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solbaby7 · 10 months ago

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This Will Do

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: jealous!az, toxic relationships, swearing, sexual themes, descriptions of physical violence and abuse, idkkk it just sucks wanting what you know you shouldn’t have :(((

previous parts [ one ] [ two ]

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Coming here was by far your worst idea yet.

Maybe, it wasn’t even a conscious decision since it seemed like your feet were moving without being told, pushing you to a destination that your brain hadn’t been made privy to. Not until your heart was thrashing in your chest and blood was pumping so fiercely through your veins that you could hear it in your ears.

You don’t even register where you are until you’re knocking on the door, swallowing thickly when it’s ripped open not even seconds later. “Azriel,” You breathe out in relief, too frazzled to properly appreciate the half-naked body before you.

The smell hits him before his eyes even catch that you’re absolutely covered in blood, hands stained and leathers soaked through. It’s instinctual the way he snatches you to him, past the front door and into the sitting room of his personal residence. A fires going, crackling softly to the left a few feet away from a Illyrian sized sofa. Still steaming tea siting on the table before that, its wood a shade so deep you wondered if it were made from the night sky itself. “What the fuck happened? Are you hurt?” His hands sift over you, shoving aside ruined fabric until he’s examined every inch of bare skin thoroughly.

“Not really, I just—“ Your eyes slide shut when you feel him go still. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Whose blood is this?”

You say absolutely nothing. Fingers fiddling in your lap, nails biting into skin and now that the adrenaline had subsided, every second seemed to lag—the weight heavy on your shoulders.

“Stay here,” Azriel mutters into your hair before disappearing down the hall. He’s gone no less than a few minutes, returning with an outstretched hand damp from steaming bathwater. “Let’s just get you cleaned up first.”

You're too numb to fight it—to fight him when in truth, his touch was the only thing keeping you sane.

Golden eyes barely hide the extent of his worry as each layer of clothing is peeled off of you and tossed aside, every move is cautious as if you were a stray animal that would scamper off at the slightest inkling of danger. Warm water draws out the anxiety, eyes fluttering closed when Azriel ran his fingers through your hair, working up a lather with shampoo that smelled like him. “We got in a fight,” You finally confess when you feel him tense near your cheek, a finger grazing over slightly raised skin. “Damien and I.”

“About?”

“About you.”

Intrigue forces his eyes to dart down to you in surprise, not bothering to look away when he notices that yours are closed. A brief pause, a silent evaluation of the newly cleaned skin and anger laces every single word when Az catches the imprint of a hand against your cheek. The bruise of fingers around your neck and arms. “Tell me what happened.”

Your jaw clenches, face shying away the longer he stared at the marks. “I was still a little heated after leaving the sparring ring so I just went back home. Damien—he wasn’t supposed to be back so early and I got an attitude because he kept asking so many questions. Kept demanding to know whose scent was all over me.” His hands move slow, memorizing every word, every bruise, every flinch and shake of your voice. Soap suds dance along your skin, washing away blood, sweat and tears until nothing was left but you and Az. “I walked past to go to the room and he yanked me back,” The ache of your scalp throbs at the reminder of Damien’s hand curling around the length of your ponytail.

Fingers graze against the blues and purples dotting at your back. “He threw you into the wall?”

Water trickles as you adjust, the warmth soothing stiff muscles and you can feel the grit of bath salts barely resolved against your feet. You nod once, refusing to elaborate further when Azriel’s shadows begin to stalk up the length of the walls, clawing their way up his spine and over his shoulders to report further damage. “He thought I was cheating on him—said I was using training as a ruse to cover up the fact that I was really just the spymasters whore.” Years of training and dedication; growth and back breaking labor reduced to nothing more than a piece of ass. Your fingers clench into fists subconsciously, the feeling too fresh; the rage too raw and willing to return at the very reminder. The brief moment where Damien’s words made you falter��made you question and forget yourself. Disgust coils in your belly at the fear that formed when his palm connected with your cheek. “I’d never seen him so upset,” You confess, allowing Azriel’s comforting touch even if you knew deep down you shouldn’t be here. “He didn’t even look like himself anymore; he just kept shoving me into the wall over and over and over. Kept promising that if I was so interested in—“ You choke over your words, teeth gritting and eyes filling with tears. “That if I was so interested in mangled flesh then I should have some for myself to match.”

Azriel’s hands freeze at your shoulders, the sopping wash rag dripping warm water down your spine. “Did you kill him?”

You swallow audibly, glancing at the pink tinge in the tub. “I’m not sure. I hurt him pretty badly though—bad enough that he’ll have no choice to explain what he did to deserve such an injury.”

He’s rising to his full height before you can even finish speaking, drying off his hands and opening the large closet doors connected to his bathing chambers. Your eyes follow his every move, tongue tracing your bottom lip when he begins to attach holsters with freshly sharped knives sliding into place. “Where was the last place you saw him? Your apartment?”

Azriel barely reacts when you climb out of the tub; movements almost mechanical until a hand rests delicately on his shoulder. “Please don’t go,” He doesn’t want to listen, that much is obvious by the array of lines that tug their way across his handsome face but there’s no denying his body’s reaction to the plea. Shifting closer, yearning for more as he basked in the first gentle touch you’d initiated since that night. “Just stay here with me.”

Just choose me.

Just one time, please stay with me.

The tension in his muscles slowly fades the longer golden irises stare into your own, falling victim to the warmth residing there—reserved just for him. It’s instinct to pull you closer, the bare shape of you melting into his own as if it were made for him. “You don’t want this,” Every syllable burns like acid on his tongue. Still, he doesn’t step away; refusing to let you go when he’d waited too long to have you this close again—even if it was just for tonight.

“You’ve never cared what I wanted before.” Brutal and yet still the words are dripped in honey. Azriel’s grip tightens on your waist as you ease the holders from their place. “All of that changes because some asshole roughed me up?”

“He hurt you,” He states sharply, knuckles ghosting over the bruises on your arms. “No one gets to hurt what’s mine and live.”

“Except you, of course. Right?” Your eyes roll on their own accord, lips twisting into a sneer as you pull away from him; suddenly too bare and entirely too exposed. “My mother always did say the handsome ones were the most selfish.” You make a point to avoid the plethora of fresh towels provided on the counter and snatch for Azriel’s hanging on the rack instead. “I’d hoped she was wrong.”

“Well, she wasn’t,” Azriel doesn’t allow the thick towel to cover even an inch of you, ripping it free and caging you to the wall behind you. This time, when your heart races in your chest—it’s not with fear. “I am a selfish male but only with a select few things.” He’s everywhere at once, assaulting ever sense and smothering you with a panty-dropping amount of affection. His nose teases against your own, eyes sliding over the planes of your face until they catch at your mouth. “And with you,” Azriel whispers your name, thumb sliding over the plush of your bottom lip. “—with you and I am the most selfish of all. You deserve better.”

Your hands slide up his arms and over his shoulders before hooking over his neck, nails scratching at the dark hair within reach. “Then, give me better. Just for tonight.”

Azriel contemplates for half a second before shaking away logic. If this was going to be the last time then he would savor every moment; would devour every moan and whimper. He’d survive off your touch and thrive off your love; memorizing the bite of your nails on his back and your teeth claiming at the skin of his shoulder.

It feels all too familiar, entirely too natural, devastatingly comfortable when the shadowsinger cups the back of your thighs and bares the brunt of your weight with little effort. He denies any distance, a large palm splayed along the middle of your back to press every inch of bare skin against his own. His kiss is unusually soft and you can’t fight your body’s need to lean into it; to indulge in the girlish fantasy you’d crafted of the life you could’ve lived. The one where you were Azriel’s first choice, foolishly in love and desperate for a moment alone to make out or franticly fuck in shadow cloaked corners like the world was ending.

“I missed this,” The rasp in his words sends goosebumps along your skin and your bare cunt clenched around nothing when he trails kisses down the length of your neck. “I miss you.”

“I hate you,” It’s a lie, one he doesn’t call you out on but you needed to say the words before your heart took the reins and forced three entirely different words out. Bare thighs constrict like a snake at his waist, urging him closer until you could feel the hard press of his cock through his sweatpants.

A groan pulls from his chest, mouth slotting over your own as his hands explored freely. Memorizing every dip and feminine curve until the reward of such thorough examination seeped through the fabric of his sweats. “You may hate me but you want me more.” It’s filthy; the sound of your arousal hitting your ears as you grind down harder, chasing a high that cleared away the fog of life and cloaked you in pleasure. “I know you do. I can feel it every time we touch.”

You refuse to respond, digging your heels into his waistband to shove the offending material away until the warm weight of his cock springs between you. “I want this,” Azriel’s eyes follow your every move, breathing growing heavy when you lick the palm of your hand and reach down to hold him in your grasp. A whine drags from your throat when you coat him in your slick, brows pinched and mouth parted as you allow the tip of him to prod at your entrance. “Give it to me, Az.”

“It’s yours. Take it.”

Your free hand curls behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss that forces him into silence. It’s cruel; the clashing of teeth and tongue, lips swollen as Azriel’s fingers tangle themselves in your hair. He takes a step closer, intent to keep you secure against the wall but all it does is give you exactly as you’d wanted—the delicious stretch of his cock filling you up.

Your name is like a swear on his tongue, spilling free harshly as he adjusts to the feel of you, the slippery wetness of your arousal dripping down his shaft but he doesn’t move. “Please, Az?”

“Say it.”

I love you.

“I hate you.” Patience wears thin and your hips rock to satiate the need burning low in your gut. “Hate how fucking good you feel.” You rip a page from Azriel’s book and you take. Taking more than you ever allowed yourself before. He buckles into your demands, guiding your motions and watching where he begins and you end until he doesn’t care to difrenciate it anymore. You squirm under the scrutiny, a faint blush fanning across the apples of your cheeks and tips of your ears. You have to shake your head a little to slap yourself out of the stupor; nearly sinking into the love he was finally giving. “Hate me back,” You grip harder at his shoulders, chasing your release but Azriel wasn’t fucking you like he used to. “Give me what I want, Az.”

He’d replaced his rough touch and venomous bite. Instead, Az kissed every bruise, whispering sweet promises down the curve of your spine, knuckles grazing at your cheekbone as if you were the most precious flower with delicate petals. Azriel gives. Returning all the care and devotion with deliberate touches as soft praises are crooned in your ear. “I will if you say it. Just once—for me.”

Your vision goes blurry, eyes squeezing shut as your head falls back against the wall in defeat. “I want you.”

The friction you’d been itching for is finally granted and you’re too caught up up in the feel of him fucking into you to give a second thought towards your confession—not when he was finally giving you what you’d been craving. He fulfills every desire. Every want. Every need until you’re a mess of limbs and drawn out moans. You allow the marks he sucks into your neck, covering the ones done in anger. He doesn’t stop; not until your legs are shaking and your lungs were fighting for a full breath.

His forehead rests against yours, arms caging your head as he whispers ever so softly. “Please don’t go. I love you.” It takes everything to pull away. To grab your messy clothes and shove them on as quickly as possible. “I’m so sorry.”

Your hand is already on the doorknob, head bowed and heart screaming for you to stay. “I don’t forgive you.”

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Four

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Fluff and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel didn’t have any reason to show up on your doorstep the next day, but he still flew through the pouring rain and waited patiently for you to answer.

“Hi.” You said, breathlessly.

“Hi.” He answered, dripping water onto the doormat.

Azriel filled up too much space in your apartment, but maybe that was just the constriction of your thumping heart. Az smelled like fresh rain and cedar. Your mother had once taken you to the mountains on the western coast. Citrus fruits sticky and tart in your palms as you sat by the edge of the cliffs and tasted the salt water in the air. It made sense that Azriel should smell like one of your best memories.

“I wanted to give you these.” Azriel said once he’d stepped inside, a quick spell of yours drying the rain off his clothes. Cradled beneath his arms were a bouquet of yellow flowers and a box of pastries from your favorite bakery down the street. The box was soft and supple, but he’d shielded them from the worst of the rain.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

He cocked his head to the side, “Does there need to be an occasion? I thought you might like them.”

Liar. He knew you liked them. He was the Shadowsinger after all and the first thing he’d done this morning was track down Cherp.

“Well… no,” You said, gingerly accepting both packages from him. Shadows darted out from his gloved hands, slinking up your arms like living jewelry, cool and comforting. “No, I suppose there doesn’t need to be an occasion.”

“Think of it as a thank you gift. For everything you've done for my family.”

You blushed, “That was really nothing.”

“Rhys and Feyre would disagree. I would disagree. And if Rhys were here he’d probably offer you a dress made of diamonds as a gift instead.”

You blinked, “That seems excessive.”

“That’s Rhys.”

“Then I will consider myself lucky that you’re here instead.”

Azriel seemed pleased with that answer, dipping his head in a subtle bow.

He started off at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of tea as you snipped the flowers and arranged them in a vase. But soon he was drifting around the room, setting your heart alight whenever his fingers would graze the mantle, linger on the pages of an open book, or brush your handwritten notes. It all felt too intimate. The way he could make your breath catch in your throat with every rustle of his wings, the soft sigh of leather as he bent over to look at your scribbled handwriting and smiled. He may as well have grabbed you by the waist and kissed you breathless. Not that you were thinking about kissing him...

You hovered by the kitchen, then moved as close to him as you dared, close enough that Azriel could smell the orange icing that clung to your lips and fingertips. He wanted to taste you.

He shook his head, moving aside and pointing to the newest of your notes. He read, “Immunity - the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities - is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic. From mating bonds to daemati powers to shielding, everything related to magic can be made analogous to the function of a biological immune system.”

He gave you a look - a silent act of permission to continue reading to himself. And before you could think it through, you were nodding.

Azriel took up a spot on your couch, wings cramped against the velvet backing and long legs bumping into the coffee table. You wordlessly moved the furniture and started to pace the floor, busying yourself with the theatrics of organizing notes when you were really keeping an eye on him.

He had a careful look of concentration on his face, lips silently forming the words as his eyes raked over the pages.

You’d presented it to Cherps last summer, and as kind and forgiving as he could be when it came to intellectual exploration, he’d told you flat out that the manuscript was a waste of time.

It was a review paper in its earliest stages, stringing together the connections between different forms of magic and basic biological processes - namely the immune system. The greatest force working against you was the simple fact that fae didn’t concern themselves with such things. Sickness was an inconvenience at worst, nonexistent at best, and any possible fears were quickly wiped out in the face of immortality.

But humans were a different story. Their time on this earth was short and precious. Their weaknesses made them curious, fueled by a desperation for more time - more health - that fae held in spades.

It fascinated you to no end. And after the war against Hybern you’d gotten your hands on some manuscripts from the Human Lands and the Continent.

The concept of white blood cells searching through blood for foreign pathogens didn’t seem so far off from spells designed to unearth enemies hidden on a battlefield. The power wielded by daemati analogous to some virus able to hijack existing cellular machinery for its own purpose. You’d even heard of a blacksmith in the Dawn Court capable of imbuing her magical signature into weapons so that only she would be able to wield them. What better example of immune system magic was there?

Your heart hammered in your chest as Azriel continued to flip through the pages. Long, nimble fingers fluttering along the edges of the pieced together manuscript. His shadows curled around the paper like curious children.

Perhaps it was a mistake showing it to him. It was a rather weak and pathetic argument anyhow. You’d be ridiculed for presenting your ideas at any respectable meeting of the-

“Brilliant.” Azriel breathed.

You snapped your head up in shock.

He looked at you, something like awe in his eyes. “You’re brilliant.” Gloved fingers flipped through the pages once more, marveling.

“It’s not finished yet.” You admitted, wringing your hands together, “It’s barely even begun, and I’d have to fight tooth and nail to get it published. If I ever managed to get it published.” You muttered the last part beneath your breath.

“Why wouldn’t they want to read it? You present a convincing case.”

You tipped your hair to the side, as if the answer was obvious, “Fae don’t like bringing humans into the conversation. They think the work they accomplish is beneath any respectable Librarian. Unworthy of study.”

Az chuckled, “My High Lady would probably say otherwise.”

The High Lady was a curious case - a human soul housed in one of the strongest bodies Prythian had ever known.

“I’m sure.” You said, excited that you had found someone who approved of your ideas for once, “It sounds contradictory, but I believe we could learn more about magic by studying humans.” You were standing now, pacing in front of Az.

He’d managed to crack some forgotten dam inside of you and words began pouring out.

“I have another hypothesis that spell-cleaving comes from the very specific ability to identify and imitate the magical signatures of others. I mean, just imagine! If you could change your magical signature to match that of another fae, any spell crafted, any barrier built-” You made a motion with your hands, “Pff! Useless. You can’t keep yourself out in a spell. Or you can try to at least, but any respectable fae would leave a backdoor for themselves in case something went wrong-”

You rambled on - the biology of immunization and its function in the last war, the Dawn Court artificer, Helion and Feyre’s powers - before finishing with, “I suspect my own powers have something to do with it.”

“What are your powers?” Azriel asked curiously. He leaned forward ever so slightly. “Aside from being brilliant, of course.”

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say that. You’d meant to keep it in your mind, quiet and hidden. You swallowed thickly, picking at bitten fingernails.

Azriel swore internally upon seeing the way you flinched, “You don’t… you don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry I-.”

“No! No. I-''

He stared at you openly. Or at least as openly as a person like him could. There was a softness to his eyes you suspected didn't come naturally to him, like he was trying very very hard to convince you to trust him... And it was working.

His hazel eyes were a swirl of gold touched by the first kisses of Autumn.

“Can you… can you promise not to tell anyone? Truly promise.”

He stilled - the very picture of seriousness. Even his shadows seemed to stiffen in the air and become less translucent, “I swear on my life, Y/n. I won’t tell a soul.”

And you knew he wouldn’t. You could feel his honesty in the air, as if something was tugging at your chest and gingerly pulling you open.

You swayed gently, fingers crunching your linen skirts.

“I’m a Clairvoyant.” You admitted, as if it was a shameful thing, “I can touch things - people, objects - and gain knowledge from them. Usually it’s memories or emotions or something else I can’t quite describe.” The scattered books were beginning to make more sense to the Shadowsinger. You pointed to them with open hands, “It’s useful for work… overwhelming when it comes to everything else. Especially after the war with what everyone went through.”

You hesitated. You waited for him to say what you’d been told your entire life: It’s an incredible power. You should be so proud. The Mother has blessed you with this gift. You’re special Y/n.

But Azriel only looked down to your tightly clasped hands, and then to his own.

“That must be quite a burden. To be exposed to all of that.”

Your eyes snapped up to him as he quietly tugged at his gloves.

“It is.” You murmured beneath your breath, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes.

Azriel’s heart clenched in his chest.

“Is that why you won’t touch anyone? Why you ran away from the party?”

Why you ran away from me that night?

You nodded guiltily.

Azriel sighed, eyes closing in relief. All this time he’d been terrified that you hated him, thinking that you’d seen him for what he truly was - a monster.

“It was nothing to do with you.” You said quickly, leaning closer.

Your hands shot out towards him before freezing midway. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hands. You felt him tugging at the edges of your heart, like a curious hand pulling at fraying threads. You’d known him less than a week and already you’d spoken more with him than anyone else in the past year. Spent more time with him. Shared your secrets with all the recklessness of young love. What were you thinking?

You pulled away, lips tightening into a flat, angry line. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You hadn’t asked for this power, even though others never failed to envy you for it. It was a terrible gift that you couldn’t return when the real thing you wanted was the simple joy of holding Azriel’s hand.

But that wouldn’t be fair to him either.

He was a Shadowsinger - a Spymaster to be exact - filled with enough secrets to break the world three times over. To touch him… to kiss him, would be the worst invasion of privacy. Even if you didn’t intend for it to happen.

Azriel finally spoke and his voice filled the silence with a music you wanted to hear more of, “Being a Shadowsinger… It's not easy. I’ve had plenty of people tell me I should be grateful for it. Grateful for my power and the prestige it's brought me. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was worth the cost.” You stared at him, eyes so wide he swore they could swallow him whole, “I understand, Y/n. I know it’s not exactly the same… but I understand.”

“Do you think you’d be happier, Azriel, if you hadn’t been born a Shadowsinger?”

He shrugged, “I don’t think that’s the way it works, Y/n.”

“No… no I suppose you’re right about that.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He gently nudged the coffee table and it lightly tapped your shins.

“It’s not all bad.” You raised your eyebrows, urging him to continue, “If I wasn’t a Shadowsinger, I wouldn’t have met you.”

You chuckled, a stray tear slipping out and dripping onto the rug. You brushed the rest of the moisture away.

“Maybe you would have. Maybe you would have come to the Day Court to study.” Azriel snorted. The sun would sooner rise in the west and set in the east before anyone called Azriel an academic. “Maybe we would have gotten into arguments about research and books.”

“About the historical accuracy of chicken eggs?”

“About the anatomical considerations of having sex with a dragon-born.” You clarified. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Azriel said, smiling.

He’d never been born for the quiet life. Shadowsinger or not, he was a warrior through and through. But looking around at the plush sofa and the faelights flooding in from the athenaeum, he couldn’t help but imagine what kinds of peace you’d bring into his life if he ever mustered up the courage to tell you the truth.

You’re my mate.

The words kept rattling around in his mind as the pair of you spent the day holed up in your apartment.

It was a comfortable haze. You didn’t ask why he lingered, although he felt your burning curiosity through the bond, and he never offered you an explanation. The truth was, no matter his reason for sitting on the couch reading his own sensitive reports, you liked his company… and you wanted him to stay. He saw it in the way your eyes always latched onto him when he stood up, only relaxing when he settled back down.

It was a comforting pain to know that you wanted him, even if you didn’t know why and even if he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

He didn’t eat, politely declining every stubborn offer of yours until you finally gave up. He wouldn’t be accepting any food from you from here on out. It wasn’t until you made the mistake of yawning from your spot on the floor, papers radiating out from you like a sunburst, that he made any effort to leave.

He looked towards the window. Long, sharp shadows crept along the floor and mingled with his own.

Fuck. He promised Rhys he’d be back by mid-afternoon.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” He stood up, wings stretching out so you could see every ripple of muscle, every inky vein that ran through the thin membrane like offshoots from a river.

You scrambled to your feet, pressing an open book to your chest like that would stop your pounding heart. Time had passed too quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize. I-I liked your company. I like your company. Present tense.” You sighed without thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone around.”

Cruel, malicious voices rang in Azriel’s mind. They sounded like his half-brothers and the asshole he was unfortunate enough to call a father.

Don’t do it. You’ll ruin this. You’ll ruin this like you ruin everything.

Look at this place. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with her. You’ll never be worthy of-

“May I come see you tomorrow then?” Azriel’s words were loud, laced with hope. “I’ll bring breakfast.” He said, quieter this time.

You blushed and tried to sound nonchalant when you answered, “I would like that.”

With the promise of another day hanging in the air, that tight coil in your chest loosened, even as Azriel bowed his head and stepped outside. You gasped when he unfurled his wings, the faint glow of the street lights shining through the membrane.

There were few things Azriel loved about himself, but his wings? His wings were his pride and joy. The one beauty he felt he possessed. So when he saw the awe in your gaze, he took off a little harder than usual, delight shooting through his heart when he turned around to see you laughing and brushing the hair from your eyes.

You watched him and he watched you as he climbed higher and higher into the sky before fading into nothing.

There were three books you treasured above all else: The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. They’d been your mother’s favorite novels - comforting, slice of life books that promised a happy ending no matter the sorrows that came before. Dog-eared, finger-print stained, and loved beyond measure, your mother had read them to you over and over and over again. Her notes were still scrawled in the margins, her joy still pressed between the pages like preserved flowers.

Being a Clairvoyant meant you could tap into the essence of objects, and objects held memories and emotions just as readily as people. When you thrummed your fingers over the clothbound books you got flashes of your mother. Flashes of her scent. Flashes of her affection for you.

You relied on that familiar comfort as you sat by the window and watched the sky. Every swirl in the clouds looked like Azriel to you. As if he’d swoop down from the heavens and burst through your door so you could wrap your mind around that scent of rainfall and cedar.

You buried your face in your knees and cried out in frustration. You’d wanted to crawl into his lap the entire day. To feel the warmth of his wings wrapped around you like a blanket.

Stupid stupid stupid.

You knocked your head against the worn leather-bound books. One look at his windswept hair and faint smile this morning and you’d been lost.

What would your mother say? Three days and you were already drunk on him. Were flowers, sweet treats, and a modicum of undivided attention all it took for you to fall for someone?

But it wasn’t just a bouquet of flowers - they were daisies picked from the florist down the street with the lilac doorway and hand-painted cards. It wasn’t just a box of pastries - they were from your favorite bakery with the orange icing so heavenly that for years you’d ignored cake on your birthday in favor of them.

Such detail required more than a modicum of attention. If you were right, Azriel would have needed to fly around the city inquiring after you and your mother to gain such information.

But why would he do that? Why would he bother?

The window was cool against your skin, whisking away the heat that had gathered in your cheeks after hours of thinking about the Shadowsinger.

It was a quiet night, as most nights were in the Day Court, and aside from the three Librarians who had entered The Alcove for a late night of reading, you hadn’t seen a soul. The streets were as still as a painting.

Someone drunkenly staggered out of The Alcove.

Meryl. The Alcove’s Bookkeeper.

You frowned in distaste.

Meryl was a middling Librarian at best, although he was skilled enough at the sword to have been selected for Bookkeeper training. Standing easily over six-feet tall with the strong legs of a bison and horns to match, he’d chosen the simple life presiding over The Alcove where he could drink and fuck to his heart’s desire. After all, who would care enough to attack an athenaeum dedicated to boring fiction?

Meryl clopped forward another three feet, one hand pressed to his throat. His red-trimmed robes swayed in the breeze. But his robes weren’t meant to be that red.

He stumbled to the side, close to the base of your front steps, and his eyes locked with yours.

His ears were missing, two gaping holes where the gentle slope of the cartilage should be. His lips parted in a silent scream and blood bubbled out hot and thick.

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Author's Note:

Did I steal the *hi* from Heartstopper because I've been rewatching it for the fourth time this week?................. Maybe???

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x you #azriel mate #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #the day court

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thewritetofreespeech · 4 months ago

Text

Night 162: Children

words: 1131 rating: G pairing: Gale x Tav summary: Gale & Tav return from the Reunion for an afternoon of tea and interrogations from his mother.

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

Summers in Waterdeep were some of the most beautiful and peaceful in Faerûn. Or so Tav had come to realize.

Baldur’s Gate was nice, with its coves & sunlit ports, but it was nothing compared to the cool breeze off the ocean. The smell of salt in the air. And, of course, the spontaneous evening trips to the shoreline to dip ones feet in cold water and warm sand her husband.

Not that Tav didn’t miss her old home of the Gate. She enjoyed visiting and catching up with old friends. Extending the trip for the party to stop in on the way back to catch up with those who had not been able to attend. The couple had actually just gotten back from their vacation a few days ago, and Gale was regaling his mother on his latest find at Sorcerous Sundries.

“Can you believe it mother?? A real, genuine first edition Arcana Archivist Annals. Practically mint condition!”

“I suppose it helps to know the proprietor, and have his life indebted to you.” Morena remarked as she finished pouring the tea and handed Tav the first cup.

“The 10% educators discount doesn’t hurt either.” The two of women chuckle as Gale huffed and flopped back into his mother’s patio chair with a ‘no one understands me’ sulk.

“And how was the rest of your trip, dear? Surely it wasn’t all books.”

“If Gale had his way….” The man in question glared playfully at her. “But no. It was good to see how the city has grown after the rebuild. It’s odd. It’s all brand new in most cases, but strangely the same. Wyll and his father have done a splendid job of reworking the internal structure of the city as well. He’s done well as Grand Duke.”

“Good to have friends in high places. Not just book shops.” The trio laughed at Gale’s quip this time. Not just at him.

“And there��s…..nothing else to report?” Morena asked inquisitively. Which peaked Gale’s interest.

“No. Unless you want to know more about the weather.” He remarked before collecting his tea. “Is there something specific you wanted to know about our trip, mother? It’s not like you to be coy.”

“Very well. I was hoping while you were away for some time, you might return to tell me your pregnant.” Gale choked hard on his tea and floundered with the fine china for a moment. “I guess not….”

“Pregnant!” Gale replied aghast. “Why would you think we’re pregnant!?”

“Not really thought so much as hoped.” Morena clarified. “I’d very much like a grandchild.”

Gale turned to Tav in a manner for some sort of help, but she was too stunned as well by the conversations to offer any. “We…We haven’t been married that long…”

“Your father and I were married about as long as the two of you when you came into the picture.” The older woman noted. “Besides, it’s not just that. The Dekarios family needs an heir. Surely, you’ve thought about the future of our line.”

Gale shifted from flabbergasted to embarrassed. “Well, I uh….”

“Gale!”

“Well, I’ve been a little busy mother. Saving the world from an Elder Brain and trying not to turn into a mind flayer. Now trying not to get my head blown off by pre-teen wizards. Teaching children does not really rally one to the experience.” Tav had to agree there.

Gale sighed and sat back in his chair again. “What brought all this on mother? This is a lot to…spring on a person.”

“Well, I was thinking about it while you were away and thought I’d ask about your future plans. Neither one of us is getting any younger, dear.” There was a lot of secret conversation going on between the Dekarios kin in that moment as Morena sipped her own teacup. “The two of you should really start thinking about it. Children are a blessing.”

“I agree with Mr. Dekarios.” The people at the table turned as Tara floated onto the patio. Landing delicately on a pillow that was clearly always there for her. “Children are loud, destructive, and impatient little creatures. Like imps, but with better table manners. Or at least one hopes.” The Tressym licked her paw as if to make a point. “You shouldn’t have them.”

“So the Dekarios line just ends with Gale?” Morena asked as a counterpoint.

“Certainly. Better to go out with a bang. Oh, apologies. Was that insensitive?”

Gale groaned and stood up from his chair. “If this conversation is going to continue, I’m going to need something stronger than tea to get through it.” He walked back into his childhood home and straight for the bar.

Tav followed after him while Morena & Tara talk. Her presence in the discussions of their futures seeming not to be a requirement at all. “Are you ok?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I’m fine. A little taken aback though.” Gale commented as he inspected one of the bottles and sat it back down. “Don’t worry. I’m not rattled enough to be driven to drink. Just needed to get away.”

“I can certainly sympathy.”

“But my mother….Gods! Springing that on us like that. To force our hands to make a such a decision over biscuits. I never realized she was so cunning.”

Tav chuckle at his remark, but then got serious for a second. “You know….we’ve never talked about it….”

Gale turned to her with an inquisitive, then surprised, look. “Oh…I mean do you want…do you want to….”

She shrugged. “I’m not against children.” What seemed like eons ago, the former adventurer thought about a life long in the future where she would be settled with a family, including children. With everything that happened that dream was lost until she could catch her breath. Now that she had, Tav wondered if it might be time to take that dream off the shelf again. “I don’t think right now. But….yes.”

Gale seemed taken aback for a moment, but only a little. He then seemed to think on it, nod, then gave her a smile. “I feel that way too. Not now, of course. But not never.” The two of them reach out to take each other’s hands. “I quite like that it’s just the two of us right now.”

“I do too.” Tav agreed.

“That is not what I meant at all Tara! You are twisting my words!”

“Your words are already twisted with that harpy’s tongue of yours Morena!”

Gale sighed as he looked towards the open door. “Well…almost just the two of us….”

Tav snickered and squeeze his hand a little tighter. “Come on. Let’s break them up before they say something they don’t mean.”

“Tara just implied my mother was a harpy. I think that ship has sailed.”

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curlysfist · 8 days ago

Text

Wounded Warsong

Synopsis: Your head's a mess, and Jimmy's there to make it worse. (TW manipulation, medicine, "normal pills" moment, lightly edited, MINORS DNI.)

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: need Jimmy to crawl into my chest when I'm having a manic episode and carve a hole only he can fill! Had fun writing this hehe. Also send reqs pretty please. I'm out of ideas 😮‍💨

Credit: This fic was inspired off of this post by @psuedosugu --- tysm for allowing me to use it bookie 💚

“Do you really need those pills? I thought you stopped taking them.”

Limp in your hands was a lone anti-psychotic pill you'd fished from your bedside table, just after shoving on the scattered pieces of clothing on the ground.

“Why are you still here?” You look at Jimmy with nothing beyond a soft scrunch of your face. He stood by the open door, arms folded, in his sweatpants. Where was his shirt?

“Why? Am I expected to leave? It's still late. Why are you taking those?”

“You never stay. I'd assumed…” you shake your head. “I'll do as I please.”

“No, you won't, because you're drugging yourself again. I thought you said those meds fuck you up?” Though he steps closer, you brush past him, making your way down the flat to get a cup of water. Immediately, the stretch of nicotine hits your face, and you could only sigh when you saw the ashtray on the table.

The “tray” was an expensive fine china tea plate.

Predictably, Jimmy trails after you. “You're wearing my shirt, by the way.”

“And you smoked in my apartment again. Quid pro quo, or whatever.” It was hard not to keep the edge out of your voice. It was, what, 4 in the morning and he's already grating your nerves. Telling you what or what not to do. Staying. Looking at you like that.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He drawled.

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

“You. What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“You're asking me that?”

“What, are we hallucinating again? Of course I'm asking you.”

God.

Your fingers quiver as you pull a cupboard open, grabbing a glass.

He says your name. “You don't need that. Didn't I tell you to throw them away a couple months ago?”

You ignore him in favor of the faucet, awkwardly pushing it open with your wrist as your hands keep a tight clamp on the glass and pill.

“I guess you can't help it. You're barely functioning, to begin with.”

The water slowly filled the cup.

“I mean, seriously, you start crying when we're having sex. Or when we're cuddling. The only reason it's not a turn-off is because you're… somewhat attractive.”

The overfill of water sparks fire to your senses, spilling over your fingers.

You can feel him step closer. “I just don't get it. Hours of therapy and whatever else you do, and it's barely helping.”

Over your shoulder, he reaches over and closes the faucet, the other hand sliding down the length of your arm to find your clenched hand, containing the pill. A calloused thumb pressed against the curl of your index, and your fingers slowly loosen.

The smell of faded nicotine and salt filled your senses, alongside a familiar perfume. The one you gifted him on his birthday, you think.

His chin set on your shoulder, and he finally coaxed the pill from your hand, tossing it into the sink and pouring the cup over it, dissolving it.

You quiver, cheek scratching against Jimmy’s stubble as you try to stumble back, pressing deeper into his chest.

It was warm. You yanked yourself away abruptly, making both of you stumble as you stared at him.

Scary is what it was. It was heavy.

Your feet scuffed against the floor as you took a step back, only to realize there was nowhere to go. The kitchen was a box, and Jimmy had you cornered, though he hardly looked like he noticed. He leaned against the counter, relaxed, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

"You’re so… dramatic," he said, not looking at you. His hand reached for the faucet handle, the rhythmic dripping of water silenced with a sharp turn. "Always making everything a thing. It’s exhausting, you know that?"

"Get out." Your voice felt too small, like it belonged to someone else.

He finally glanced at you, one brow raised like you’d said something absurd. "What? It’s 4 A.M. Where am I gonna go?"

"Anywhere. I don’t care. Just go."

Jimmy didn’t move. Instead, he let out a soft laugh, low and tired, the kind that made you feel stupid. "Relax. Jesus. I’m not exactly crashing your party here." He gestured around like the emptiness of your apartment proved his point.

Your hand tightened around the counter’s edge, nails digging into the cheap laminate. "I’m not joking."

"Neither am I." His eyes met yours, steady and unblinking. "What’s your problem tonight?"

"My problem," you repeated, tasting the words sourly. This again. "Are you serious right now?"

He shrugged, but there was something razor-sharp in the curve of his mouth. "I’m just saying, you’re a little all over the place. It’s fine, though. I get it."

"Get what?"

Jimmy didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the tiny space between you, slow and deliberate, until he was close enough for you to feel the faint heat of his skin. "You don’t have to explain it," he said, voice dropping to something you could only assume was an attempt at soothing. It sounded condescending. "I’m here, aren’t I? That’s what you need, right? Me, here, keeping you steady?"

"I don’t need—"

"Yeah, you do." His hand lifted, brushing against your arm, and you flinched before you could stop yourself. His fingers lingered for a beat too long before retreating. "It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I don’t mind staying."

You felt your throat tighten, words clawing to escape. "I don’t want you here."

Jimmy tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to solve a riddle. "Yeah, you’ve said that before."

"I mean it."

"And I mean this," he said, leaning back just slightly, the smirk fading into something unreadable. "I’m not going anywhere."

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. Your chest throbbed, and he just kept looking at you, waiting for you to crack.

"Why do you do this?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You're playing stupid again."

"Doing what?" He repeated, stepping closer, his voice low and even, but his presence filled the room like smoke. "Looking out for you? Caring about you?” He scoffs softly. “I guess you’re just not used to it."

"You’re… you're not looking out for me."

He gave you a long, slow look, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You really believe that?"

"I—"

Before you could finish, his hand found yours again, prying your fingers away from the counter. His grip was tight and firm, unwavering.

"Hey," he said roughly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "You don’t have to do this. Not with me. You know that, right? Why do I need to keep reminding you?"

The words twisted in your chest, pulling you in two directions at once. You wanted to believe him, to believe there was something safe in his presence. But the undercurrent of his tone told a different story, one you didn’t want to hear.

"I need you to go."

Jimmy shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well. We both know that’s not gonna happen."

You stared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t move.

And in that moment, you realized it didn’t matter what you said. It never did.

“What the fuck are we?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a moment, you hated yourself for even saying it.

Jimmy didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered, unreadable, as if he was piecing something together that he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. After a long pause, he sighed, just loud enough for you to hear. “Is that really what you’re asking me right now?”

“Yeah,” you said, almost quietly. “Why not?”

Jimmy leaned against the counter, eyes half-lidded like he was bored with the whole conversation, but you could tell it was more than that. He was thinking. Trying to get it under control. Trying to find a way to make it yours, even if it was just to make you stop asking.

“You always ask questions,” he said after a beat, “like that’s gonna fix anything.”

“That’s… Not what I’m trying to do.”

“You sure about that?” he said, his tone soft but sharp at the edges. It wasn’t a question—it was a push. “You don’t seem so sure right now.”

You stared at him, frustrated, but you couldn’t quite form the words. He was right there, but he was so damn impossible to get through. His eyes didn’t waver, but you could feel him pushing at you. Waiting for something. But what?

“I just want to know what this is,” you said, a little too raw. “I want to know where we stand.”

Jimmy’s eyes darkened, and he pushed himself off the counter, closing the space between you without making a sound. He was so close now, his breath brushing against your skin, and something about it made your chest tighten.

“You never know what you want,” he muttered, his voice low. “One minute, you want me gone. The next… you want me here.”

Your pulse quickened, the heat of him seeping into you, and you didn’t know if you wanted to pull away or stay still. Maybe both. “I don’t want you here,” you managed, but even to your ears, it sounded fragile.

“Yeah, you do,” he said. “You always want me around. Doesn’t matter what you say.”

You shook your head, but there was a tightness in your chest that wouldn’t loosen. You didn’t want to feel this way, but somehow he had you trapped in it, caught between wanting to push him away and wanting him to stay, needing him to stay, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Stop,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He ignored it. His hand moved, slow and deliberate, until it was brushing against your arm, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. Your breath hitched, and you wanted to pull away, but you couldn’t. Something in you was pulling in the opposite direction. It drifts slowly across your exposed sternum, finally sliding around your neck. He squeezes gently.

“You’re a mess,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “You know that, right? But it’s not like I don’t get it.”

“Don’t,” you breathed, throat bobbing against his palm. “Don’t say that.”

“You need me,” he said, his voice cutting through you with a sharp edge. “Even when you think you don’t.”

Your hand clenched at your side, the edges of your nails digging into your palm. “I don’t need you,” you said, but it came out weaker this time.

Jimmy took a step closer, closing the distance between you. You couldn’t back away anymore. He was too close, and somehow, he made it feel like you didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“You need me to stay,” he said, his voice thick, like it wasn’t a question anymore. It was a fact, something he knew even though you weren’t saying it out loud. “You need someone to keep you steady.”

“I don’t need anyone,” you spat, but it didn’t sound right.

“You say that now,” he said, his voice low. “But you’ll change your mind. You always do.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned in just a little more. You wanted to push him away, to tell him to leave, but something in the way he stood there made it feel like he was pulling the strings and you were just following the motion.

“You don’t get to do this,” you said, more desperate now.

He didn’t answer, just leaned in further, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His nose bumped against your temple, breath beating against your face. Stale cigarettes.

You froze, feeling every nerve in your body hum with a twisted mix of fear and something else you couldn’t identify.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, the words absolute, a subtle pressure that you couldn’t ignore. “Not now. Not ever.”

And somehow, as he stood there, it became clear. You had said it. You had made the mistake of saying it out loud.

And you would stay. Because that’s what he needed. Even if he wouldn’t admit it. Even if you didn’t understand it.

Foreign and breathing, squirming against your chest like an exposed nerve.

“Don’t make me say this again,” Jimmy said softly, a quiet command that you didn’t know how to fight.

And you didn’t. Not this time.

#faith.txt #mouthwashing x reader #jimmy zare x reader #jimmy mouthwashing x reader #jimmy x reader

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moody-alcoholic · 3 months ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 9 - Nothing Stays the Same

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.2k words. Why can things never stay the same, the omega just wants to be happy.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), use of weapons, Non-consensual drugging, blood, descriptions of wounds, horrible military inaccuracies, angst, nightmares, memory blackouts, gaslighting.

AN: This story arc is definitely one of the most fun I have ever written. Chapter's might come out a little quicker since I'm having so much fun writing. (No promises check HERE for updates)

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You wake before the sun is up. You would have to get used to early mornings again after you spent the last week getting as much rest as possible. The sun is just peeking through the clouds as you finish dressing and tiptoe through the barracks. As soon as you make it outside you take in a deep breath of pine filled air as you cross the green over to the lab. As you expected, Dr. Miller is the only one here this early. His head pops up from the desk as soon as you walk in.

“Good morning.” He smiles as you walk over to him.

“Good morning.” You smile at him sitting down on a stool next to him as he types something on a laptop.

“What are we doing today?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Nothing too serious. Drink this,” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with what looks like water.

“What is it?” you ask. He looks up at you quickly, you can smell his alpha now.

“If I tell you it could change the results. I’ll tell you after you’ve drunk it.” He smiles. You smile at him, swallowing your nerves. You bring it to your lips and drink it down as he watches you. It doesn’t taste of anything. Maybe it’s just water. You think you can taste salt but maybe that’s just your mind trying too hard. You put the empty cup down on the table. He smiles again, turning back to the laptop.

“So John is your alpha now?” he asks. Your mouth suddenly goes dry.

“Yeah,” you say, smacking your lips together.

“What about Professor Hale?”

You’re hit with a wave of dizziness. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You cough, looking at Dr. Miller. He turns looking at you. Your body feels heavy. Adrenaline kicks in and you stand up off the stool.

What’s happening?

He gets up off his stool too as your vision goes blurry. Your body collapses to the ground.

“It’s a mild sedative, you won’t remember any of this,” he says as he bends down in front of you, his words echoing in your ears.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” he sighs. Then everything goes black.

You jump awake. You’re laid in the bed in the exam room. Your head is spinning, and you don’t remember what happened. There’s a pain at the back of your neck. Your hand goes to feel the familiar indent of John’s mark. You’re alone, the pale yellow walls being lit up with shades of red.

What happened?

You came here to see Dr. Miller.

What happened?

You get up making your way to the door. When it opens and you head to the stairs. You can only smell alpha in the air. It has to be Dr. Miller. You grip the banister as you walk down the steps. You can see the top of his head as you reach the bottom and he turns to look at you.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he calls, smiling at you. “I went to take some blood and you passed out.”

You look at him, confused, as you make it to the bottom.

“I’ve never seen you drop so fast. Have you been eating properly?” he asks as he comes over to you. You try to remember the last meal you had.

“Pork something,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck.

“The canteen hasn't had the nicest food lately,” he says smiling. You look up at him. He was taking your blood and you passed out. He's looking at you with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You can lay down for a few more minutes if you want?”

You shake your head. You need to get back to the barracks before anyone notices you’re gone.

“Take it easy,” he calls after you as you leave the lab. Your hand drops from your neck as you see the sun rising over the top of the trees. You take in a deep breath, and the cool morning air fills your lungs. You can smell the pine, the wet ground. Your head feels fuzzy.

What the hell happened?

Dr. Piper wakes you up by shaking your shoulder. She's smiling at you as you blink awake.

“It’s almost noon, thought you might want to eat.”

You nod, swinging your legs out the bed.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at a pile of something on your desk. Dr. Piper looks around.

“Simon got you some books. He and John managed to pull some strings so you would have something to do while they’re away.”

“While they’re away?” you ask standing up.

“Yes, I’ll let John explain,” she says, leading you out of the room. You make it into the common room. John is sitting at the table but you can’t see anyone else.

“‘Afternoon,” he says, smiling as you sit next to him at the table.

“Tea?” Dr. Piper asks. You shake your head, and John already has a mug in his hands. You both look up at her and she seems to take that as her cue to leave. John puts his hand on your thigh under the table as he waits until the door closes and he’s sure the doctor is gone before talking.

“We have to go away. For a mission. It shouldn’t take us long, a few days at the most,” he says. You look up at him.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says

“You’re a soldier,” you say, swallowing away the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, but it’s better if you don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” You feel sick again. The thought of John or anyone in your pack getting hurt makes a knot form in your stomach. You want John to say something. You want him to tell you it’s all going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything though, and it feels like the seconds are dragging on.

“We may be soldiers but we’re special forces. Counter-terrorism. We stop the worst of the worst people,” he says. You look up at him waiting for him to continue. You remember what Dr. Miller said that one time: ‘They will kill for you, they have killed for you.’

“You kill the bad guys,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Exactly, you don’t need to worry. We’re experts,” he says.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“A few days. 2 at the most.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me where,” you say, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. You want him to know you’re okay with this. It’s just a part of their life you need to accept.

“California. That’s all I can tell you,” he says, and you smile. You get the feeling he wasn’t supposed to tell you even that. Who would you tell though, Dr. Piper? She probably already knows. Dr. Miller? What’s he going to do?

“Bring me a souvenir?” You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. He smiles.

“Thank you for the books,” you say. He squeezes your thigh.

“It was Simon who suggested it actually, made the boys take a trip to a charity shop. I’m sorry if you’ve read some of them already.

“It’s fine honestly, thank you.” You’re grateful for something to do other than watching TV.

“When we come back would you be interested in helping with some more training?” he asks. You nod. You like being helpful, especially if you can help them. His hand leaves your leg, and he gets up.

“Lunch?” he asks. You nod, following him out.

Ghost walks towards the top of the hill backing up on the house they were due to raid. Soap was by his side. Price and Gaz were on the other side of the building with SWAT.

“Hill’s a pain in the ass,” Soap pants as they make it to the overview point.

“You need to workout more,” Ghost sighs, getting into position laying down and setting up his sniper. Soap lays next to him pulling out some binoculars.

“Nice house, could you imagine something like that LT?”

Ghost sighs looking down at the massive house with the immaculately mowed garden. There’s a pool and gazebo. Why have a pool when you live less than a kilometer from the beach.

“Bravo-2 in position,” Ghost says over the radio, ignoring Soap’s comments.

“A mansion with a pool, a nice big lawn, surrounded by greenery,” Soap says. The light is low in the sky. It’s still early morning. The best time to catch this guy.

“Get in position, Soap,” he says without looking over at him. He hears Soap sigh shuffling down the hill to drop behind the wall surrounding the garden. Ghost’s watching the house for signs of life. His job is to watch their backs to make sure there are no surprises.

“Bravo-1 in position. Any movement?” Price’s voice comes in Ghost’s ear. He looks through his scope checking the windows again.

“Negative,” he responds as he sees Soap jump the wall.

“Remember boys, as soon as the place is clear we’ll send in the locals,” Laswell’s voice states over the comms. They didn’t need to be here for this. Ghost and Price knew that. This could have easily been done by the local constabulary. Or even Shadow Company. Shepherd is doing this on purpose to get them off the base.

It felt wrong leaving the omega alone with the threat of Professor Hale hanging over them. Price had spoken with Dr. Montgomery though. She wasn’t a soldier but she was willing to protect the omega with her life and that’s all they needed. The sound of dogs barking pulls Ghost’s attention to the backdoor.

“Shite, no one said anything about a dog,” Soap says, moving away from the back door. There are lights coming on in the house now.

“Got movement, upstairs,” Ghost relays. Shit, they’ve been caught.

“Watcher, call in the troops we’re going in hot,” Price says as Ghost starts to put his rifle away. “Ghost, Soap, take the back door.”

Ghost’s not even paying attention as he puts the rifle down, sliding down the hill and jumping the wall to meet with Soap. The dogs are barking again as downstairs lights are being turned on.

“Bravo-2, we’ve got movement here.”

“Remember, there are civilians inside with the mark,” Price says.

“The mark is a male, 40, is to be considered armed and dangerous,” Laswell says.

“Copy,” Ghost replies as he stacks up on the door with Soap. Price starts a countdown as Ghost can hear the man inside trying to wrangle the dogs. The countdown stops and on zero Soap kicks the door in.

Everything happens fast: there’s shouting, banging, voices of people from different parts of the house. Soap has a man in the kitchen on his stomach, hands behind his back in zipties. As Ghost makes it through the massive kitchen and dining room to a door, he spies Price and the rest of the officers fanning out. Soap comes up beside him.

“Where do you reckon the dogs are?” he asks as Ghost scans the adjoining room.

“Garage by the sound of it,” he replies. That's good that they’re out of the way for now.

“We’ve got one civilian in the kitchen,” Soap relays over the radio. There's a steady stream of information coming through the radio now. Price and Gaz finish securing the ground floor before meeting with Ghost and Soap in the living room. Police and SWAT were moving around the house securing the civilians. No sign of their main man though.

“LT wanna clear the garage?” Soap shouts. Ghost turns to nod at him. He walks back through the kitchen and SWAT are talking to the man Soap tied up earlier. Ghost gets a good look at him as he passes, following Soap to a door. Definitely not the mark, too young, not tall enough.

Soap stacks up on one side of the door while Ghost takes the other, moving his weapon to fit more comfortably in his hands.

“I hate shooting dogs,” Soap says.

“Don’t. I'll do it then,” Ghost says.

“You’re a cold bastard sometimes you know,” Soap says, tipping his head. Ghost rolls his eyes pressing down on the door handle as he pushes it open. He scans with his weapon and there are 2 cars in the massive garage. He walks in with Soap behind him, there very well could be someone in here.

They still haven't found the mark and there are no signs of the dogs. Ghost and Soap split, with Ghost walking behind the cars and Soap walking in front of them. They walk in sync, slow as they scan each corner.

It’s when they’re standing between the cars that someone springs out. Ghost doesn’t have much time to determine if it’s a threat or not. He sees the weapon in his hands. Soap is shouting at him over the hood of the car. Shots ring out, and the man drops.

“Contact, garage,” Ghost shouts as he hears people rushing in. He looks over at Soap. He can smell the blood in the air, he can smell pain.

“Johnny!” Simon calls for his attention as they walk round to check the body. Ghost watches him looking for where Soap is injured. There’s the body of the man, blood pooling from his head.

“Watcher, target eliminated,” Ghost says as he watches Soap lower his weapon, his hand pressing on his shoulder. Now he can see the blood.

“Good job boys, sending exfil, we’ll leave the clean up to the locals,” Laswell says in his ear.

“Ghost what’s the sitrep?” Price asks.

“Mark down, Soap’s hit,” Ghost says, letting his weapon swing down going over to him.

“I’m good LT, it’s just a scratch.”

“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that,” Ghost says, half dragging him out of the garage and back into the building. He pushes him down on the first available seat. Soap is still protesting when Gaz comes round the corner.

“What’d ya do Soap?” he asks as Ghost pulls his sleeve up. He’s been shot through the shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks.

“I’m fine LT, don’t need you fussing,” Soap says as he looks up at Ghost. A shoulder shot could take him out the field for weeks. Ghost starts pressing bandages into the wound as Soap winces.

“Holy shit,” Gaz says looking at the back of his shoulder where the exit wound should be. “It was through and through right?” Gaz looks up at Ghost who looks confused, he moves to see what Gaz is looking at. It’s definitely through and through but the bleeding has stopped. The exit wounds indicate the bullet shattered but the smaller wounds are healing up before their very eyes. Ghost takes the bandage off the entrance wound. It’s stopped bleeding already.

“What is it?” Soap asks, trying to look, but Ghost grabs his arms, keeping him in place.

“It’s healing already,” Gaz says.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks him. Soap stands up moving his shoulder.

“Fine, we’re super soldiers, remember,” Soap says playfully, nudging Ghost. Price walks round the corner taking the scene in for a second.

“You solid?” he asks Soap who nods at him. “Gaz, Soap go help SWAT out front. Try not to piss them off before exfil gets here.” He sighs watching Soap pull the skin around his wound.

“Don’t play with it, it’ll get infected,” Gaz says, swatting his hand away and placing a bandage over it.

“We’re fucking super soldiers mate, a little infection isn’t going to slow me,” Soap says. Ghost shakes his head. He must still have adrenaline running through his system. Price looks up at Ghost moving so Gaz and Soap can leave. Price nods him back to the garage which has been opened out to the garden now. He can see officers and SWAT doing their thing, a tent has been set up with a table and a laptop. Vans are being driven into the driveway.

Price walks down the steps to look over at the body while Ghost follows him, but something catches his eyes and before he reaches Price, he picks up a piece of paper. His stomach sinks. Now that Soap is not in the room, he can smell the familiar smell of blood and death. There’s something else there too. Beta.

“Look at this,” Ghost says, taking a step and handing the paper to Price. He reads the same thing Ghost read a few seconds earlier.

“Omega initiative. Shit.” He looks back at the body, they both do. Ghost killed him. He had a weapon in his hand, and he shot Soap.

“Whoever doesn’t go back to work for Hale has a death sentence,” Ghost says as a matter of fact putting the pieces together.

“Not necessarily, our orders were to take him alive,” Price corrects him. “Back to Graves.”

“Back to Hale,” Ghost says. Price sighs, turning to him he folds the paper up putting it in one of his vest pockets.

“Seems like Hale’s doing a bit of a recruitment drive.”

“What are you reading?” Dr. Miller asks as you sit on the stool reading the last few pages of the chapter.

“Moby-Dick.” You show him the cover, smiling.

“Here, smell this one,” he says, pressing a q-tip under your nose. You wince at the strong smell.

“Smells like chemicals,” you say, turning the page. He sighs writing something down.

“Try this one,” he says with a new q-tip and a new smell. You breathe it in. It’s not as strong.

“Smells like beta,” you say. He sighs again and writes something else down.

“Stronger or weaker than the last one?”

“Weaker,” you say, unsure.

“How’s it going?” you ask. He seems frustrated about something.

“The scents are either too strong or not strong enough to mask anything.” You watch as he dips a clean q-tip in another clear liquid. He sniffs it then holds it under your nose.

“Smells sweet, like apple pie,” you say. It’s the smell of your mother. Or at least the smell you used to think was what your mother smelt like. You put the book down, marking your page. It makes you sad. Your head is starting to spin after smelling so many different things.

“Smells like sadness.” You sigh.

“I’m sure your pack will be back soon. It’s been 2 days,” he says. You nod, standing up. You don’t want to do this anymore.

“One more, come on,” he says, reaching out and lightly pulling your arm. You sigh, turning back to him, letting him push the q-tip under your nose. You breathe it in.

“Alpha,” you say. He nods, smiling.

“You should get some rest. You did good today,” he says. You nod, gripping the book and heading back to the barracks. You hate being in the barracks when your pack’s not around. It just feels empty. You walk in to see Dr. Piper making coffee. Almost as soon as they had left, she had moved a coffee machine in.

“Hey, where have you been so early?” she asks, stirring a cup of something.

“Dr. Miller needed my help for the scent blocker.” She looks confused for a second as she sits at the table.

“Do you help him a lot?” she asks. You shrug. You’re tired now.

“Not really, I just wish it wasn’t so early,” you say, sitting down opposite her.

“I’ll have a word with him. You should get a good night's rest,” she says, sipping on her coffee. “How have you been sleeping? Have the nightmares been getting better?”

You nod. They haven’t been as bad. It feels like everything gets worse when your pack’s not around though. You miss them.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” you ask.

“Well, actually Kate told me they should be back tonight. I didn't want to tell you because they still might get held up,” she says. You look up at her smiling. It makes you feel warm thinking about the fact they could be back tonight.

You’re too excited to take a nap now. You smile at her, almost skipping down to your room. You look at the sun rising over the trees, the pile of books and the scent of nature in the air makes you happy. Happier than you’ve been in years.

You curl up in your nest, feeling the warm bubble inside you get stronger. You end up in your nest with a stack of books. You manage to make it through Moby-Dick before you start feeling sleepy. Your mind wanders to your pack wondering what they’re doing as you find yourself dozing off a few pages into your next book.

You’re back in the lab. You’re laying in a bed. It’s a hospital bed. You can’t smell anything in the air, but you know where you are. You’re back in the bunker, the horrible dark place. The door opens and you expect the Professor to walk in. Instead it’s Dr. Miller. You don’t relax though.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you try to move but you can't. You're tied down. He doesn’t say anything, going over to a table and picking something up. You try to move and as you can’t, panic rises in you. You feel sick as you see him turn round. He’s holding a scalpel in his hand. The door opens again and it is Graves, the man who went into your personal space, who ordered your nest destroyed. You stare at him wide eyes, confused as you look back over at Dr. Miller.

“What’s happening?” you ask, panic rising in your voice as you try to move but you can’t. You’re pinned down too tightly.

“It didn't have to be like this,” Dr. Miller says, pulling a surgical mask over his face.

“No, please,” you plead as he nods at Graves whose hands land on your face, pulling your head to the side uncomfortably. The back of your neck is exposed as you can feel Dr. Miller touch your mark. You plead for him to stop, but he doesn’t say anything. You scream as his scalpel makes contact with your skin. Everything goes blurry as tears stream down your face. You’re fighting with Graves’ grip as best as you can, trying to move your head. There’s more pain now, another cut and everything goes black.

You wake screaming. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You can feel your mark, the indents John’s teeth left. You’re shaking, panting, it feels like you can’t breathe, your nails digging into your hand. You hear commotion as your door is flung open. Dr. Piper is there. She rushes over, her cool hands finding your face forcing you to look at her as you rub the back of your neck.

“You’re okay, it’s just a dream,” she says. You’re not listening to her. You smell alpha in the air, and looking behind her you can see Johnny in the doorway. They’re back. You look down at Dr. Piper, trying to take deep breaths but it just comes out as sobs.

She pulls you into her arms as you let your hand drop from the back of your neck. You close your eyes breathing in her calming scent. She’s shushing you, rubbing your back. You open your eyes, blinking the tears away looking over at the doorway. John is there now, standing in the doorway outside the threshold of your space.

“John,” you breathe. Dr. Piper lets you go as John steps into the room. She turns to look and gets up.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling down by you. Your nest is a mess. You must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You don’t wait, throwing yourself in his arms almost knocking him over. You see Dr. Piper leave, pulling the door closed and shooing the others away. You need this time now with your alpha. You close your eyes breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs. He’s back and he’s safe.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, gripping him tighter like this is a dream too and he’s going to vanish at any second.

“We’ve only been gone 2 days, not even 48 hours.” You can hear the smile in his voice as his hands run over you. You break away from the hug.

“What was the dream about?” he asks.

“The bunker, Graves was there,” the memory is fading. There was someone else too, but you can’t remember who. The Professor, probably.

“You’re never going back there. We destroyed it, remember,” he says, smiling at you. You nod. You know the place is gone. It’s not gone in your mind though.

“Want to lie down in my bed?” he asks, and you nod. You do, you want to be near him. You support yourself on him as he helps you off the floor. He holds his hand out and you take it letting him wrap his arm around you.

“You know Graves is never going to be coming in here again. You’re safe here,” he says. You can see in the common room. Johnny and Kyle poke their heads round the corner and you smile at them. John presses you into his room, and the place is messier than you’ve ever seen it. A bag half unpacked is in the middle of the room, and there’s an open laptop and weapons on the desk. They make your breath catch in your throat. You walk over and sit on the bed.

“Did you kill anyone?” you ask as he pulls your chin up to look at him. He shakes his head. You can smell the lie in the air.

“You don’t have to lie,” you say, swallowing. He looks at you like he’s deciding what to do, letting out a sigh and coming to sit next to you on the bed.

“You told me you wouldn’t worry,” he says.

“I didn’t worry. I just missed you,” you say as he strokes your thigh.

“Lay down,” he instructs. You follow his instructions, laying on the side of the bed pressed up against the wall. He lays next to you and you turn your body to the side so you can look at him.

“So, we have this mission. One guy, suspected to be smuggling and selling large quantities of pharmaceuticals to private buyers. We work with the local police and SWAT but Commander Graves wants him brought in alive. Unfortunately, he managed to get a weapon and took a shot at John-”

“Johnny got shot?” you gasp, propping yourself up in the bad. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you. Someone in your pack got hurt.

“He’s fine,” John says, his hand resting on your shoulder pushing you back down on the bed. Your eyes dart to the door. You saw him in your room, and he did look fine. Maybe he is fine. Your heart still aches for him though, the image of him being injured is swimming around in your head.

“John’s fine but Simon shot the guy and unfortunately he died. The police secured the house and found the evidence they needed to arrest the other members of the family then we came back,” he finishes explaining. You swallow hard. You knew they were doing horrible things, they’re soldiers.

“Does that happen a lot? Getting shot?” you ask scooting closer to him.

“No, we don’t make a habit out of it.” He smiles, his fingers coming to brush hair out of your face. You close your eyes relaxing into the pillow.

“Dr. Montgomery told me you’ve been helping Dr. Miller?” You nod. “You should get some rest. I’ll wake you up for dinner?” he asks, you nod again. You still feel tired, all the scenting this morning must have really taken it out of you. He leans over and kisses you on the forehead as you get under the covers. He gets up, takes his laptop and leaves the room. You smile rolling over to his side of the bed. His pillows have his scent. You relax, breathing it in, closing your eyes. They’re back and they’re safe. It’s not getting easier though, each time they go away.

You wake to shouting. John isn’t in the bed, and something is going on in the common room. Your body feels stiff, and you can already tell you’ve been asleep for way more than a few hours.

“Fuck off!” That’s Johnny, you can hear his accent cutting thick through the air.

“Shepherd wanted me to deliver the message personally.” It’s Graves. You swallow, opening the door to the hall. You can see John and Simon standing there both with their arms crossed. Johnny is the one who looks back and sees you. He walks up stopping in front of you. You try to look around him, his hand lands on your shoulder.

“What's going on?” you ask.

“‘Hey sleepyhead, how ‘bout you go back to bed for a bit,” he says smiling at you. You can see it’s getting dark out. You must have slept for a good few hours.

“Is that her?” you hear Graves call. You freeze, reaching out and gripping Johnny’s arm. John said he would never be back.

“Time to go Graves. Don’t you have a base to take care of?” John says.

“You have until the morning,” he says. You swallow hard looking up at Johnny. You can smell him projecting a calming scent. You wonder if he and Kyle have had time to practice. Or maybe they are just naturals. You hear a door close and let go of Johnny’s arm. He smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders, and you stop, nudging it off.

“You were shot Johnny,” you say. He smiles, putting it back round you and continuing to walk you into the common room.

“Super soldier remember, thanks to that drug of yours.” Simon is still standing with his arms crossed watching Graves walk across the green back towards the main building. John is sitting down at the table with Kyle sipping tea.

“Sorry we woke you,” Kyle says looking at you sympathetically. You look at John. He looks tired. You feel sad all of a sudden, like you want to reach out and hug him. He looks up at you and meets your eye-line for a second. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Did you get into trouble?” you ask

“No,” it’s Simon’s voice that speaks up. So harsh in the air you almost jump. John pushes his chair out getting up with his cup of tea. You feel bad, like you’ve done something wrong. You watch as he disappears into his office without saying a word.

“Sit down, lass,” Johnny says, placing a cup of tea down in front of you. For someone who doesn't drink it, Johnny somehow manages to make the best tea. You nod, sitting down. Simon finally moves. He walks behind you knocking on John’s office. He doesn’t wait for a response though before going in.

“What did Graves want?” you ask. Johnny and Kyle look at each other then back at you.

“‘Nothing you need to worry about,” Johnny smiles. You try to ignore the yearning to know more. You wish they wouldn’t be so secretive. You wish they would tell you what they were doing. No, you don’t deserve that information , you remind yourself. You’re not a soldier, just an omega . It only feels like it’s been a few seconds of awkward silence before John and Simon walk back out into the common room. You sip your tea as John sits at the table opposite you.

“Professor Hale has requested to have contact with you.” You freeze at his words. The tea suddenly tastes horrible in your mouth. You want to spit it out instead you swallow it down letting it burn your throat.

“You can say no, but he wants you to know the option is there.” It feels like John is looking into your soul, his eyes harsh as he tries to read your reaction. The Professor has always been such a constant in your life. You think back to what Dr. Miller said. Maybe he did love you? Maybe this was his way of saying sorry? Or maybe he’ll let you stay with your pack, watch you from a distance, and then spring when you least expect it. It makes you feel sick.

“I—” You start but the words catch in your throat. What if this was a test, some weird fucked up experiment. You look up at John. Simon is standing behind him with his arms crossed. You trust them, there’s no way this is a test. Does Dr. Piper know? What would she say? She worked with him for years. Maybe she would like to communicate with him again. You close your eyes, sighing.

“I don’t want to see him,” you say, looking down at your tea, gripping it harder like you’re about to be told you don’t have a choice. You feel guilty. It doesn’t feel real. It’s like it’s the end of a massive part of your life. If you never see him again, will you ever forgive yourself? A hand rests on the top of your back, and you look up seeing Kyle smile down at you. You look over at John. He’s watching you, and you can’t tell if he looks disappointed or not. Simon’s still standing behind him with his arms crossed. You can never tell what he’s thinking.

“If you ever change your mind.”

You shake your head.

“He’s been the only other constant in my life. He did love me. I feel like I should give him the benefit of the doubt.” You look back down.

“You don’t owe him anything,” John says. You don’t know if you believe him or not. The last time you saw the Professor, he was breaking your ankle for trying to leave. Kyle's hand runs across your back.

“He tortured you. You spent your whole life being hurt. He doesn’t deserve the right to even ask. You never have to see him again. You shouldn’t see him again,” Simon says, his voice is sharp in the air. You look up at him. You’ve come to learn that Simon’s not the most talkative person but he means everything he says.

“He’s right,” Kyle says. “You have no reason to talk to him.”

You look down at your mug. You feel the tears coming, your eyes welling up as you try to stop them, squeezing your eyes shut. You have to be strong, you don’t get to cry for him. Simon’s right and Kyle is right. You never have to see him again. When you open your eyes everything is blurry. You swallow the lump in your throat away.

You don’t know what happens but the next thing you know Kyle’s hand has left your back and everyone is walking out of the building. John stays seated. You bring your sleeve up to wipe your eyes. You try to hide it but you’re not doing the best job. John waits until the building is empty before getting up and sitting in the seat next to you. He turns your chair to face him slightly. You let go of your cup, as you turn to look at him. His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Simon’s right, Professor Hale doesn’t deserve the right to even ask you. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be asking,” he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. He brushes one of your tears away.

“I feel guilty,” you admit. You want to look down but John’s hand on your face won’t let you. John nods.

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.” His thumb brushes your cheek. You nod. He stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and he leads you to the sofa. You sit down and you sit next to him. He spreads his arm over the back of the sofa and you smile at him as you lean up against him. He reaches over to pick up the remote.

“More of the screaming women?” he asks, flicking through the channel as smile.

“You pick,” you say, snuggling up against him more.

“John?” He hums rubbing your arm. “Are you going to kill the Professor?” There’s silence. You don’t know why you were expecting a quick answer. You don’t know if you’re going to like the answer.

“I would kill him. If I had to.” You look up at him. He smiles at you.

“Do you ever regret it? Killing anyone?”

“From time to time, sometimes people get mixed up in all sorts of things.”

“How do you do it?”

“The good outweighs the bad.” He squeezes you tighter. “You don’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.” You sigh, stretching your arm across his stomach. You let yourself relax. You don’t know how you would feel if the Professor was to die. Maybe you would feel relief, or maybe you would feel even more guilty.

John starts talking about what’s happening on the TV but you’re only half paying attention, your mind preoccupied with the Professor. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been laid there for very long when the door to the building opens. John turns and you sit up to see who’s walked in.

“Johnny’s shoulder’s playing up. Si’s taken him to see the doc,” Kyle says as he sticks his head in the door.

“Dr. Piper?” you ask as you sit up, a lump forming in your stomach. John said he was fine. Kyle nods and John gets up off the sofa. You follow him as he walks out of the building. All of you take a quick walk across the green to the lab. When you get in, a few scientists look over at you all. You see Dr. Miller who smiles at you.

“She’s upstairs if you’re looking for her,” he says. John thanks him and you make your way up to the medical room. When you walk in, Simon is leaned up against the wall on the far side of the room, his arms crossed. Johnny is sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt off. Dr. Piper’s taking the bandage off his shoulder. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you see him topless. He’s fitter than John is, and hairier too which you didn’t expect. He winks as you and you look away trying not to feel embarrassed.

“It’s healed fine. You say it’s still painful?” she asks, pressing down on and around where the scar is.

“It healed that quickly?” John asks, shocked crossing his arms as he leans in to look.

“Yeah, one of the wonders of the drug,” she says, smiling. “If it still hurts tomorrow we’ll do an x-ray but it’s most likely your bones just taking a little longer to heal. I’ll get you a sling.” She heads through the door in the room. You peek your head in seeing a bed and some storage.

“Physical wounds and broken bones will repair themselves relatively quickly, most of the time within 24-48 hours, as long as you’re in good health. Blood is a big factor too. Lose too much of it and you will not be able to repair yourself,” Dr. Piper says as she hands Johnny his shirt back. He pulls it on.

“What about getting sick?” Kyle asks.

“You have a stronger immune system but you can still get sick, also of course the healthier you are the better it works,” Dr. Piper says.

“Okay so we don’t have to worry about getting shot in the field,” Johnny chuckles.

“Well if you get shot in the head or the heart, you’ll still probably be dead. Trauma is still trauma,” Dr. Piper says, helping him secure the sling.

“I can show you,” you say looking round the room. They look at you confused for a few seconds. You walk over to a tray and pick up a scalpel.

“Woah, wait!” They all start to protest as you bring the blade to your lower arm.

“It’s okay, the Professor used to make me do it all the time,” you say, shrugging.

“Stop!” John’s voice is harsh in the air as you look at him waiting for what he will say next. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to show us.” You look up at Dr. Piper who shrugs. You move putting the scalpel back down. You feel the collective sigh in the room as you look around them.

“Okay, so we still need to continue to treat injuries seriously,” John says to everyone. Johnny jumps down off the bed.

“If you want I can look into maybe making something that can speed up the wound healing process? Professor Hale was pretty close to a breakthrough before you rescued the omega,” Dr. Piper says as she walks around everyone, opening the door to back out to the lab.

“Sure, if you think you can,” John says as everyone piles out. You smile at Dr. Piper as you pass her.

“You should all get some food before the mess closes,” John says, stopping at the top of the steps.

“What about you?” you ask him. Now that you think of it, when does he ever get time to eat? You’ve only seen him eat a few times.

“I’ll catch up, just have to have a word with Dr. Montgomery first,” he says, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently pressing you to the steps. You sigh following Kyle down the steps. The lab is empty. Most of the scientists will have gone for breaks since it is almost midday. Kyle waits for you, holding the door open as you all exit.

“So did Professor Hale make you hurt yourself a lot?” he asks as you walk next to Kyle across the grass.

“It’s the best way to prove to people it works. He would have people come and I got to show off for them.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well like, he would have these people called ‘investors’ I think, and I would get to dress nice and get out of my room for the day. He would show them around the lab and they would meet all the scientists, and then they would meet me. I would show them the ‘miracles’ of the formula,” you explain as you make it to the mess.

“Do you remember any of them?” It’s Simon ahead of you who asks the question. You shake your head.

“They were always men, always in such nice clothes. I never knew their names. He would always just call them ‘investor,’” you say, picking up a tray. Simon hums and you follow him and Johnny piling your plate with food and two pudding cups.

“Dr. Piper might know,” you say. Simon nods. You want to be helpful, but a lot of the time when it comes to what happened in the bunker, it can get blurry. You’re never quite sure where the real memories start. Besides, thinking about them upsets you. It’s enough that you have nightmares, you don’t need to worry about it during the day too. You follow Kyle to a table sitting down in front of Simon. You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even realise Simon has pulled the bottom of his mask up.

You think back to a few days ago when you saw the top of his head and his blonde hair. You’re trying to piece the two together to imagine what his whole face might look like. You’re staring at him, gawking at him as he chews on his food. His head tips to the side as he looks at you, and you watch him swallow as his fork comes back up to his mouth.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says. You immediately feel heat come to your cheeks, looking back down at your tray. Your hands fiddle with the lid on your pudding cup as you let the wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Be nice LT,” Johnny hisses under his breath, nudging him. You feel like you’ve invaded his privacy. Maybe you should apologize. You look back up at him as you pick up your spoon. You don’t know what to say, so you just spoon some pudding in your mouth. As soon as it hits your tongue it tastes bitter. You almost want to spit it out but you swallow it, frowning as you look at the cup.

“Not good?” Johnny asks. You look at the flavor, butterscotch. You don’t think you’ve ever tried that one before.

“I don’t think I like butterscotch,” you say, putting your spoon down. Johnny reaches over picking up the unopened one.

“That’s not possible.” Johnny smiles at you. You smile back picking up your fork. Guess it serves you right for skipping straight to dessert. You eat your food listening to Johnny and Kyle talk, but you can’t help your eyes wondering to Simon every now and then. You really want to see him smile. You wish you could see him without the mask. Maybe you will, if he’s getting more comfortable around you. At one point he turns and your eyes meet his, you smile at him but instead he ignores you, turning back to listen into the conversation between Johnny and Kyle.

You spend most of the meal just pushing food around the plate. You’re distracted by something you can’t quite put your finger on. You’re not hungry, just tired. You want to crawl into your nest with a book and sleep. You’ve been sleeping in there more than in your bed. It’s not comfortable sleeping on the floor but you feel like that you have less nightmares when you’re safe in your nest compared to in your bed.

You excuse yourself from the table, ignoring Kyle’s comments that you’ve hardly eaten anything. When you make it outside, the dark clouds make the air feel electric. Maybe there’s a storm coming. You can hear the distant rumbles as you make your way across the green to the barracks. The lights are off. John must not be back yet. You turn the one in the common room on then walk to your room.

Your nest is still a mess from earlier. You pull the duvet and pillows off your bed and bend down fixing it. You stack all the pillows back up, laying blankets over them as you arrange everything around. You keep going till it feels right again. You go over to the books on the table. You don’t know what you want to read. You pick up ‘ The Secret Garden’ if not just for the pretty cover. You take it over to your nest climbing in and leaning up against the wall.

You hear Johnny, Kyle and Simon coming back from the mess a few pages into the book. You hear their voices in the common room, the sound of doors opening and closing. You smile, letting yourself relax, and you read until you fall asleep.

When John makes it back to the barracks Johnny and Kyle are laid out on the sofa. Simon is sat at the table with a mug in his hand. John stands in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him. Simon meets his eye line, John tips his head gesturing outside.

‘Follow me.’

Simon gets up immediately leaving the table as John steps back outside. He walks away from the building to the wall round the edge of the base. He waits a few seconds before speaking.

“The labs have been bugged,” John says.

“Think it’s Graves?” Simon asks. John sighs.

“Don’t know, she only found it yesterday.”

“Mic? Camera?”

“Microphone,” he replies.

“Think there's more?” Simon asks.

“Think so, why only plant one.”

“What do you want to do?”

“If it is Graves, I don’t want him to know we’re on to him. It could be something else though.” John sighs scratching his chin.

“Who? Shepherd?”

“I don’t know. If the lab is bugged though there’s a chance the barracks are too.”

“Want to search it?”

“I want to do it without raising suspicion, from Graves, Shepherd, anyone.”

“What about Soap and Gaz?” Simon asks as they make it back towards the barracks.

“No, let's keep it between us, until we have proof or know who’s doing it. Dr. Montgomery is going to keep an eye out. She’ll let me know if she finds anything,” John says, stopping at the door to the barracks. Kyle and Johnny are still sitting on the sofa as they both walk in.

“Hey LT, Kyle found the football!” Johnny says enthusiastically.

“Manchester United, that's the good one right?” Johnny smiles. Simon sighs going back over to the table to get his cup of tea.

“Just keep it down,” John says, going to his office.

“It’s the first match of the league Cap, wanna watch?” Kyle calls. He does but he shakes his head, he has work to do. He watches Simon take his tea over to the sofa chair. He looks down the hall seeing your bedroom door closed, and he takes in a long breath. He can smell you in the air, strawberries. He smiles and walks into his office.

next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

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readychilledwine · 11 months ago

Note

I know the solstice thing was supposed to be the last of them, but hear me out.

Lyria caring for Azriel's hands after he kills someone to protect her?

Oof. Yeah you got it.

Touch

Summary - After Lyria is cornered and attacked, Azriel takes matters into his own hands.

Warnings - mentions of blood, violence, attempted attack on defenseless oc, azriel being feral, implied smut at the end.

A/N - listen... when you all send me Lyria content, you're gonna get Lyria content. She's my baby. Enjoy this short little fic of them.

Peep her and Azriel's romance here 💙

Lyria could do nothing but stand there in Rhysand's arms, watching helplessly as Azriel beat a male to death with his bare hands.

She felt Rhys tilt her head, tucking her into his neck so she didn't have to watch her mate in this state.

The two of them could not blame him. This male had cornered Lyria, Azriel's world, his wife, his mate, in this dark alley, pining her against the wall with intentions Lyria had not fully processed or thought about.

She kept blaming herself for this. She had made the choice to have a night to herself while he was gone for a mission and treated herself to a few drinks. Had she stayed home, had she just waited for him. "Stop," Rhysand said softly. "You are not at fault here. You did nothing wrong."

Rhys winnowed her away, entering her apartment silently and looking her over. There was one cut on her face from the brick building she was held against. Some bruising. The worst of it was the male's blood splattering her face from Rhysand's fist.

He washed his hands first, refusing to touch her with more blood, refusing to taint her skin before grabbing a cloth and cleaning her face. Rhys kept his link to Azriel open, knowing the male was thrown into the prison in Mother knew what condition.

Shadows gathered in the corner of the living room, dark and frenzied, until Azriel stepped through them. His hands, the hands that so lovingly touched her late at night, hands that held her so closely, were soaked red. Lyria moved to him, Rhysand leaving as she did, and took his face in her hands. Azriel's found her hips, resting there as he lowered his forehead to hers. "Are you hurt?"

"No," a hand went to the back of his neck. "Let me clean your hands?" She didn't wait for him to respond, pulling him into her massage room and having him sit on the table.

She began setting up, grabbing a few lotions and one oil Azriel would allow her to touch him with. Then brushes and a bowls of water she was dropping lavender and rose petals into.

She sat in front of him, taking his hands, the hands of her husband, her protector, and set them in the warm water. "I love you," she whispered it to him like she wasn't about to remove the blood of a male he'd savage beat off his body. She took a rag, gently scrubbing and wiping them clean. She switched the bowl to a fresh one, rinsing the soft smelling soap she normally used for back scrubs off before grabbing a sea salt based scrub.

What came after she scrubbed them clean and dried them had Azriel's eyes beginning to well with emotion. Lyria took that oil, the one she had specifically made for Azriel, and began massaging his hands, awaking nerves he knew were damaged beyond what most saw on the surface.

He felt areas of scar tissue relaxing under get gentle touch, tension in those strained ligaments melting away with the barely there heat. She took her time each hand, kissing the pads of every finger as she went.

"I love your hands," Azriel stayed quiet at her confession. "I know you hate them, but these hands have held me tenderly in my worst moments, they've brought me to very threshold of bliss time and time again, they do the best they can to massage my aches when I have them."

Lyria paused, kissing each knuckle now. "And now these hands have saved my life. These beautiful hands have ensured my safety, something so few males have truly done for me. I love you, Azriel. Every scarred inch. But your hands will always be my favorite part of you."

His breath had stilled. She began using his favorite lotion in them. The oil from the mirthroot began sinking in, and he knew in a few minutes, he'd have no pain in his hands. No lingering tension. It would only be a few hours of relief, but those few hours would be spent worshipping her. Feeling her. Loving her until he knew without a shadow of doubt she was truly safe in his arms, that saving her hadn't been a dream he'd wake up from leading to a nightmare where he had not gotten there in time. He tugged the bond, smiling as her lips tugged up.

"If you lay down I can rub your back. You had a long mission, surely you need my hands other places?"

His eyes rolled back at the thought, a growl coming through him. "I need your hands everywhere."

She stood, her long red hair out of its normal ponytail and braids as she leaned in to kiss him. "Then we should get started."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #send asks #send anons #send requests #azriel x oc #azriel x vanserra!oc #acotar x oc

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coyotelip · 5 months ago

Text

starchaser (+ onesided moonwater) microfic: salt, hypnotized || MCD || @into-the-jeggyverse @taylorswiftmicrofic || wc: 687

Every Saturday, the same man comes to the restaurant.

They are a fairly prestigious restaurant, so regular customers are not uncommon, but this man is particularly eye-catching. He is always dressed in a perfectly tailored suit over a black shirt. In fact, all of his clothes are black, which suits his pale skin and black hair. He books a table for the same time, arrives exactly 5 minutes earlier, orders the same dish with the same wine.

He is always alone.

This sets him apart from others, because such prestigious places are used for dates or meetings with partners to impress. However, it seems that the man has no one to impress. He is sitting at a far table under a painting of a forest landscape, eating his meal slowly and with manners and watching the candles on the table.

He seems to be hypnotized, sometimes he can take a sip of wine and roll it around in his mouth, watching the flame at the end of a long candle for a couple of minutes.

Remus is equally hypnotized by these moments, but it's not the candle, it's this man, his slow and graceful movements. And although he is dressed in black, he acts on Remus like a flame on a moth. He wants to get closer, wants to hear his voice and smell his cologne.

However, the man's table is not assigned to him, and Remus does not even get the opportunity to ask if he needs some water or the bill, or to say bon appetit or good evening.

So he stays in the corner, hypnotized by the unattainable flame, running through hundreds of questions in his head and wondering why.

◇◇◇

Every Saturday, Regulus comes to their place. He comes to their restaurant, at their time, sits at their table, orders their favorite dish, and spends exactly the same amount of time as it took James on their first date to charm Regulus completely. Thirty-three minutes.

He recalls how the wine tasted the sweetest on those evenings together, how everything around them disappeared for him, and they existed in their own bubble, sharing events in their lives, discussing colleagues and friends. They met their anniversaries, birthdays, and celebrated promotions at work here.

James proposed to him here. At this table, with a bottle of this wine, five years ago. He hid the ring in the salt and made Regulus laugh with this incredible performance.

“Oh, I think the salad is under-salted today... Mm, something is wrong with this saltine, could you please take a look, dear?”

“Oh my god, it's probably just empty, call the waiter and they'll replace it”

“I don't want to bother them with something so stupid, but look, for me?” James' big eyes does wonders on Regulus, so he couldn't refuse and took the salt in his hands, unscrewing the lid.

Only to find a silver engagement ring with an emerald inside instead of salt.

Four years ago, they got married.

Three years ago, they bought a house on the outskirts of town because James wanted Regulus to have a studio at home.

Two years ago, their house burned down with everything inside. With James inside.

And the most painful thing was that Regulus was left with nothing, not a single thing, because the house had everything. He didn't care about the documents or his studio, all of which could be repaired with money. However, he did care about the things they had earned together, about their photos and books with notes, about gifts from his husband, about his things. He cared about James's body, which remained there, right in front of the door, because he hadn't managed to get out before he lost consciousness.

Regulus was left with only memories, and he decided to drown himself in them, finding no other way out.

And every Saturday he came to their restaurant, sat down at their table and ordered their meal, hypnotized by the candle in front of him, begging for the little flame to swallow him up and take him away with it, just as it had once taken James away from him.

#marauders #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #remus lupin #moonwater #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker

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javiersprincess · 11 months ago

Text

tags: 18+ minors dni, a/b/o verse, fem reader, omega reader, alpha john, licking, marking, themes of jealousy and possessiveness. for @prettyboykatsuki with their explicit permission.

synopsis: jealousy comes knocking on our door no matter what or when or why.

He doesn’t smell like you, it’s the first thing you realize when John Marston walks back into camp after taking Old Boy to the horse hitches with the rest of them. It makes your body twitch and stall for just a moment - you spill some water on the table that Mr.Pearson reprimands you for and you can only half apologize. You watch with sharp eyes how he moves, how he walks and how John easily slots himself next to the other men at the table with his hands on his gun belt even when he is passed a bottle of whiskey.

The camp is large and has a variety of scents and smells, one gets used to them and you can identify them as easily as picking out the white clouds from the blue sky. Pine for Charles, lavender for Mary-Beth and firewood for John Martson who is currently being covered by the scent of roses and cherries that you know no one at camp smells like and it makes something inside of you insane at this outsider’s scent. It’s enough to make you excuse yourself, marching over to the scarred man and tugging him behind you, away from the men who watch with amused expressions on their faces as John almost trips with the force you pull him into your shared tent.

The thick wooden beam that supports the middle of the tent is your witness stand as you push the taller, broader alpha to the wood and hold him there by the shoulders, nails digging through the sleeves of his coat. There’s an alarmed undercut to his firewood and brandy scent, agitation and nerves biting against your own as you bare your teeth at him.

“What is it with you, woman?” He asks you, dark brows furrowed and his scowl on his scared face would make anyone cower but you with your stubborn fearlessness that you push him further against the wood as the sweetness of your foreign scent turns sour in your agitation.

“Why do you smell like that - like some, fucking tramp?!” You hiss, voice low but venomous and John has no doubt that if you had a tail it would be flickering behind you with your jowls peeled back like some sort of feral hellcat. John frowns, brows pinched as he tries to free his arms from your grip.

“What you mean? I smell fine.” He throws back, bringing the lapel of his jacket to sniff half heartedly - picking up on nothing out of the usual. You puff, muttering some words under your breath. The only ones he catches are calling him the village fool as you crowd him, pressing yourself flush to him and John is happy that you closed the tent behind you so no one at camp can see how the fullness of your figure perfectly melts into his. There’s a flush to his cheeks that was not there before and you can’t notice it on how you feel sick on the scent of roses. On the tips of your toes, you press your face onto his neck and rub against the scent glands there. Pressing and rubbing until your cheeks shine with the scent of firewood and musk and brandy as you huff into his skin. Your tongue sneaks out to lap at the oils and John jumps beneath your silken touch as you moan softly against his flushed form. The salt of him melds onto your mouth as his scent clouds your mind and the sour-mango scent fogging the enclosed space of the tent blooms in golden nectar and clove.

It’s enough to make him moan, enough to make something heady flush in his mind as your teeth once bared nip and suck until the alabaster skin of his throat turns into purple petals of the jarul flower you would catch along the coasts. You pull away only to be tugged back and John’s voice is reduced to raspy little sounds in your ear as you lick, bite and suck at the other side of his neck until you can see the indents of your teeth as red as a sunset. If you could, you would have stayed there for hours, scenting and marking your John until he reeked of mangos and clove and henna leaves and so many things from the other side of the world.

“You’re mine, don’t ever - don’t ever come back smelling like you ain’t.” You mutter in between nips of your sharpened teeth.

So he’d never smell of anything other than you ever again.

But his name is called by Hosea, who’s voice is like a spear of sobriety through the veil of omega-posession and alpha-want that makes you pull away. John is a vision and you are too, red faced and panting; face slick with drool and oils from his scent glands. Dark eyes look at you with a wanting so deep you are tempted to disobey Hosea’s call until it rings out again clear as day. It makes John swallow, ducking his head and running a scared, calloused hand through his head as he nods to you.

“I’ll see you later, um…okay. I’ll see you tonight. Here.” He mutters, ducking away and out the tent flap cursing when he hears some of the men holler at the marks on his neck and the heavy scent of omega on his clothes. You find yourself unbothered as you step out and return to Mr.Pearson who finds himself unable to look you in the eyes.

#lamb.writes #john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #abo verse #red dead redemption 2 x reader

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ikeromantic · 2 months ago

Text

Entwined, Ch 15

Part 15 of a multipart series. Mai has been reborn in the modern age after a full life in the Sengoku. The warlords as spirit animals find her again after 500 years of searching for her soul. Approx. 3000 words.

Chapter List

Kaiya had a bad feeling as she watched Mai and Ayami leave. She couldn’t point to any real reason, just a general anxiety. Something was wrong. Or it would be wrong.

She tried to ignore unease and focus on the work. Hand beading was one of her favorite crafts, and she was good at it. The corset for this wedding dress was elaborately beaded and should have absorbed her completely, but instead, she found herself glancing at her phone and the door all morning.

That was why, when her phone went off, she was ready for it. Ayami’s message was cryptic, but clear that Kaiya was needed. She put down her sewing and left in a rush.

The hypnotherapist’s office was easy to find. Kaiya took a shaky breath and then went in. She was immediately assailed by incense and the hum of white noise. It disoriented her for a moment, and she put a hand on the wall.

“Are you alright?”

A man’s voice from a doorway she hadn’t even noticed. Kaiya shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts. “Yes. I’m fine. Who are you? Where is Mai?” The guy was older and a little on the heavy side. He didn’t look threatening but made her nervous all the same.

“You must be Kaiya, Ayami’s friend.” The guy ran a hand through his hair. “Come on back. I’m Bo, by the way.”

Kaiya glared at the back of his head as he led her into his office. This was his fault, she thought. He shouldn’t even be practicing fake, stupid - her thoughts stuttered to a stop as she caught sight of Mai. “You idiot! What did you do?” She rushed to the chair and knelt down.

“I - nothing! The session started normally. Mai was speaking, telling me she was training with someone. Mitsuhide? I think? But she stopped talking, and then I couldn’t get her to wake.” Bo looked genuinely distraught. “That’s never happened before! Never!”

“Well, you ought to have some kind of emergency plan B,” Kaiya muttered. She took Mai’s hand. It was cool to the touch, and twitching weakly, like a dreaming kitten. This was impossible, she thought. Hypnotherapy wasn’t even real. But real or not, something had happened in this office.

Bo hung his head. “I suppose I should. It’s just, this isn’t - it shouldn’t be possible. Not without medicated sedation or - or - I don’t know. Maybe an underlying medical condition?”

Kaiya turned to look at him. “You don’t know?” She wanted to tear into him, but stopped herself. This was just her frustration at seeing her friend hurt and being unable to do anything about it. Her fear. She took a breath. “Ok. Ok fine. Let’s not worry about how. What can we do for her now?”

“I’ve tried waking her up. I even cracked open my emergency kit and got out the smelling salts.” Bo gestured toward a small table where a spill of items covered the surface. Bandages, antiseptic cream, the smelling salts, tweezers, scissors, and a handful of other items. “I - I shook her a little.”

“What about cold water?”

Bo jerked to attention. “That’s a good idea!” He hurried over to his desk and opened a mini-fridge. Then he brought over a chilled water bottle.

Kaiya took it from him and opened it, splashing a little water on Mai’s tear-streaked face. There was no reaction. “Damn.” She sighed. “I’m guessing you already tried loud noise? A pinch?”

“Please don’t pinch my little mouse.” The silk-smooth voice took them both by surprise. Kaiya jumped to her feet and Bo spun around to face the door.

“H-how did you get in? I didn’t hear the entry tone!” Bo sounded as if he was reaching his limit.

The man at the door was tall, with pale hair and eyes so light brown they looked golden. Kaiya placed him in a blink. “You’re Mitsuhide.”

He gave a slight bow. “I am. And you must be Kaiya. I am glad to meet any friend of Mai’s, though I wish the circumstances were less dire.” His eyes found Mai, slumped back in the chair. “How long has she been like this?”

“Wait. You are Mitsuhide? But . . . her past life . . .” Bo ran a hand over his face. “

“This is your fault.” Kaiya stood, all her frustration boiling back up. “She came here because of you. Because of her weird memories and the headaches! Passing out! All of that started after she met you!”

His gold eyes gleamed in the soft light, the hardness going out of them for just a moment. Just long enough for Kaiya to see a darkness there, a deep sorrow. A well of regret. And then it was gone. “It is my fault, I suppose. But I could not turn away from her, once I found her again.” He leaned down, too close for comfort. “500 years of searching. Hoping. Longing. Five centuries worth of long, cold, nights and empty sun-stricken days. I could not simply let her go, because disaster might come.”

Kaiya found herself breathless. His proximity was frightening. Intoxicating. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“Mai taught me that. Hope. It is as much a part of me now as my beating heart.” Mitsuhide smiled a thin, sharp smile. He stepped back, and gestured toward the door.

She didn’t need the invitation. Kaiya sped toward the lobby and collapsed into one of the chairs. All her senses screamed warning, but this was as far as she could go. Any further would be abandoning her friend. And now, she at least was certain this Mitsuhide guy would do nothing to harm Mai intentionally.

Bo followed her out, a bottle of water in hand. “Here.” He sat across from her.

“Thanks.” Kaiya took a drink, trying to calm herself. She felt out of control, her emotions jumping all over the place. It was not normal for her, and she didn’t like it. Unfortunately, it seemed her upset was not going away any time soon.

The door burst open and a harried looking man stormed in, his expression one of righteous rage. “Where is she?” The guy was tall, with large grey eyes and a mop of unruly brown hair. He was drop dead gorgeous, despite looking furious.

Bo leapt to his feet. “This is getting out of hand! I have a sick girl in my office and the last thing she needs is a parade of -”

The guy grabbed Bo by the collar and lifted him off his feet. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Now, where is the angel?”

Kaiya sighed and stood. “Put the hypnotherapist down, big guy. I’ll take you back. But you better cool it. If you plan on like, dueling for her hand or something, take it outside.”

“Dueling for her -” The man’s expression gentled with a slight smile. It sent Kaiya’s pulse racing. He set Bo down and took Kaiya’s hand. “I did not know there was a gathering of the divine here. What might your name be? Wait - is it goddess of love and beauty?”

“Umm. No. I’m Kaiya.” She pulled her hand back, hoping her face didn’t look as hot as it felt. “Now come on. Mai is this way.”

The guy followed her back. He sucked in a breath at the sight of Mai, slumped in the chair, tears still running down her face.

Mitsuhide was kneeling beside her on the floor, speaking to her. His voice was so soft that she couldn’t make out what he was saying. He stopped and looked up as they came in. “Takeda.”

“Akechi.” The man’s lush lips pressed into a thin line of distaste. “What happened? Is she alright?”

He ran a hand through his pale hair and shook his head. “She is trapped in memories from her past life. Our life together. I had hoped I could . . . draw her out. But she doesn’t appear to hear me.”

Takeda took a breath, clearly shaken. “We need a doctor. Or . . . a priest.”

Mitsuhide gave a grim smile. “Don’t you happen to know one, Shingen? Think you can call in a favor?”

Kaiya eyed them both. “What exactly are you two proposing?”

Shingen gave her a reassuring smile, one that sent her heart galloping off again. He really needed to stop doing that, she thought. Smiling. “We need to get through to Mai, to bring her back. I don’t think medicine can help us.”

“Uh huh. Go on.” Kaiya put a fist to her hip.

“We are turning to faith,” Mitsuhide said with a dry laugh. “The true sign of desperation.”

Shingen sighed. “I’ll text the abbot.”

***

Ayami glanced nervously between Keiji and Nobunaga. “So. Ummm. Why aren’t we going back to see Mai now?”

Nobunaga gave her a smile she found less than reassuring. “I need to know what you’ve been told and what you have determined on your own.” He rubbed his chin. “This hypnotherapist was your idea, was it not?”

She swallowed. “I-it was. Yes. I mean, I’ve done it loads of times.”

“And why is that?” He leaned forward, his carnelian gaze relentless.

Ayami could feel those eyes drilling into her, compelling her. He was like a force of nature, as easy to deny as a summer storm. “I . . . in high school I started smoking. I thought it would make me look mature. Sexy.” She let out a nervous laugh. “But it really didn’t. I went to Bo to quit. And then to help me eat better and workout more and . . . you know. Self improvement.”

Nobunaga sat back, his gaze now traveling over her in a slow, thorough sweep. She felt like she might as well be naked, with the way he saw her. Like her clothes and attitude were peeled back, and he saw right through to the person underneath. “You do not look as if you need improvement.”

Keiji chuckled. “Second that. Our girl has pretty friends.”

Ayami felt her face get hot. “Would you two cut it out? I feel like I’m in some kinda pageant!”

“Do you not enjoy being complimented?” Nobunaga raised a brow.

“I do! Of course I do. Just . . . you’re really intense, you know?” She frowned at him. “And this isn’t exactly the right circumstance? I mean, my best friend is sick and I’m sitting in a conference room in some posh office and you didn’t even get me a drink!”

Ayami was afraid she’d said too much, been rude. But Nobunaga just laughed. “You’ve got as much attitude as my little fireball. Trust me when I say, Mitsuhide will do all in his power to help Mai. She could not be in better hands. We can do nothing for her, besides wait. Do you trust me that far?”

She wanted to say no, to tell him there was no way she’d trust her best friend to someone that was practically a stranger. Yet she found that she did trust him. There was such certainty in him. As if he’d said the sun would rise or that the sky was blue. Ayami nodded.

Keiji chuckled. “You sure do have a way with people, Lord Oda. It took me a lot more to get her to trust me. And she threatened to punch me!”

“That wasn’t a threat. I was just letting you know,” Ayami shot back. He was grinning ear to ear like this was funny. “I liked you better as a pig,” she huffed.”

Nobunaga laughed at that. “It is an improvement, to be sure. Now. You mentioned a drink. What would you like? I wish to put you at ease.”

“Oh! Really?” She looked for some sign he was mocking her, but he seemed completely serious. “Ok then. How about an iced coffee? With caramel syrup and extra cream?”

“I’ll grab it. Anything for you, boss?”

“One of the same, but make sure Hideyoshi doesn’t see you bring it in. He’s decided sweet drinks are worse than candy.” Nobunaga sighed. “I’d rather not get a lecture this afternoon.”

Keiji’s grin widened. “I dunno. He’s pretty observant . . .”

“I’ll owe you one.” Nobunaga said.

“Hideyoshi? You mean Mai’s ex-boyfriend? He lectures you?” Ayami’s eyes widened.

“He lectures everybody,” Keiji interjected. “For our own good, of course.”

Ayami looked between them. “But aren’t you his boss? Isn’t he a school teacher?”

Nobunaga chuckled. “He does teach and I do own the school, yes. Hideyoshi works for me in his way, and sometimes that includes lecturing me, and others. He has a strong sense of -”

“Superiority? Mothering?” Keiji’s voice was almost sharp.

“Aren’t you getting coffee?” Nobunaga glanced at him.

Keiji nodded with alacrity. “On my way.” He slipped out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

Ayami was not at all sure being alone with Nobunaga was an improvement. “So. Umm. Thanks for the coffee.”

“It is a small thing for a friend of Mai. Now. Tell me all you know, and what you believe.” He leaned forward again, and Ayami felt compelled to speak.

By the time Keiji came back with coffee, she’d told Nobunaga everything she knew, and all the ideas she and Mai had. It really didn’t amount to much. “So, we thought if Mai could get her memories back, she’d understand everything with Mitsuhide. I didn’t know it could go so wrong . . .”

“Of course not. But Mai is a special case. She was born into this era once before, and taken back to our time. We did not know when or how she would be reborn. All of us followed the signs, searched for lifetimes.” Nobunaga looked pensive, his gaze turned inward.

“Lifetimes? But how are you still here? Alive?” Ayami sipped at her coffee.

Keiji answered. “When we died, we did not die. We woke again, divinely blessed, or cursed I guess. Spirits that can take the form of man, or animal. Pulled to tasks we don’t always understand.”

“That is enough.” Nobunaga’s voice cracked into the space between Keiji’s words. “She does not need to know every aspect. Only that we are here, and that Mai is precious to us.”

Ayami nodded, accepting that. She didn’t understand what Keiji meant about tasks, but living forever could be a blessing or a curse. She’d seen enough movies about that. “So. What are you guys to her, exactly?”

“Friends, I suppose. My luck charm was more than that, though.” Nobunaga took a breath. “She was a princess of my clan, my rescuer. A confidante.” He gave a melancholy smile. “I have missed her immensely.”

Keiji nodded. “Yep. She’s one of a kind.”

“Huh. Well. I mean, she is pretty special. I didn’t know she was that important though.” Ayami sat back, feeling a little overwhelmed. She’d known Mai since childhood. Mai was smart and kind and cute, a good friend. But she’d never guessed past-life Mai had such an impact on these powerful people. It was a strange thought, and one that left an odd, bittersweet feeling in her chest. As if she didn’t really know her friend at all.

Nobunaga seemed to sense the drift of her thoughts because he reached out and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “I want to show you something.”

“What?” She stumbled after him, confused by the sudden change in conversation.

He didn’t reply, only led her forward. Up a flight of stairs hidden behind a paneled wall, and into an area that looked more like an apartment than an office. Shelves with delicate porcelain, painted wall scrolls that were old enough to probably be in a museum, elegant, simple furniture glimpsed through open doors.

“Do you live here?” Ayami tried to peer into every room they passed, but Nobunaga was walking so fast.

“At times.” He did not pause his steps until he pulled her into a small, narrow room with a high ceiling. There were no chairs here, or sofas, only shelves and hanging racks. The racks held swords, some sheathed and others with their blades bare. Several were beautiful, the patterned lines of folded steel gleaming. Others were chipped and dull, or even broken altogether.

The shelves held helms and decorative buckles, a similar assortment of seemingly random memorabilia. Ayami walked around the room, looking at them with curiosity. “I wish I’d paid more attention in history class,” she muttered.

“You still would not know most of them,” Nobunaga said from behind her. “These are my friends. Men with nobility in them, who served me or my allies. They helped bring about my dream, though they often could not understand it. They died for it nonetheless.”

He ran his finger along one of the nicked blades, barely touching.

“So this is like some weird trophy room? To remind you of what? Your victories with them?” Ayami looked at him from the corner of her eye, trying not to be obvious about studying his reaction. You could tell a lot about a guy by how he reacted to a question like that.

Nobunaga shook his head. “No. These are not trophies. They are reminders. The cost of my dreams, the value of a life. The distance between humans, no matter how closely allied.”

Ayami saw no regret or pride in him as he spoke. Only acceptance. A grim sort of forbearance that saw the consequences and did not shy away from the action regardless. “Would you do it all again, then? Knowing so many people died?”

“Yes. I know my actions, bloody as they were, brought my world closer to a peaceful one. Mai is proof of that. As are you.” He gave her a slight smile.

She understood then what he was trying to say. That friendship and loyalty didn’t require you to know each other’s heart and mind, only a willingness to try. And to care. Ayami smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

“Ah, I see now I am allowed to compliment you. Excellent.” He led her out of the room. “I don’t suppose you play go? I can teach you if not.”

#ikemen sengoku au #ikesen mitsuhide #spirit animals au #fanfiction #otome #fanfic #otome guys

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swanmaids · 7 months ago

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the care and feeding of an elven high king

for @tolkienekphrasisweek day 2, culinary arts. remix of @welcomingdisaster 's a note on the pecularities... ao3 link. this is a fic about trauma-induced eating disorders.

Many in Gondolin, from the servants to the lords, will say that His Grace the king was never the same since his crossing of the treacherous Ice; that he was so changed by its horrors that he became almost a completely different man. It has become something of a cliche within our city to say that Turukano of Tirion died on the Grinding Ice, and Turgon of Beleriand was born in his place.

As for myself, I have never seen the Blessed Realm or the long march to Beleriand, and so I can offer little insight into who His Grace may have been before he reached the shores of Vinyamar where my people joined with his host. But I have no reason to doubt the words of those who did know him then. And If I were to ask one of them: how did he change? They would probably provide me with a great list of examples. The way he speaks to his friends and his subjects and his daughter, the way he carries himself, the way he sleeps, the way he eats.

The latter is the only example that I have any kind of authority to speak on, but I would hardly be surprised as to its accuracy. From what I have heard of the bounties of Aman, it seems truly impossible to me that anybody could be presented with the spoils of the Great Hunter, the King of the Seas and the Sisters of the Earth, and still maintain the same austere diet that His Grace tasks me with preparing these days.

Just how austere is that diet? His Grace has almost too many rules concerning what he will not consume for one to keep up with - and he is wont to change them on a moment’s basis - but over the centuries I believe he and I have come close to an understanding.

First and foremost, His Grace will eat no meat nor fish, and requires that all of his meals be prepared separately from any meat or fish in the royal kitchens. He claims that even the smell and sight of it turns his stomach; and I am inclined to believe this, having witnessed myself an incident in which, when seated next to Her Grace the princess Aredhel while she ate a dish of venison, his skin turned clammy and his hands visibly shook. He did not even attempt to pick up his utensils, and left the table with his own plate totally untouched.

Regarding what may have resulted in this particular peculiarity, I want to be clear that I have no wish to comment on the rumours surrounding what may or may not have occurred among the Noldor as they fought to survive the Ice. His Grace is a fair and just king, who treats his subjects of every station well, and has suffered a great many tragedies since the Noldor fled Aman. There is nothing to be gained by spreading salacious rumours that would only harm his good name.

Let us instead return to my original topic. Meat and fish are not the only foods that His Grace refuses to eat - he would not be so unusual here in Gondolin if they were, though his aversion is stronger than most. Instead, His Grace is greatly concerned with only consuming that which he does not consider to be “unclean”, seemingly concerned that such “impure” foods will cause his person to become unclean from within. In practice, this has resulted in an aversion to milk, eggs, butter, yoghurt and cheeses, oils, sweets, pastries, many strong-tasting roots and spices, and excessive salt. His Grace despises appearing intoxicated in front of others, and will drink only a small amount of watered wine on special occasions. Coffee, however, he consumes frequently and in great amounts.

I will admit that it has not always been easy to cook according to such rigid restrictions, but I should like to think that over time and with hard work, I have been able to reach some workable solutions. His Grace tends to favour simple meals, typically steamed grains and vegetables such as winter squash. Nuts are often eaten, and I try to include them in as many meals as possible for the extra energy they provide. Though His Grace eschews sweets, as previously mentioned, he is able to enjoy most fruits, and a dish of pears poached in almond milk is a favourite. This is quite doable, as the soils of Tumladen provide us with a rich bounty of fruits. If nothing else, the lembas baked by Her Grace the princess Idril is of course suitable, but I try to avoid this as much as possible as His Grace is wont to become agitated over the state of the city’s lembas stores. Yes - Gondolin may well be the fairest and most wondrous of all the elven realms, and the greatest work of His Grace’s hands, but the king’s table is one place where extravagance is firmly eschewed.

I aim too to plan meals well in advance, for His Grace is known to ask me what I have planned for him to eat in the near future, and to become visibly unhappy if I cannot answer.

As much as I can, I endeavour to serve His Grace within his private chambers, with his daughter and his closest lords at most as guests, as he greatly dislikes eating in front of others. However, a king must, on occasion, feast with his subjects. During such feasts, His Grace has become very adept at performing the appearance of eating for his audience, while in reality consuming little to nothing. It is likely that I am one of very few citizens who has noticed this. Still, I do my best to help His Grace on such occasions. After last years’ Tarnin Austa , I sent a kitchen maid to His Grace’s chambers with a plate of figs and walnuts, so that he would not go to bed hungry. Finally, it is worth noting that His Grace’s particular anxieties regarding food and its consumption are not fixed, and are wont to wax and wane in severity. When the Eagle came to Gondolin and told us to prepare ourselves for an assault on our enemy, this goal seemed to energise His Grace and loosen the hold of some of his anxieties - I was even able to prepare small amounts of eggs and dairy to supplement his training at arms, as long as it was hidden within porridges and broths. But during times of tragedy, His Grace is known to become even more restrictive, to the point of what seems like self-punishment. For instance, in the aftermath of the horrible killing of Her Grace his sister, he undertook a weeks-long fast that left him exhausted and skeletal, spreading rumours and fear among the whole population. In the days after his return from the Fifth Battle, it was only due to his daughter pleading with him not to fast again that His Grace did not repeat this disastrous ritual.

Please do not mistake me here, however - Her Grace the princess Idril is quite often just as difficult to cook for as her father. In fact, if I were to describe her own peculiarities, we might be here all day.

#my post #my fic #turgon #idril #tolkienekphrasisweek

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cifer-ulqui · 10 months ago

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Ulquiorra Drabbles 2

(Ulquiorra, Reader, Grimmjow)(Second one is Angst and less overtly romantic)(I wrote these in Portuguese originally to practice learning the language. They're completely self-indulgent and ooc)(part one)

Tea

“I need a place to stay.” Ulquiorra clicks his tongue. His eyelashes are so long. They touch his cheek when he closes his eyes. “It's getting late. Kurosaki said I should come here.”

Ichigo must think he’s hilarious.

“Yeah?” I sigh. I can’t say no to him. “Come in.” He follows after me and I shake my head at the situation.

“Do you want tea?” I gesture for him to sit at the table. He complies, sitting stiffly.

“I don't need--”

“Do you want tea?” I ask more firmly. Why is he so difficult? Maybe that’s part of his charm. I look over my shoulder. He’s as attractive as he is stubborn.

“... Yes.” His brow is furrowed, like I asked for something annoying.

I suppress a comment about him being a brat and return to put the kettle on the stove. “Do you have a preference for the flavor?” I know he’ll say it’s unimportant. It’s useless, There’s no reason.

“Is there a difference? Tea is tea.” There it is.

“There’s hundreds of different flavors. How do I know which you’ve tried before?” I turn away from the stove to look at him.

“Just normal tea.”

“Black tea? Green tea?

His eyes are the only sign of bewilderment on his face, but his voice sounds confused. “Tea…?”

I look at him for a moment. “I’ll make tea, and if you don’t like it, I’ll make something else.” I shrug my shoulders.

Ulquiorra shakes his head. “That’s unnecessary. I’ll drink whatever you make.”

I repress a laugh, wondering if I could make him regret those words. Hot sauce, salt, extra tea bags… the kettle begins to whistle. I take the kettle off the stove and open the cabinet that holds my tea. I take down a citrus blend, with orange, lemon, and apple. I pour the water into a teapot.

The steam fills the air and soon the smell of citrus fruits lingers in the room. We remain in silence until the tea finishes steeping. I walk over, carrying the hot teacups. I place them on the table and sit down and he picks up his cup. He looks for a moment before taking a sip.

I drink my tea, watching his face. He shows nothing, but takes a few sips in the silence.

“I should thank you for allowing me into your home. Your hospitality suits you.”

We drink tea in silence and I allow the irritation to seep from me. “You can sleep on the couch, I'll grab a blanket for you.”

“This is all unnecessary, I'll just remain sitting here.”

I sigh, a long-suffering sigh, wondering why I'm stuck with this impassive idiot. “I'll grab a blanket, just in case you change your mind.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue.

He's so impossible.

“Do you like the tea?”

“It's tea.” Ulquiorra takes another sip. I think about calling Kurosaki, maybe he can meet me somewhere quiet. Just to talk. With my hands. Ulquiorra’s head tilts as he looks at his teacup and then the teapot.

Cute.

Kurosaki is lucky I like this bat.

--- ---

The Rain Falls

The sky is gray. The rain falls.

Mist rises from the ground. I sigh, looking at the dismal rain. The air is filled with petrichor, cloying and dense. It clings to my skin.

It’s not fair.

My heart hurts, and I step out into the rain. Water drips down my face, soaking into my clothes. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again. If I am lucky, the rain will drown me.

I cared for him. The fourth espada, Ulquiorra Cifer. The one who I argued with, who taunted me and told me my life was meaningless. The man I sat atop Las Noches with in the freezing wind and vast desert stretched before us. We watched the moon together.

The only rain in Hueco Mundo is unnatural, from the spirit energy of other hollows. The black rain of Murcielago elicited a far different feeling, one of awe and foreboding. This is just….

He’s dead. Nothing but dust and the lingering emptiness. Maybe this is his heart that I feel.

I suppress a shiver. This rain seeps the warmth from my bones.

“Do you have an umbrella?” A rough voice breaks me from the reminiscence. I turn my head, seeing Grimmjow. His hair is quickly drenched by the rain, stickling to his face. He doesn't wear his usual grin, as if the melancholy of a storm is contagious.

I turn back to look at the sky.

He and a few other arrancar survived. He seems content to allow Haribel to rule, and I suddenly feel lost, without direction. What will happen to us now? What is our purpose?

Maybe there really is no purpose. Maybe Ulquiorra was right.

“Tch,” Grimmjow huffs. “Idiot. Let’s go.” He grabs the shopping bags from my hand. His hand is firm, but gentle around my shoulders as he guides me through the streets. He squeezes.

“Gonna catch a cold,” he grumbles, as if it would be something for him to suffer. His eyes catch mine as we near Urahara’s shop. They’re a cold blue.

His worry soothes something in my chest. Maybe we’re closer to humans than I thought, if even Grimmjow is capable of something like caring. I wonder if this somber hope ever permeated into Ulquiorra’s thoughts. I wonder if anything grew meaning to him in his last moments.

Grimmjow opens the door, ushering me through and grabbing a towel that he begins drying me off with. “Idiot.”

The rain falls.

#ulquiorra x reader #ulquiorra cifer #cute #fluff #bleach #bleach anime #self indulgent #ooc #drabbles #one shot #angst #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow x reader

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oumaheroes · 11 months ago

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Congrats on 1000 followers!! If you're still taking requests, I'd go absolutely feral for some of your scotfra! I love how you write modern nationverse with where characters reminisce or philosophise about the past <33

Phi I... I strayed. Okay, I strayed way off topic because this came to me so clearly that I couldn't not write it. I hope that you like it, even though there is no nationverse philosophying ;u;

Characters: Scotland, France (ScotFra)

-------------------------------------------

Starscape

Their home hits him with unexpected force as soon as he opens the door, the brass handle cool against bare palm. The smell of their lives together, clean linen and cedar aftershave. Walls cluttered with photos, Alisdair’s large leather armchair in the corner, Francis’ collection of Vogues tucked neatly besides Alisdair’s nature books into a handmade bookcase- collected fragments of two lives turned into one. A busy, friendly, assault of the senses.

Francis is in the kitchen, warm yellow lights and background radio above the metallic clatter of their cutlery drawer.

Alisdair sloughs his coat off, drapes it over the sofa, and walks in to join him.

‘Hello there.’

Alisdair can hear Francis’ smile through the words as he hugs him tightly from behind where he is at the counter, chin to shoulder. His arms go around him to their places automatically, right hand to Francis’ left hip.

Francis tilts his head back and up to try and meet his eye, ‘Good day?’

‘It’ll do.’

Francis snorts and cups his cheek lazily with one hand, reaching to place an empty pan on the stove, ‘Better than nothing.’

‘How was yours?’ Alisdair is loath to let him go but Francis wiggles free, gently nudging him back and away to let him get on with things. Alisdair retreats to the table in the middle of the room and watches.

‘Oh, you know. Same old same old.’

‘Tell me.’

Francis gifts him with a raised eyebrow. He fills up a pot with water and sets it salted to boil. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do you remember that new woman from a few weeks ago?’

Alisdair casts far back in time to find the name Francis might be referring to and finds too many to filter. ‘I remember you telling me about her.’

Francis raises an eyebrow, ‘Tina.’

‘Ah. Tina.’ He had forgotten Tina.

‘I cannot understand what is driving her to-‘ Francis sighs and clicks his tongue, ‘I don’t want to judge, but-‘

Alisdair smiles, ‘Yes, you do.’

Francis waves a hand. ‘Yes, fine. I do. But still, I am aware it’s not my place to say older people can’t randomly move jobs out of nowhere, and obviously they can learn how to do something new, but it’s...’

He stops, ties his hair up, and Alisdair's smiles widens. ‘Some people are slow, and I understand. It’s irritating to train them but I understand. Everyone has their own pace, and all that. Christ, I sound like Arthur when he’s being his most pretentious.’

Alisdair wants to call his brother then and has to swallow the feeling away, eyes fixed on Francis to keep him focused.

Butter to pan, salt to onions. The smell in the air is sweet. Condensation softens the windows, fogs the dark shadows of their garden beyond the glass. Francis moves whilst he talks, stepping lightly from one task to another.

‘But she’s not just slow to train. She’s someone who keeps questioning things, rather than just learning them. “Why do it this way, that way is much better.” Or, “In my last position, we did X Y Z blah blah blah”. Horrible. Aggravating.’ Francis tips mushrooms into the pan and shakes his head, ‘Anyway. Today I found out that she didn’t just move to join the analyst team because she wanted some sort of end of career change or have a last-minute depressing existential crisis. She was asked to move down. Because she was terrible at her job.’

Francis grins at him, his smile sharp teethed and wicked, ‘No wonder she’s so picky with everything. I got the feeling that she thought that we and what we do were beneath her but now-‘

Alisdair cuts him off before he can finish. Away from the table before Francis can stop him, he presses his mouth to Francis’, then to his cheek. Cups the back of his head in his hand, kisses his neck and feels the beat of Francis’ heart jump his pulse strong against his lips.

‘Stop it.’ Francis swats at him but the gesture is half-hearted at best, ‘You’re going to make me burn dinner.’

Alisdair kisses him again, Francis’ long hair soft and undone in his hands. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I care.’

Francis never burns dinner. No matter how busy the day or how many tasks he’s doing at once, dinner is never something to be sacrificed as part of a greater good. No matter how hard Alisdair could have tried to force it, in their life burning dinner was not a thing that would ever have happened. Today is no different. Francis extracts himself just in time to save things and Alisdair lets him go, knowing he needs to in order for things to work as they should.

The taste, once Francis is done, is perfect- one of his best meals, in Alisdair’s opinion, a warm mushroom soup. Thick bread- not homemade, Francis laments, but good enough- lightly toasted and thickly buttered. Alisdair savours every bite, takes small spoonfuls to draw out the experience for as long as it can go.

After they’ve eaten, the cooking a perfect mixture of memory and longing, they retreat to the living room sofa to fall deadweight against the cushions.

‘That was too much food.’ Francis says where he sits against Alisdair’s chest, their legs together under blankets before them on the L-shaped bend. ‘We keep on eating portion sizes that are way more than we need.’

Alisdair disagrees entirely. He is slimmer now, of course, much slimmer, but Francis doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the meat of Francis’ thigh and then grips it tight, ‘We’re doing just fine.’

Francis rolls his eyes and tuts but Alisdair sees the smile in his eyes, ‘No, not that. I mean that it’s expensive.’

‘It’s doable.’

‘Not with the sheer amount of lamb that you’re eating.’

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘It’s the costliest of all of them.’ Francis smiles and reaches up an arm to play with the short hair at the nape of Alisdair’s neck, ‘This needs a cut.’

‘You said you wouldn’t cut my hair anymore.’ Alisdair reminds him. Francis’ hand is warm, so warm, and Alisdair closes his eyes. ‘You said I complain too much.’

‘You do.’

‘Only because you threatened to shave me.’

Francis laughs lightly, ‘It would suit you.’

‘Well. That's why I complained.’

Beep.

Alisdair opens his eyes.

‘Shall we watch something?’ Francis sits up for the remote on the coffee table.

‘Only if it’s not a period drama.’

Francis sighs, weary, ‘Emma is not just a period drama. I’m told it’s a brilliant film.’

Alisdair wrinkles his nose and then grins at the look Francis gives him, ‘I’m sure it is. But are you going to be able to sit there quietly and not bitch about the costume design?’

Francis blinks at him. ‘Yes,’ he says after a while, ‘Obviously.’

‘Fucking liar.’

‘I will! I won’t say anything.’

‘I’ll bet you a fucking tenner you won’t be able to stop yourself saying something.’

Francis glances at the TV, then back to him. ‘Fine,’ he says after a moment, ‘If it’s shit research, I won’t be able to help myself. But that doesn’t detract from it potentially being a very good film.’

‘Besides shit costuming.’

‘… So I’m told.’

‘But see, there you go.’ Alisdair leans forwards, ‘You’ll have a great time nonetheless but I won’t be able to focus on anything because-‘

Beep.

Alisdair wavers, ‘…because I’ll have you going off making comments all the time and I’ll forget what’s happening and-‘

Francis looks scandalised, ‘You don’t know the story anyway?’

‘Why the fuck would I know the story?’

‘Oh for the love of-‘ Beep. ‘We have to watch it. That’s it, I can’t have this.’ Francis clicks on the TV and scrolls to Netflix, ‘What on earth was your mother thinking. You’d think with the amount Arthur goes on-‘

‘Arthur was the weird one. I-‘

Beep.

Alisdair feels a tightness in his chest. He tries not to think of the cause.

Francis turns to him. ‘What?’

Alisdair’s tongue feels heavy, throat tight. ‘What.’

‘You were saying?’ Francis prompts. ‘Something about you and Arthur.’

His hair is tucked behind on ear but strands have fallen free. Alisdair wants to reach forward and brush them back but he can’t move. He feels hollow, belly empty.

He takes a deep, long breath in. His lungs fill, then release. Under his fingers, he feels the whorls of the sofa upholstery on the arm rest. Feels the warmth of Francis near his outstretched leg, face buttery yellow in the lamplight by the wall. It is all so real.

‘Right.’ He runs a hand over his face, ‘Arthur was the one who read all the books. I was a normal child and young man, and went outside. Made friends.’

‘I read those same books.’ Francis presses a hand to his chest, ‘And I feel I came out quite normal from the experience.’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’

Francis nods, sagely, and tilts his head to one side. ‘You’re not entirely wrong. I’m with you, after all.’

Alisdair nudges him with his foot, in the softness of his stomach, and Francis laughs.

Beep. Oxygen levels critically low. Warning.

Alisdair should have turned the alarms off.

Francis settles back against him and Alisdair leans back against the sofa, tucking them back in as he goes and wraps his arms around Francis, hold him tight. Here, like this, it would be so easy to forget. To think that this was happening, and was still something he could have and return to. Francis is so solid, so real.

Beep.

But Alisdair cannot forget. Thousands of miles above earth, his body free from gravity, he watched as without warning mushroom clouds peppered through the skies below him. Rushes of clouds shot across oceans to collide with another wave, and then another, until the planet fell still.

The silence was loud. Space pressed in against the glass, a thick, dark nothingness that stretched on and outwards around him. Endless stars dull when there is no one waiting to share them with, Alisdair has found.

He still has no idea what happened. Whether it was planned, who started it, who could be left. He waited weeks for something, endless days on a knife’s edge by the comms system, unable to leave in case something came through or his planned replacement arrive to relieve him. Sleep in broken chunks, too tired to stay away any longer.

He doesn’t know now how long it has been. He stopped checking the days. There was nothing that could be done for him, anyhow. What good is it to know details of his final days, when the grand fact was that no one was coming. He lived because he was too scared to die, and that was that.

And now, here it is.

Warning.

Alisdair had remembered to override the auto-safety control that diverted power to essential systems, at least. That was the important part.

Warning.

It could warn him all it wanted; he wasn’t going to change anything.

Oxygen levels critically low.

A few more days with the bare essentials to sustain life, or this. One last go at the hollo-systems, one last story to play.

Warning. Oxygen levels critically low.

Alisdair had been holding back on playing this one. Eking out the power left on his ship for as long as he could, everything non-essential closed off to- why? To live? To remember?

Just in case, maybe. Just in case.

In his arms, the programmed memory of Francis shifts under the blankets and sighs through his nose. The film has started, Alisdair hadn’t noticed. The colours and sounds all curl and bleed together, flashes of something distinct stand out before falling away like a motion blur. Francis breathes in Alisdair’s arms, his face calm and easy, and Alisdair watches.

Beep.

This is how he wants to go.

Beep.

To go home to a life that only he can remember. Kept safe here in memories and code, a final goodbye.

‘I love you,’ he says. His voice cracks, ‘So, so much.’

Francis turns his head. He reads something in Alisdair’s face; Alisdair sees the flicker in his expression as he notes that something is wrong. But memory and code can only go so far, the real Francis would never have seen him like this before. Alisdair doesn’t know how he would have reacted. Whatever his husband’s virtual echo sees in Alisdair’s drawn, wasted face, it is not something that he was designed to see.

So, he smiles. Sees him as whole. ‘I love you too.’

The living room darkens, shadows fill the edges. Alisdair closes his eyes and buries his face in Francis’ shoulder. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

Francis turns slightly and wraps and arm around and under Alisdair’s back, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

#aph france #hws france #hws scotland #aph scotland #scotfra #hetalia #hws #aph #heroes writes

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 2 years ago

Text

Clan of Three - Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: The Heiress

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 5.8K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, massive angst, tears

------

You woke up from the travels to you all just flying past the gas giant Kol Iben towards the moon Trask.

“Looks like we made it. Get ready for landing.” Din says as you rub the sleep from your eyes as you begin your descent toward the planet. A loud beeping makes him curse out loud, “Dank farrik! The landing array isn’t responding. Without the guidance system, it’ll be a manual re-entry. It might get choppy. Once we’re through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow down. If we don’t burn to a crisp.” The beeping only grows louder which in turn wakes up the Frog Lady and the child.

“What’s going on?!” As you see the ship begin to burn, you were going down too fast.

“Come up here. I need your hands! This lever needs to stay back. Can you do that? Keep it steady. Here we go.” Din looks at you pointing at a lever and you nod pulling it all the way back it had some tension almost as if it didn’t want to stay all this far back.

“Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control. Please reduce your speed to port protocol.” The Flight control comes through your transmitters as the approaching planet grows closer, “I’m trying my best here.” “Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!” He switches to the reverse the ship jerking as you see the landing bay getting too close for comfort at this speed.

“Hold on.” “Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed.” “Almost there, almost there.” “Razor Crest, do you copy? Razor Crest, you’re coming in too fast. You have to re…” The ship hits the landing bay with a heavy thud as you’re back on the ground.

“Here we go. Nice and easy.” Din says and a loud crack fills the air as the landing struts break down and the Crest begins to tip over and you all crash into the water. It goes dark quickly with the water but with how fast you had entered the water you were out of it. The rushing water pours out of the ship as you’re placed onto the landing pad. You all disembark the soaked and very broken ship, the Frog Lady moves ahead as Din speaks to an octopus-looking man, the child in his pram beside you. The smell of salt was so strong here, the air chilly but almost refreshing. The main thing you had been staring at was the water, you’d never seen this much water. You hadn’t thought this much water could exist.

“Kid,” Din pulls you out of your thoughts and he’s standing further ahead with the child you catch up with the two. The three of you see the Frog Lady run up to another Frog Man as they embrace speaking to each other before they hold the canister holding their future child with such love. You feel your heart melt seeing the happiness on their face being reunited.

Din shakes hands with the Frog Man as he croaks his thanks, “You’re welcome. I was told you could lead me to others of my kind,” The Frogs lead them to an inn before they soon depart. Entering the establishment quickly eyes are drawn to the Mandalorian in his shiny beskar, the human girl, and the small child in the pram. A very unlikely group together as the server glances at you all before pointing to a table.

“Have a seat over there. What can I get you?” You all sit down as the server now joins the table.

“Nothing for me. Two bowls of chowder for my friends.” Din motions to the two of you and you see the server give him a look, “These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

“I can buy something else. Information. Have you seen others that look like me?” Din asks and the man places two bowls of chowder in front of you and the child. You place the bowl closer to the child as he reaches out with his tiny hands.

“Others with beskar have been through here.” The server says and that intrigued the bounty hunter, “Who can take me to them?”

“I know someone who might help.” The server nods before leaving, you slowly eat your food, it is unlike anything you’ve tasted. Maker, you were so lucky to travel the galaxy. You hear a cry come from the child and you look down seeing a cephalopod creature latched onto the child’s face. Din holds out a knife prying it off his face,

“Don’t play with your food.” He scolds before a new person arrives at the table. “Hmm. You seek others of your kind?”

Din nods looking at the Quarren boatman, “Have you seen them?” “Aye. I can bring you to them.” The boatman nods,

“Where?” Din asks and the boatman points out towards the water, “Only a few hours sail. It’ll cost you, though.”

You would say getting used to being on a starship was easy but on a boat felt off, you could feel the ship rocking against the waves as it travels further out to sea. The Quarrens shout at each other as they work, seeing creatures of the ocean that you have never seen before. It was all so new as you follow behind Din and the child.

“You ever see a mamacore eat?” The boatman asks, gesturing you over to a large opening below the ship’s deck, “Quite a sight. They might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here. Get a good view. Let the kids see.” You are all pretty close to the edge,

“Never seen this much water before!” You say in awe your feet grace the edges but Din pulls you back slightly,

”All right, close enough.” Din says as you watch the grate in the middle slide open as a net full of fish lowers down into the water.

The Quarren grins hearing the rumble from the mamacore as it feast under the water, “There we go. She must be hungry. Oftentimes we’ll feed her in the early morning, but we missed that ’cause we were goin’ out of port!” It happened so suddenly. The Quarren whacks his spear against the child’s cradle pushing it above the water and the mamacore surfaces swallowing the cradle with the child inside.

“No!” Both you and Din yell out horrified by the action, you spin around to fight when hands shove you backward, why did you have to be so close to the edge? Your frightened gaze meets Din’s as you fall back into the water, his hand barely reaching yours as he’s thrown back by two Quarrens.

Tatooine never had large bodies of water, all of it had dried up years ago making it the desert planet it was. There was no reason for you to learn how to swim if you were meant to stay there for the rest of your life. Even during your travels with the Mandalorian you never had taken the opportunity to learn such a basic skill. On Sorgon when you would travel to waterfalls or large lakes, you stood at a safe distance or entered the water letting it reach your hips not going further in as the others swam or dived off the tall cliffs into the water. It was a shock of electricity from the idea you were in water that you couldn’t stand in and that you were in there with a creature that just swallowed the child whole. You burst through the surface gasping for air and spitting out water getting in your mouth, you try pulling yourself out but your hands slam against the bars just a foot away from your face. Your hands slip trying to grab onto the metal grate to pull yourself up so you could breathe and find a way to escape. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you hear the fight above as Din yells.

“Hurry up and drown the girl!” Someone yells before pikes come down on your hands making you slip back under the water, your arms and legs flail as you try to bring yourself back up to the surface, breaking through the water again your hand grabs one of the rungs the other grabbing the saber attached to your waist, bring it above the water the howling sound fills the air as the saber cuts through the metal, the orange blade melting through.

“She’s a jedi! Kill her already!” Someone yells and more pikes rain down on you making you lose your grip and you’re back under the water, the saber goes out instantly under the water. You move your arms rapidly trying to push yourself up but nothing works as you only sink further into the water. Your lungs burn as you try to keep the water out of your lungs but you accidentally breathe in through your nose in a panic making you open your mouth to get the water out only causing more water to fill. Your body grows weaker before your vision goes black the last thought being of Din.

Din never fought harder in his life tearing through the Quarrens, he could hear you struggling in the water as you cry out in fear. He had to get you and the child to safety but they seemed to not be letting up, the sudden arrival of other Mandalorian had been unexpected as they all bring down the Quarrens and the ones over the grate. They all wear blue armor with white details as the last Quarren falls dead,

“There’s a creature. It has the Child and the girl.” Din tells trying to move forward but one of them holds him back,

“On it!” One of the Mandalorians dives into the water his body shakes with anger but also fear. He knew you didn’t swim, why would anyone on Tatooine know how to swim?

“The children. Help the children.” Din breathes out heavily trying to calm his pounding heart as the female leader reassures him. The sound of underwater explosions doesn’t soothe his nerves, “Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got this.”

The female Mandalorian who dived into the water comes flying out with her jetpack under one arm the damaged cradle is quickly given to Din who opens it. The child looks frightened but otherwise safe, held in her other arm is you. His blood runs cold seeing your eyes cold, your lips and fingers blue.

The female Mandalorian lays you on the ground on your back leaning down her ear over your face trying to listen before she quickly pulls back bringing her hands together. “She’s not breathing…” Din rushes forward but is held back by the only other male Mandalorian,

“Kid!” “Stop it she has her!” Din struggles in his grasp watching her bring her hands to your chest pressing against it in patterns before stopping trying to hear your breathing and continuing cursing under her breath. He thought he already lost you once but you had proved yourself. You couldn’t leave now.

“Come on kid, you can’t do this!” He cries out his helmet hiding his fearful emotion as he watches the woman work to save your life. It felt like hours pass as he watch your body just lay there as the Mandalorian tries to get you to breathe. Water spurts from your mouth and she turns you to your side as water pours from your mouth. You cough intensely as your body forces you to expel all the water, Din felt relief cover him so quickly seeing you breathing. You were so cold as you continue to cough out water before it subsided.

“You okay kid?” A voice asks and you look over seeing a Mandalorian helmet that wasn’t Din’s.

“Am I dead…?” You ask and she chuckles shaking her head. “You are very much alive.” She says as she helps you sit up bringing you to a bench to sit on. Din is instantly by your side he brings you close to him words of Mando’a mumbled under his breath, prayers thanking his gods. Din pulls away looking at the three Mandalorians,

“Thank you. I’ve been searching for more of our kind.” He says and the female leader steps forward nodding.

“Well, lucky we found you first.” She says,

“I’ve been quested to deliver these children. I was hoping that…” Din trails off seeing the three of them remove their helmets revealing their faces, “Where did you get that armor?” He accuses standing up and placing himself between the children and these fakes.

The ginger woman scoffs almost insulted, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face. You are not Mandalorian.” He says their creed was broken with the removal of their helmets.

“He’s one of them.” The dark-haired man says and Din gives him a look,

“Dank farrik.” The leader curses which makes Din more confused. “One of what?”

“I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.” The woman, Bo-Katan introduces herself.

“The Watch?” He inquires,

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society. Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.” Bo-Katan says and Din shakes his head handing off the child to you as he helps you onto your feet, still feeling weak and still shocked that all had happened.

“There is only one way. The Way of the Mandalore.” He says and the other woman with braids going across her forehead, “Wait!” She pulls something from her belt and holds out your saber which you cautiously accept, “I didn’t know the jedi were training children anymore…” You don’t get to question what she said before Din picks you up and the three of you leave the ship flying back to land. From the shore you see the ship explode into flames as well as the three Mandalorians fly off as well.

“Come on kid…” Din calls out to you ready to return to the ship. The child rested in his arms as the night quickly took over. You were more dried off now, your clothes still sticking to your body each step of your shoes moist and gross but your hair had begun to air dry. The street lights lit your way before someone appear in front of your path,

“Hey! You… You killed my brother.” A Quarren steps forward, this must have been the boatsman’s brother. More appear from the shadows surrounding you all,

“Let me pass.” Din demands and the man laughs,

“I don’t you think you understand. You killed my brother and now I’m gonna kill your kid and your pet.” He says pointing a large spear at you and the child in Din’s arms mistaking him for a pet. Appearing from above is Bo-Katan and the two other Mandalorians who flank around you all.

“He didn’t kill your brother. I did.” Bo-Katan says and they quickly eliminate the threats before either of you could move to join the fight. Bo-Katan looks at Din, “Can we at least buy you a drink?”

At the bar, you all sat around a table, and Bo-Katan starts to speak, “Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our home world. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand’alor on the throne.” She explains and you see Din shake his head.

“That planet is cursed. Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.” He replies and Bo-Katan takes a sip of her drink giving him a look.

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Our enemies wanna separate us. But Mandalorians are stronger together.” Din ignores her proposal he already had something to worry about than to recontrol a whole planet, “That’s not part of my plan. I’ve been quested with returning these kids to the Jedi.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?” Bo-Katan asks and she glances over at you pausing slightly looking over you.

“Nothing. I was hoping you would help me by Creed.” Din admits looking over at the girl who was still damp from the water and the child watching Reeves in fascination.

“I can lead you to one of their kind. But first, we need your help on our mission.” Bo-Katan offers, “Mission?” Din asks.

You all stood at the pier looking over the landing pads of multiple ships and Bo-Katan pointed at one ship far off in the distance, “You see that Imperial Gozanti freighter? It’s being loaded with weapons as we speak. According to the port’s manifest, it’s scheduled to depart at first light.”

“So we stow away?” Din questions, “We’ve been hitting ’em pretty hard. They scan for life forms as a precaution before pushing back.” Reeves comments.

“If you wanna do this with four, you’re gonna need the element of surprise,” Din says and you feel someone watching you and you see it’s Bo-Katan looking at you.

“With five. Having a Jedi on our side would increase our chances,” Bo-Katan says and Din looks over at who she’s referring to.

“The kid’s not getting involved with the empire.” Din refuses ready to back out of the whole deal altogether.

“I’ve not known a Jedi that didn’t get involved in fighting the empire.” Reeves says looking over you and examining you and you shrink back slightly from her gaze, “Where did you even come across a Jedi…thought they all died off.”

“She’s not involved. That’s final.” Din says pulling you to stand behind him away from the other Mandalorians.

“Alright…The freighter will maintain trawling speed while inside the shipping lanes and then ascend in orbit. We’ll jet up when they’re cruising in the atmosphere. The tower won’t allow them to climb until they’ve left the port’s airspace.” Bo-Katan says the plan is still possible without a jedi.

“Troopers?” Din questions and Bo-Katan is quick to respond, “A squad at most.”

“And they couldn’t hit the side of a bantha.” Woves quips a smirk on his face.

The plan had been made and three of you traveled to a home and you then found yourself with the Frogs. “Something’s come up. Can I leave them with you for a bit?” Din says placing the child at the table. “You are gonna stay here, so I want you to be respectful. And mind your manners. You know what I’m talking about. Thanks. I’ll be back for him.” He’s quick to leave the room and you follow after him.

“Din!” You call after him and he turns thinking you would stay behind. “Why would you keep me out of this mission, you know I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I don’t want you or the child involved with the empire, you’re safer away from the fight.” He says and you could tell it had to do with something else.

“If this had to deal with what happened earlier today, none of us knew that was going to happen. That shouldn’t stop me from fighting with you-” You say but he holds his hand up silencing you, “I’m not changing my mind! Now go kid.” He says harshly pointing at the home of the Frogs and watching a multitude of emotions cross your face before you turn walking back into the home. Din sighs knowing this deeply upset you but he was only doing it for your safety. He turns before making his way to where Bo-Katan and the others were set up.

At dawn, the Mandalorians quickly depart after the Gozanti-class cruiser flying beside it, what none of them knew was someone else had joined on this mission on the other side of the ship. So while the warriors had taken out stormtroopers on one side before forcing their way inside, a girl sneak on the other side. Your feet were silent making your way through the halls hidden in the shadows and corners when troopers would pass by. You turned down a corner only to a squad of stormtroopers.

In the cockpit, the Captain tries learning more about these intruders having heard it is only four life-forms, “Wait. They’re Mandalorian! We’ve…” A soldier yells out the information a new transmission comes through from a completely another side of the cruiser away from where the attacks were coming from.

“Sir! There’s another on the ship…a girl?!” The sound of blaster fire stops him from talking before it comes back again, “It’s a Jedi! A jed-” His scream cuts out with the sound of saber meeting flesh. The Captain stands still before looking at the other pilot who had also heard the news. A Jedi…there are no more jedi alive anymore all of them eradicated.

“Get me a message to the empire.”

As the Mandalorians fight their way to the cargo hold you make your way towards the bridge, with no map to lead you there, you just let yourself guide you to where the bridge was. The force spreads across the ship as you find where you need to go.

“We have them trapped, sir.” The deck officer says from in the cargo hull, they had trapped the Mandalorians in a room.

“Trapped them where?” The Captain questions, “In the cargo control area.”

“Where?” “In the cargo control area!” The shouts fill the air as the security officer and the stormtroopers with him are sucked out of the cargo bay.

“Come in. Do you copy? Do you copy?” The Captain shouts out before a voice comes in.

“I copy. Thanks for packing up all this gear so nicely. Imagine what a division of us can do when we get our hands on what’s inside these shiny little boxes.” Bo-Katan says as the others look through the weapons they had just retrieved.

“If you think you’re going to escape with those weapons, you are sadly mistaken. Even if you’ve managed to jettison a few of those crates, we will comb the entire area until you are hunted down and killed.” The Captain spits and the Mandalorian smiles, “Oh, we’re not jettisoning anything. We’re taking the entire ship.”

“What?” Din looks over hearing this new plan as Bo-Katan continues talking, “Put some tea on. We’ll be up in a minute.” She ends the transmission and Din comes over to her.

“This is more than I signed up for.” He shakes his head and Bo-Katan explains,

“There is something I need if I am to rule Mandalore. Something that was once mine. They know where it is and soon, so will I. Regardless, we are taking the ship for the battles ahead.”

“I got you your weapons. I have to return to my ship with the foundlings.” Din retorts.

“If you want my help finding the Jedi, you will help me take this ship.” Bo-Katan says though Din protests, “You’re changing the terms of the deal.”

“This is the Way.” She says finally before walking away leaving the Mandalorian no choice but to comply.

“What is it, Captain?” He looks down at the captain had received another message.

“Another pirate hijacking but more information,” The Captain responds to his superior.

“Were you able to eliminate them?” He questions and the Captain shakes his head,

“No. We need backup immediately.”

“Are these the same “pirates” that have attacked our other vessels?” His superior asks, “They appear to be, sir. But something else came up.”

“What is it?” He asks irritated this operation had been overtaken by some pirates.

“We experienced another enemy on the cruiser…a girl. They say she’s a jedi.” The Captain says and the officer’s eyes widen hearing the statement. So you had been learning or did you already know?

“You kill the enemies on that ship this instant. But keep the girl alive.” He says and the Captain is confused by this request.

“But sir, she’s taken down much of the ship-” “You will not question my orders!”

“Yes, Moff Gideon..” The Captain bows his head down in shame before the warlord nods.

“You know what to do. Long live the Empire.” Gideon responds and the Captain nods, “Long live the Empire.” He pulls out his blaster killing the pilot before taking control of the ship, sending a transmission of any alive troopers on the ship.

“Kill the pirates on this ship, and capture the jedi. That is an order from your superior.” He ends the transmission before taking the controls and beginning to nose-dive straight toward the water. The shift of the weight of the ship as you slide slightly digging your blade into the ground stopping you from moving, blocking another blaster fire with your saber you quickly rush through the remaining troopers cutting them down with ease. Fighting with your saber compared to your blaster felt more right, you felt whole like a piece of you was missing all this time. You make your way down the halls getting closer to the bridge when you encounter two squads of troopers, one squad focused on you the other focused on the Madnalorians coming down the other end.

“How many troopers?” Bo-Katan asks hiding behind a wall trying to avoid the gunfire,

“Six to ten. Two with heavy repeating blasters. We’re losing altitude fast.” Reeves yells back looking at her wrist that shows the quickly dropping altitude.

“We need to move now.” Bo-Katan yells out peeking out to fire before hiding back, “They have too much firepower!”

“Still dropping. Ten thousand. We won’t make it to the bridge!” Reeves yells as they try firing as well as hanging on to the cruiser that was at an angle.

“Nine thousand. Eight thousand. Seven thousand.” Reeves yells before Din moves forward, “Cover me. Come on!” He rushes forward fighting his blaster at the troopers while taking hits but the beskar protects him. The Mandalorians provide cover fire as he throws two charges at the squad moving back as they explode incinerating the enemies. The smoke is thick as they push through they were right at the bridge when an attack came straight at Din’s head. Bringing his arms up the beskar bracers protecting the orange blade from striking him. The smoke quickly clears as the Mandalorians see a girl with a saber staring back at them in shock.

“Maker I could have cut your head off!” “What are you doing here!” You both say at the same time as you lower your saber. Behind you from where you came from the bodies of troopers, slash marks, and stab wounds from your burning weapon.

“No time to argue,” Bo-Katan says as she leads into the bridge all of you quickly following. The door opens and the Captain is piloting the ship noticing the company he pulls out his blaster but it’s sent flying across the room and he’s pinned against the wall unable to move his limbs. You step beside Bo-Katan as she pulls out a knife threatening him as you hold him in place. Reeves and Din rush towards the controls quickly stabilizing the ship before it could crash into the water.

“Where is it?” Bo-Katan growls and the Captian smirks acting clueless, “Where’s what?”

“The Darksaber. Does he have it?” She says bringing the knife closer to his throat.

“If you’re asking, you already know.” He grins and Bo-Katan grimaces at the comment, “I’ll let you live. But you will take me to him.” She orders offering to spare his life.

“You might let me live, but he won’t.” The Captain says and he bites into a capsule in his mouth his body killing him with electricity. “No!” You lower your hand stepping away as the Captain’s body hits the floor.

“We have to go. He sent a distress signal.” Reeves says to Bo-Katan who is glaring at the dead imperial.

“Clear the atmosphere and prepare to jump,” She orders Reeves and Woves who quickly take control and she looks over at Din, “Are you sure you won’t join us?”

“There’s something I need to do.” Din shakes his head and Bo-Katan nods removing her helmet, “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Where can I find the Jedi?” Din asks stepping towards her,

“Take the foundlings to the city of Calodan on the forest planet of Corvus. There you will find Ahsoka Tano. Tell her you were sent by Bo-Katan. And thank you. Your bravery will not be forgotten. This is the Way.” She says stepping back and Din nods repeating her words,

“This is the Way.” Din leaves the bridge while you still stand there and she looks over you slightly, “Stay smart kid, being a Jedi isn’t easy.” She says and you nod.

“Thank you Bo-Katan..” You say before turning and leaving the bridge, the two of you reach the airlock exiting the ship as Din picks you up flying back to land as the ship leaves the atmosphere.

Back at the Frog couple’s house, the two of you enter seeing the child playing with a tadpole as their watch. “Thank you for watching him. Okay, kid. Come on. It’s time to go. Let go. Come on, kid. Congratulations. No, I have enough pets.” He picks up the child before you leave heading for the Crest. At the port, you knew the Crest wasn’t the newest ship by a landslide but this just looked like a hunk of junk.

“I gave you a thousand credits, this was the best you could do?” Din asks looking at the dock worker who just shrugs before holding out the datapad for him to sign. He sighs signing it before you enter the Crest, it was put together with random scraps of metal and had nets all over the place even inside.

“Mon Calamari. Unbelievable.” Din grumbles the entire way inside the ship pushing past a net hanging in front of the doorway, he situates the child in his seat

“I finally know where I’m taking you both. But it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” He speaks to the child you down in the hull as he starts the semi-repaired Razor Crest leaving the planet and jumping into hyperspace.

You didn’t need to hear the beskar to know that he had arrived, you could feel the anger and frustration coming from him. Your gaze was glued to your books as you sat in the cargo hull on one of the crates. Past the pages, you could see him standing there but you continue your book though it was just you re-reading the same line. His hand pushes the book down taking it from your hands.

“Hey!” “Why did you disrespect my direct order when it was meant to keep you safe.” He says he puts the book to the side before crossing his arms and you lean back giving him a look.

“Order…? Since when do you give orders…besides, I helped you guys on that cruiser.” You say copying his stance and he shakes his head, “I told you to stay back because of the empire, but no it seems my warnings are not good enough for you.” Din says and you push yourself off the crate to head back to the main hull but he blocks you.

“I’m not apologizing for helping Din, I would do it again even if you disagreed. I’m not a child I can protect myself.” You say and you could feel the intensity of his gaze through the beskar helmet of his, “But you are, it was only a few months ago that you could barely handle a blaster but now all of a sudden you’re an adult that can fight off the people that are after you.” His tone was cold and harsh something you weren’t used to.

“Do you understand what your life means? Running off and putting yourself at risk? When I tell you something I expect you to follow it to the T but it seems like you’re only interested in playing hero when this life isn’t a game,” Din says referencing Tatooine and even now.

Your eyes narrow as you glare at the bounty hunter, “I guess we’re both disappointed with each other then. I was helping people. And it’s not like you care about others. You are only focused on the credits at the end of this. Our relationship…the child’s…is built on the fact that you had a reward at the end of it when we met. So don’t give me that protective father bullcrap because you’re only in this mess because you had a change of heart.”

“That change of heart is what’s keeping you alive or would you rather be tortured by the empire or better yet dead? Our creed…this clan-” He starts and you turn away pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh kriff that…This has never been our creed! I don’t understand how just because someone says we are a clan automatically makes us a family. I don’t know you Din…you don’t know me. Like I said I can take care of myself,” You point at yourself and at him.

“How many close calls have we had, with the empire or with bounty hunters?” He says you can hear the frustration in his modulated voice,

“Well, we seem to be doing alright so far.” “And we’ll be doing better when you learn the creed. I just have to teach you-” Din starts but you shake your head

“Din..I only just learned your name! You probably weren’t ever going to tell me anyways. No matter how much you try to teach me about the Mandalorians I won’t be one. I’m not your daughter and you aren’t my father!” You spit and the atmosphere is quickly cold and you step back realizing the words that came out of your mouth. Din had stepped back as if your words drove straight into his heart and he couldn’t help but deflect back at your harsh words.

“You're right…You're not my daughter and I sure as hell ain't your father. When we meet the Jedi we will be going our separate ways.” Din declares and you can’t ignore the malice in his words. You knew you hurt him with what you said but just hearing him say those same words back to you felt like a dagger in your chest. You nod sharply looking away from him trying to keep the quickly forming tears. You don’t deserve to cry...you caused this. You just ruin everything and push people away. Din leaves you in the cargo the silent tears falling down your face and returning to the cockpit with his own heart broken hidden behind the helmet. The child in the pram notices the upset feeling coming off the older man and further away the sadness and loneliness coming from you.

A clan of three…broken.

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