried when you held her in you-ur arms, y-you said she was a-as beautiful a-as a cherry B-blossom even though she l-looks just like you…Y-you c-call her your precious c-cherry blossom.”

Mio. My precious cherry blossom. My blessing. My baby girl.

Tears built up in your eyes as frustration was new to you, so lost, so hungry. So thirsty. Just a taste…

No! I can’t, my Mio, my Giyuu I just want to hold and kiss my family. I want my life back. Fight it Y/N! You’re not hungry nor thirsty, you’re not hungry nor thirsty. You’re not a monster. Remember Nezuko, there’s hope, hope, you don’t have to be a killer. You’re not a killer. You can still be you, and still protect.

You’re not hungry nor thirsty.

Those sobs filled your eyes as you felt it tug in the pit of your stomach, make it stop. You’re not hungry or thirsty.

‘Ensure you feed. If you feed, it’ll make the pain stop.’ That unfamiliar voice repeated itself in your head, and just when you thought you had complete and utter control, you didn’t.

Your mouth was watering, you were hungry and thirsty.

Not expecting the quick snap, the hashira did his best to avoid, but not before you go scratched up Giyuu pretty good. Jumping back, he felt pain on the left side of his cheek and neck, blood trickling down slowly. Lifting his head up, his hair moved to the side exposing the damage you had done.

Mild cuts on his left cheek and neck…

The first time you saw Giyuu with scratches on his face…the two of you had been on your third mission together when he pushed you out of the way to take nails to his face from a demon. You…you had felt so guilty…because you weren’t…paying attention? Ah yes.

Second time was when he came home from a mission…he got marked up when a child was caught in the crossfire of an attack. He..didn’t go to see Shinobu…he came straight home, the incident scared him half to death, thinking of you and your unborn baby…

Except this time around, you were the cause of it.

You hurt him.

You. A demon. Hurt your husband.

Stopping in your tracks, your hands shook as your balled them in fists, digging your nails in your palms as your heavy breathing sounded almost like it hurt, it was ragged and shallow. Your eyes switched from hunger to full of fear as you’re backed away from your husband.

Flooding of all the good memories in your life flashed through your head; running away from an abusive family to join the corps, your friends, meeting Giyuu, falling in love, getting married, becoming an hashira, and having be blessed with the most beautiful baby girl.

Mio. Giyuu. They are you family Y/N REMEMBER THAT! Your everything!

Backing up into a tree, your hands shook as you blocked out that desire to feed “I-I-…” that burned sensation was fighting you, but you refused for it to win. No!

“You breathe life into my existence, making every moment worth living…” your eyes flickered over at the Water Hashira when your heart fluttered at those oddly familiar words. Meeting your sad gaze, his monotone explained “you’ve told..me that since we’ve met.”

Of course you did. He and Mio were your breathe of fresh air, the reason you chose to live in this fucked up world. Overwhelming pit of sadness returned, engulfing you as you broke down in tears, crying out in pain, crying out how sorry you were. How sorry you were for failing, for being weak.

😭 I hope you enjoyed! I really tried with this one, and very much enjoyed writing it! I promise they’ll will be more parts! SPECIAL SHOUT-OUT TO @unofficialmuilover FOR THE HELP AND BASICALLY HAND HOLDING ME THROUGH WRITING THIS 🫶🏼💙 LOVE YOU GUYS! 🫶🏼

Going to bed 🫶🏼 my stubborn ass wanted to finish this and I got muster in the morning 😭

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer giyuu #kimetsu giyuu #giyuu x you #kny giyuu #giyuu x y/n #giyuu tomioka #kimetsu no yaiba

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qyxzun · 2 months ago

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𝟔 ┆𝕸𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝕷𝐈𝐒𝐀, 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐂.

╰┈➤ ❝𝕴𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟗𝟐𝟔-𝐙 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭? 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞?

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃, you packed up all your supplies and were ready to leave the class for lunch until a round-haired brunette approached you with a friendly smile. You noticed how alongside her were two other girls, one with dark green hair neatly tied in a bow at the end and one with flair pink hair that matched her skin.

"Hey! I think we haven't introduced ourselves yet, I'm Uraraka and these're my friends; Asui and Ashido," She gestured before turning back to you, beaming. "It's really nice to meet you L/N, I'm looking forward to being your friend!" Your lips curved into a similar smile as you slung your bag over your shoulder while your hands were shoved in your skirt's pockets.

"Ohh.. you're that girl with zero gravity, right?" You responded, to which she nodded. "Nice to meet you too, I've heard about you guys from Mr. Aizawa,"

"Oh cool! We don't need to introduce ourselves!" Ashido grinned and clapped her hands together. "It's so nice to have a transfer student — especially a girl!" She giggled as she jumped in excitement. Asui turned to you, placing a finger on her chin.

"But I'm curious to ask — what's your quirk, L/N? Mr. Aizawa said you're really strong when he introduced you, so I'm sure you have an impressive one," She inquired which got you a little nervous, you almost forgot what 'a quirk' meant. But thanks to your small brainstorm before class could end, you managed to make one up.

"Oh, that? Uhhh.. it's nothing special, it's called Spider; I can shoot webs from my fingertips, stick to walls and blend into the environment.. y'know, very basic," you shrugged and gripped your bag's strap. Tsuyu hummed in response, finding you impressive.

"Do you think you can demonstrate sometime? I really wanna know how you fight! I mean — it's so rare that Mr. Aizawa would even praise someone's efforts.." Ashido pouted with a fake angry expression before you nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, sure! During training maybe—?"

"SHITTY HAIR! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!!!" Someone yelled behind you. It felt like they just burst your eardrums. Your head turned before your eyes landed on a guy with crimson red flashy hair, that stood out the most, approaching you. Next to him was a spiky-haired blond with an evident pissed-off expression. You were able to tell he couldn't care less for the school dress code, as he was missing a tie, revealing more of his v-neck and Adam's apple. Besides that, his pants sagged without a belt to secure it.

"Hey!! It's nice to meet you L/N, I'm Kirishima!" He beamed and stuck his hand out in the shape of a fist bump, your hand formed into one before you returned it. He noticed your gaze behind him before he as well checked what caught your pretty eyes. The redhead nervously chuckled when he realized you were looking at his irate friend. "Aaand.. that's my pal Bakugo, he's kind of the opposite of calm and rational but don't mind him!"

"DON'T IGNORE ME!" Bakugo yelled again and stomped over towards the group. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and a glare present on his face. Tsuyu was beside Uraraka who had a look of slight concern, while Mina huffed.

"Geeeez, way to treat our new classmate Bakugo," Mina crossed her arms while the disgruntled blond looked at her with disdain and scoffed. "Shut the hell up, pinky! No one asked you!" He jabbed back. Your gaze landed back to Kirishima, who had an embarrassed smile.

"Yeah, sorry, he's not so manly.." He said as he scratched his head skittishly. You smiled and patted his shoulder lightly. "Nah, it's okay, I've dealt with worse," you reassured. The redhead grinned and suddenly wrapped his muscled arm around your shoulder in a friendly way. He was strangely already empathetic, despite the fact you haven't known him for so long. His arm pulled you closer to his chest, creating warmth to your face while he just innocently grinned.

"YOU LIL' SHITSTAINS TALKING 'BOUT ME?!" Bakugo yelled, an unexplained anger seething from his tone. With a harsh grab, he suddenly tugged on your school uniform's tie, jerking you forward and making Kirishima let go. He lifted the fabric with threatening force, getting you on the tip of your shoes. You were clueless as to why he had a sudden grudge against you, but you guessed he probably acted that way to everyone.

"You think just 'cuz you did that stupid entry exam means you're better than me?! You might've joined late, but that doesn't mean you surpass me, you damn extra!" The blond sneered, while you looked back at him with derision and confusion. If this was his way to intimidate you, it wasn't working so well. You've dealt with cocky anomalies before, he just blended in the background.

"Woah chill Bakugo! She's just a girl, go easy on her!" Another guy approached the group as he punched Bakugo's shoulder playfully. He had black hair and a cheeky grin on his face that masked a hint of concern for you.

Beside him was his friend with yellow hair and a distinctive black streak on his bangs. He had a smirk on until it turned upside down once he noticed Bakugo gripping your tie tighter, the fabric around your neck digging into your cervical. He gasped in panic and suddenly ran to help you down quickly with a worried expression. "And she's pretty too! What the hell dude?!" He exclaimed while setting you down, making the spiky blond roll his eyes and scoff.

"Thanks uhh— Kaminari, right?" You asked, guessing names by his appearance before he suddenly simpered.

"You know my name!" He joyfully squealed and held your hand in a prince-like way, trying to display chivalry. You laughed and slipped your hand away before he could kiss your knuckles.

"A-Anyway, L/N would you like to eat lunch with us? It's perfectly fine if you don't want to! I wouldn't want to push you.." Uraraka asked a little nervously, her noticeable pink cheeks making you smile. You nodded briefly as she grinned and clasped your hand, making Mina gasp dramatically.

"No fairrr!!.. I wanted to share my lunch with you.." The pink-haired girl whined, her protruding hampton-coloured antlers drooping like a disappointed puppy.

"Maybe next time?" You suggested before Mina's grin returned. She waved you an enthusiastic goodbye as Tsuyu and Ochako began dragging you away outside the classroom.

UA's space was humongous and minimal, it couldn't compare to BVA at all! The large corridors let the students in large numbers pass easily, the tinted glass walls let them see through the exterior, while it offered a pleasant view of the flowers blooming and the foliage running through the wind. The air conditioning system operated smoothly, and the healthy lush verdure assured you of how the school took care of the environment. You liked UA so far, and by the look of eagerness on your face, Uraraka and Tsuyu could tell. They were happy as well, just like Kirishima, despite not knowing you so well, Ochako shared his same sentiments.

After you reached the ground floor, you were met by a strong mouth-watering aroma forming nearby. You followed your two new friends to where that tasty scent was coming from before you saw the cafeteria. It was spacious and almost felt like a hotel. You got your food and sat down at an empty booth after you waited in line with the two girls. But before you could munch down on your meal, a shadow cast in front of you. Looking up, you saw a fluffy green-haired teen holding his tray of food and two more guys behind him. He looked anxious and didn't seem to keep eye contact, making you curious.

"Oh, Deku! Hey!" Uraraka beamed while she waved at him, her cheeks tinted a darker shade. He turned to her with the same nervous look and chuckled skittishly.

"Hey! I didn't know L/N would be joining us — Not that I mind!!" He jittered with an uneasy voice, you wondered why he sounded so tense just by your presence. It felt weird. A sudden sound of a tray dropping on the table was heard in the booth after Deku's friend behind him stepped aside and placed the thin salver down as if he were trying to display authority. His figure towered over you, making you stare up at him with a curious look.

"Excuse me L/N, but you are sitting in Todoroki's place!" He explained as his hand moved up and down robotically, his glasses jumping and following his rapid movement. Aizawa told you about him before, Tenya Iida, an interesting nerd.

"Oh, my bad," you excused yourself, grabbed your tray, and sat next to Tsuyu who made a place for you. Deku sighed in relief and took a seat across you. Tenya sat down beside him and began to eat his food after he thanked you gratefully, following a bow at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

The guy beside Deku didn't say a single thing after he took your initial place. Glancing up at him, he had red and white hair split into two sections and a perceptible scar on his face. He mostly kept his gaze on his meal, almost like he didn't know you were there or he was ignoring you. He looked kind of cute, so you guessed he was a popular topic along with the ladies.

"So L/N, which school were you enrolled in before UA? I'm inclined to believe it's a prestigious one!" Iida asked as he lifted his glasses. The two girls and the green-haired boy looked back at you with an eager expression that screamed they wanted to know as well. You anxiously gulped down your saliva.

"I was, uhm..— enrolled in Brooklyn Visions Academy.! It's a hero school in the US, but my relatives wanted me to learn in UA, that's why I transferred late...?" Your tone wavered, lying on the spot. You didn't even know if BVA existed in this world, you doubted it did anyway after seeing how unparallel this world was to the rest of the spider-verse.

"Woah.. Brooklyn? As in the United States? That's so cool!" Uraraka gasped as Tsuyu nodded. "The land of liberty indeed,"

"Well, how about the entrance exam L/N.? How was it? If you don't mind me asking.." Deku queried with a curious smile. Your finger tapped your chin as you pondered.

"Hmm... It was alright, a little hard actually," You gazed back down and took a bite of your food, the flavours melting on your tongue deliciously. "I had to score six hundred villain points and two hundred rescue points by destroying some robots, then fight a hero to a match," you answered before chewing. The booth turned uncomfortably silent, making you look back at the rest of them, besides the white and red-haired guy. They shared the same utterly gobsmacked look, their jaws hanging open below while their eyes were wide open, showing more of their white scleras.

"T-That's more than seven times what Kacchan got in the initial entrance exam!" Deku extolled with immoderate shock, his hands gripping the silver chopsticks harder but not enough to break them. Iida nodded as well, his eyes still wide with shock. "Yeah.. I suppose Mr. Aizawa was not overestimating you earlier.." He muttered and pushed his glasses back on his nose bridge. You glanced back at the greenhead, your curiosity piqued.

"Who's Kacchan?" You questioned with raised eyebrows. Deku chuckled nervously as Uraraka spoke for him. "It's Bakugo from our class, they're childhood friends," She responded, taking another bite of her meal.

"Oh... him..?" You squinted your eyelids, your lips forming a thinly curved line.

"Eugh... how could you even be friends with him?" You uttered with a tone of aversion, your eyebrows furrowed while Deku had a look of shame, his flustered state growing bigger.

He couldn't get a chance to respond after Iida stood up from his chair abruptly. "The bell's about to ring! I advise you all to get to class early!" He announced as he took his tray and disappeared quickly, most likely to get to class the first again. Deku soon followed, pushing his chair to the table properly, as well as Ochako and Tsuyu, leaving only you with the red and white-haired guy. The reserved half-and-half refused to look at your direction yet again, so you didn't bother trying to talk with him after he prioritized his peace. You left in a hurry, putting away your tray as you began to walk to class.

With your back turned as your figure disappeared further in the distance, Shoto took a small glance before he later followed you to class.

You panted heavily as you changed back to your school uniform in the changing room. Training with the entire class ended brutally, with your body soar from your head to your feet. But others had worse, like Deku who broke his fingers until it was dark purple or Ochako who ended up nauseous from floating around too much. You couldn't wait to just get back home and relax for once. Your soft bed and a drink waiting for you, it was the dream. The day ended smoothly but what surprised you the most was when you didn't glitch throughout your first day of school. It was a miracle but it concerned you as well. You thought you'd end up raising suspicion but turns out, almost everyone in your class became an acquaintance. When you get home, you'd probably try and make your own watch like how Hobie taught you to.

Before you disappeared into this world, you owned a trinket attached to your spider-suit that the spider-punk gifted. He was one of your best friends in the spider-society, and seeing how your stay here seemed to grow longer, you couldn't help but feel homesick.

After you changed, you took your bag and began to walk out of the campus. Once you neared UA's guarded exit, you heard a familiar voice calling out your name behind you. Turning around, you noticed the same injured greenhead again, he had bandages all over his fingers and a band-aid on his forehead. He looked like a kicked puppy who remained buoyant while he waved at you. "L/N!!"

"Deku?" You mumbled as he approached you. "What's up?" you voiced as he stopped in his tracks, his eyes droopy from how tired he was from training.

"I just wanted to thank you for the training today.. it really helped me realize how to improve myself!" He beamed with a tone of zeal. Despite the injuries that you caused, his infectious bright and fervent mood made you smile back softly.

"Yeah, it's no problem," You responded with a nod before you began to walk out the exit, with him beside you. "But you should take better care of your quirk Deku, it's not good that you're hurting yourself while using it," you berated as his face burned with embarrassment.

"Sorry yeah, I'm working on it L/N," He apprehensively spouted, gripping his bag's strap tighter.

"Just call me Y/N, L/N sounds too formal.." you replied. His eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

"W-Well if that's the case, you can call me Izuku! Y/N is a really nice name.." He answered, making you smile and your face a tiny bit warmer. "Thanks.."

The walk back home was comfortable, with Deku sharing some small talk with you like his strong interest in All Might and the upcoming event you weren't aware of, the sports festival. It sounded like the next Olympics after he described it as something so important. The whole country would be watching the annual occasion and students would try to show off their skills for heroes to scout for more internships. Judging by his tone, he was a little anxious. You reassured him with a pat on the shoulder which got him to smile yet again. Sooner or later, he wrote down his number for you without needing to ask.

The sun started to set after you both reached a thoroughfare, the light blue sky above looked refreshingly clear. The moment of pleasantry was interrupted when Deku stopped in his tracks and faced you. A look of concern appeared on his face. "My place is that way, but would you like me to walk you back home Y/N? I-It's getting pretty late and I don't want anything to happen to you.." He tentatively offered with a worried tone. You shook your head no, smiling.

"It's okay Izu, I'll be fine really, thanks though," You responded with a grin, appreciating his offer. He knew you were capable but he was still worried for your well-being. His new nickname made him chuckle sweetly.

"Alright then, goodnight N/N! Stay safe!" He waved before turning in another direction and left until he couldn't be seen. He seemed to be in a rush as he accidentally dropped his All Might keychain attached to his bag. You quickly picked it up before it could fall down the drain below the road and tried to follow him, but he had already disappeared. Sighing, you pocketed the colourful plastic chain in your skirt before turning back to your street. You figured you could just give it to him tomorrow.

The walk back home took long since you couldn't use your webs in public. The moon started to set as you passed through a shortcut; a grimy narrow street. Despite Japan's clean state, it didn't mean it was immune to garbage. The weird atmosphere almost gave you chills down your spine but your want to go home was far better than your fear.

While walking, your spider-senses suddenly tingled, signalling danger. Your eyes quickly shifted beside you. Despite the darkness, you can see that behind the large garbage can, there was a girl. She looked almost the same age as you while she wore a uniform with a squalid pale almond-coloured cardigan. Her appearance was unkempt, with her dishevelled space buns and dirt all over her face as she breathed heavily. Her body was crouched down into a ball while small insects crawled up her grubby outfit to the garbage behind her. Worried and quick to act, you plopped your bag down on the floor, not caring if it dirtied, and approached her.

"God.. are you okay? You look like a mess.." You spoke with an unsettled tone as you dusted the insects off her scruffy attire and supported her up by holding her shoulders. Her thin-slit eyes looked up to you, her golden irises meeting your lovely E/C ones. She continued to pant from exhaustion before her eyes suddenly rolled back as her upper body collapsed on yours. You held her carefully, hoping she wouldn't fall.

"B—.." The girl tried to mutter. You confusingly tilted her head up, her gaze meeting yours once more. "Blood.." she murmured with a quiet tone.

"Blood?" You repeated curiously. "Why blood.?" You strangely inquired but she didn't seem to respond to your question as she stayed silent on your chest again. Her pale features worried you fully, so maybe her quirk had something to do with blood? That must've been the case.

After hesitating, you sighed in defeat before you placed her body back down gently, making sure she was comfortable. You looked around the narrow alleyway for something sharp enough. After a few moments, you spotted a shard of glass below some shredded boxes. It gleamed under the shadows, making it noticeable. You bent down and cautiously picked it up before walking back beside the exhausted girl. You vacillated, doubtful you were able to help her until you gripped the reflective shard. You bit the inside of your cheek as you sliced a thin line on your wrist, the familiar crimson liquid staining your light-grey sleeves.

The scent of your blood seemed to energize her greatly as her eyes darted up before she pushed herself up from the grubby floor immediately. A hand suddenly gripped your bleeding wrist before she leaned her head down and bit down ferociously. You hissed in pain while her long sharp canines dug deeper into your sweet flesh, her teeth felt more painful than the actual glass. She didn't waste a drop of red oxide-like liquid until she finally released her mouth from your soft skin and licked the rest of the blood that ran down your forearm.

You felt lightheaded and disoriented after what happened until a pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders shook you out of your now tired state. Her giggles echoed in your ear, contradicting her once-exhausted figure before. She looked at you, a wide maniacal grin appearing on her face, yet she still held your forearms tightly, not wanting you to pull away. "What's your name?" The girl suddenly asked.

"Uhm.. Y/N L/N..?" You murmured before her smile widened, a dark blush appearing on her cheeks. Her grip on your arms tightened as she began to giggle once more.

"Y/N... Y/N.." she repeated in a quiet tone, grin widening. "Wow... such a pretty name!!!" She suddenly exclaimed and brought herself closer to your chest. You weren't so tall but your head towered over this mysterious girl. It granted her the opportunity to lay her head down on your chest while she snuggled against you, making you seriously flustered. "Ahaha... yeah.." you sweatdropped nervously, faking a smile. You weren't one for physical touch but she didn't seem to care, even believing your obvious fake grin.

"I'm Toga Himiko!! But only call me Toga, 'cuz from now on, we're friends!!" she beamed before she hugged you tighter, her grip almost suffocating. You gently but firmly pulled her away while her maniac-like smile still remained on her blushing face. "Toga is a pretty name too.." you mumbled anxiously with an uneasy tone, playing nice for now. Her eyes widened as her expression became more agitated, her blush darkening. She couldn't keep her hands off you as her arms were returned right where they were.

"Aaww!! You're so sweet Y/N!! Your blood was sooo tasty... I loved it so much!" Toga's embrace tightened before she continued. "And you stayed even when I was so close to passing out! I love you so much!!" She exclaimed, her cheeks visibly red while her words made you uncomfortable. After a few more moments of hugging, you pushed her away again.

"I appreciate it a lot Toga.. uhm.. I-I should get going.." you quickly stammered before your fingertips flicked out webs that swiftly pulled your bag and rapidly maneuvered you up the wall. She looked up with a surprised look, her eyes brightening under the moonlight while she watched how you attached yourself to the firm bricks above so gracefully. "See you next time?" you offered but didn't give her a chance to respond. You quickly left, disappearing from her line of sight.

Toga gripped her sloven cardigan tighter before a hand travelled to her rapidly beating heart. She didn't know how to experience the strange but addictive feeling. She couldn't believe what happened today either! All her mind could think of were your kind E/C eyes, your accepting hug, your selfless acts and your delicious blood. You were so accepting! Despite the fact blood was the only thing that could quench her thirst! Normal people would run away or even report her but you were so kind.. so sweet. Your crimson taste remained in her mouth sweetly as she eagerly licked her teeth. It tasted like nothing but pure ambrosia.

Toga's excitement overcame as she tried to activate her quirk. Her expectations to transform as you failed her, the once extreme smile she once had turned to a look of confusion. She was sure she consumed at least a cup full of your blood, so why? Why couldn't she transform into you? Dread soon overcame her happiness while she gripped her arms tighter. It felt like her needs were taken away from her. She wanted, no, needed to transform, to hug herself as if you were hugging her back, to voice out her love for you despite only meeting for a few moments.

"See you later?" Your words repeated in her mind. "Toga is a pretty name too," and again.

Toga's smile crept back as she began to giggle to herself, holding her arms tighter. "Yes, soon.." She whispered and chuckled. Her shoes clicked against the floor as she began to trot away from this filthy alleyway.

The bar was surprisingly quiet, a few underlings were away like Stain who mostly acted alone in the League. It was not until the schoolgirl kicked the door open and stepped inside the dark room. Toga didn't show any sign of fatigue, just grinning like a deranged psycho as usual while the rest of the villains looked at her in confusion. Shigaraki glanced back at her, a look of annoyance present on his face.

"You've been gone for a damn long time.. wished you were dead," The light-blue-haired man grunted, an elbow on the bar while Kurogiri stayed behind the counter, cleaning a freshly washed cup. Twice gasped dramatically before he approached the sweet girl, patting her shoulders quickly.

"Don't say that Tomura!! And Toga, you look filthy!" The masked man exclaimed with a loud tone. He took out a pink handkerchief that Toga had lent him earlier and wiped the dirty grub off her face gently before he moved to her clothes. She chuckled at his sweet demeanour before she turned to face her other new friends. After Twice finished wiping her prematurely clean, she ambled to her other friends, approaching them with a smile.

Miles G. was sharpening his gauntlet on the floor with a knife in his hand he stole from Stain, while Dabi rested on the ripped couch, his legs crossed as his stitched arms extended on the back pillows. The scent of cigarettes were all over the him, as a grey fog escaped his lips smoothly before it disappeared into the air. The two never got along very well, even when they were both new. They carried a strong tense aura whenever they were near, the rest of the League wondered why, but Toga wasn't one to question.

"Hiya Miles!" Toga's smile was radiant while she approached him. He placed the blade down on the wooden floor, creating an echoing sound of its drop, before the antihero took his gauntlet and wore it securely, readjusting its claws. She had gotten used to his stoic and reserved personality as he often ignored her, but after what happened today, her happiness couldn't be changed, and she wanted to tell someone more about you.

After Toga waved her arms around to get his attention, Miles let out a sigh of frustration and finally glanced up at her, a look of vexation present on his face. Dabi's eyes slowly opened when he finished his cigarette, while he was wondering what could the blonde wanted to express now. Her blush darkened as her fingers covered her pink cheeks.

"I made a new friend!!" Toga exclaimed.

𝕾𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

#atsv #fanfic #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #mha #spiderman #mha x reader #deku x reader #bakugo x reader #toga x reader #kirishima x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia x reader

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