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kyber-queen · 3 years ago

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of silver and steel (wolffe x f!reader regency AU)

Summary: Reader is a mercenary hired to protect Duke!Wolffe without his knowledge. Shenanigans ensue.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: One (1) innuendo, mentions of weapons, an exorbitant amount of pride and prejudice-esque Female Gaze

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I wrote this MONTHS ago and found it sitting in my files and thought I'd just post it so I don't forget about it again. Lmk if you'd be interested in me writing any more of this!

***

Your reflection stared back at you from your vanity mirror. Your face was painted in the fashion of the time—cheeks flushed coral and lips stained a Persian rose-red. You smiled to yourself, smoothing your hands over your bodice—it was a deep forest green, with a bold golden line down the center. It was your personal favorite, and it would serve your purposes well that evening. One gloved hand lifted elegantly from your form to hover over the objects adorning your vanity. You settled over an elaborate golden-hilted dagger. You tested its weight in your hand before guiding its tip to the rim of your bodice, sliding the weapon into the pre-stitched gap in the fabric. Only the hilt remained visible, but against the golden embroidery, it appeared altogether unrecognizable as a dagger, taking the form of an ornate golden cross emblazoned across your chest. You hummed in approval.

You were to be attending a gala tonight, with the proceeds benefitting the construction of a second dormitory within the orphanage in the capitol, Coruscant. It was sure to be a rather raucous event—the more rambunctious of the younger nobility had accepted the invitation—but your mind was far from drinking and gallivanting. You were there for one explicit purpose: to protect the Duke. The Duke did not know this, of course. From what you had heard, Duke Wolffe Fett was a rather imposing figure, and this combined with his military service made him rather vehemently opposed to the notion that he was unable to protect himself. His brothers had solicited your services as a mercenary in secret after the Duke had experienced three separate attempts on his life, all of which he had managed to fend off on his own.

Your mission was quite straightforward—make the Duke’s acquaintance, and remain nearby should trouble arise. Nerves prickled at the tips of your fingers. While quite comfortable with a blade in your hand, you were much less well-versed in these hierarchical social scenarios. Your eyes flicked back up to your reflection in the mirror, your gaze centering in on the cross adorning your bodice. Your gloved fingertips dragged across the textured surface of the dagger hilt. You looked the part of the elaborately dressed nobility; all you needed to do now was match their mannerisms.

***

The ballroom hummed with energy. Conversation and music flowed freely through the air, the Ladies in their best gowns and the Lords in their sharply pressed suits intermingling in small groups. Wolffe strolled from cluster to cluster, making his necessary introductions but never remaining in one group too long. He preferred to remain on the fringes—he was here for the benefit of the orphanage only. The hedonistic tendencies of his contemporaries at these supposedly charitable gatherings often disagreed with his more refined sensibilities. Wolffe had hoped he could escape the evening without engaging in the drunken small talk he so despised, but an old family ally beckoning him forward was a clear indication otherwise.

Wolffe now stood stiffly amongst a small circle of aristocrats, his features set firmly as he made tense conversation. The socialites were already quite inebriated, and the donation ledger had long been forgotten in favor of partaking of the complimentary spirits.

Wolffe cleared his throat.

“Sir Roger, have you yet had the opportunity to tour the orphans’ asylum in Coruscant?”

The man looked at Wolffe incredulously.

“Why in the blazes would I do that?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed. The man, obviously too taken by liquor to remember his station, placed a casual hand on Wolffe’s shoulder.

“You must have learned by now, my good man, that events like these,” The man gestured to the throngs of aristocrats conversing in clusters about the ballroom, “Are merely a justification for drinking and merriment,”. The man punctuated his sentence with a particularly loud hiccup.

Repulsed by the man’s uncouth behavor, Wolffe took a step back. The man’s hand fell from his shoulder. Wolffe opened his mouth to respond, but the smooth lilt of your voice drew his attention.

“Perhaps, Sir, were you not so unfeeling toward the plight of the needy you would see the larger purpose of events like these,” you quoted. The man stepped back, stunned, effectively making room for your presence.

Wolffe turned to you, his eyes catching yours for a moment before turning back to the aristocrat.

“I find myself in agreement with the Lady. This ‘justification for drinking and merriment’ will provide the funds to house at least a hundred needy children,” Wolffe’s lip wrinkled slightly in disgust, and the man fell entirely silent. “Good day, Sir,”.

The man turned to make his exit, leaving you alone with the Duke. He watched the drunkard stumble away, shaking his head slightly before fixing his intense gaze on you. Before he could say a word, you extended a snifter of brandy in his direction. He accepted the drink, tilting his head slightly at the gesture.

“I’m glad we can agree, Sir…” You trailed off your sentence, waiting for the Duke to fill in the blank.

“Duke Wolffe Fett,” He offered.

You widened your eyes in feigned surprise.

“Your Grace,” You murmured, dropping into a curtsy.

You rose, and when you met his eyes you noticed his eyebrow was raised slightly. He was one of the highest-ranking noblemen in Coruscant—had you presented yourself as too oblivious?

The Duke sipped his drink as you reeled for something to say.

“It’s unusual for a man of your status to have such high regard for personal involvement in charitable contribution,”.

Wolffe glanced up from his drink, pausing to look you over.

“Is there a question in there or are you merely observing?”

His tone was difficult to read—you assumed this was an invitation to inquire more directly.

“Why exactly does a young Duke such as yourself harbor so much respect for the common people?”

Wolffe hummed.

“It is my duty as a ruler to defend and uplift my people. There is no honor in wasting away your days indulging in mindless drink and frivolity,”.

You nodded in assent, falling into what you hoped was a pleasant silence.

The Duke seemed content to stand wordlessly at your side, and you understood that the less you spoke the less of an opportunity you had to make a faux pas. Your eyes darted about the room—having made your introduction your mind now focused entirely on detecting any plausible threats. You glanced over to his brothers, Boost and Sinker. They appeared engaged in conversation, and you quickly turned your attention elsewhere. A man stepped in front of the string quartet, clinking his glass. You feigned attention, scanning the crowd as pieces of the man’s speech filtered in and out of audibility.

“…And with that, let the dancing begin!”

Wolffe rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his drink

You watched as several ladies scurried to the floor, eager to partner with the gentlemen that had made their way to the open space in the center of the room. You watched closely as the many pairs began to twirl in rhythm with the string quartet. It was more crowded on the dance floor—here, on the fringes, the Duke was exposed. Keeping him hidden and occupied among the many dancers would complicate the efforts of any potential assassins. Was it within a lady’s right to ask the Duke to dance?

“Sir, would you grant me the pleasure of accompanying me on the dance floor?”

Wolffe’s head whipped to your direction—he seemed tense. You glanced over your shoulder, wondering whether he had spotted someone behind you. Neglecting to observe the presence of any potential assailant, you turned back to the Duke and affixed him with your most charming smile.

“As you wish, my Lady,”.

He offered his elbow, and you placed your gloved hand over his lightly. You strolled in tandem to the dance floor, and at the next pause in music, you each took your place across from each other in the line of dancers. Your eyes locked on his. One of his eyes was golden-brown, gleaming in the candlelit ballroom. The other seemed to be tinted white, with a long vertical scar reaching from just above his brow to the apple of his cheek. He was quite handsome, you noted. His gaze was intense, never seeming to leave your face, even as you pressed your gloved palm against his to begin the dance. His hand was quite large, and you felt its heat through the thin silk of your glove. Your breath stuttered as he brought his other hand to your waist. He gripped you firmly, each individual fingertip making its presence known as they pressed into your bodice. You inhaled, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

You placed your other hand at his upper arm. He wordlessly lifted your hand to his shoulder, his eyebrow quirking slightly as he began to lead you through the dance. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

The music grew livelier, and the Duke shifted both his hands to your waist. His thumb pressed against the dagger concealed in your bodice as he lifted you into the air. The metal pressed, cool and foreboding, into your stomach. You masked your shocked gasp with a breathless giggle as your feet once again contacted the ground.

You stumbled, stepping to the right instead of the left. The Duke’s hand dug into your waist, pulling you sharply to the correct direction, and by coincidence, closer into his chest. He was warm. You offered a quiet ‘thank you’ at his correction, and he nodded stiffly. You felt the flexion and tension of his shoulder muscles under your palm. He was strong, you noted. This combined with his previous corrections caused your cheeks to heat even more than you thought possible. Focus on the mission. The music ceased, and before you could speak, his hand was gripping your forearm and he was dragging you off the dance floor.

You made eye contact with Sinker and Boost, the latter giving you an inquisitive look as Wolffe led you away from the ballroom. You turned your wild gaze back to the Duke. His fingers tightened around your forearm, gripping you hard enough to leave a bruise. He led you down a hallway, flinging open the first door he saw and roughly pulling you inside.

“Sir, I—”

He yanked you around so your back flattened against his chest. One hand gripped your upper arm while the other splayed across your midriff, pressing down uncomfortably. Pressing the flat edge of your dagger into your stomach. He knew.

His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, his breath hot against the junction between your shoulder and your neck.

“I value candor quite highly—why exactly are you here?”

Your breath hitched, and the pressure on your abdomen increased. You remembered Boost and Sinker’s words—he mustn’t know of your arrangement.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sir, I—” You squirmed against his iron grasp as he cut you off.

“You are no actress, my Lady,”.

You cursed yourself silently. You had been so focused on securing the Duke’s safety you had forgotten to ensure your own. Your hand flew to the hilt of the dagger against your chest, but the Duke’s hand on your upper arm caught your wrist with almost inhuman speed.

“What are you here for? To kill me?” His voice was a snarl.

Adrenaline flooded through your veins, your heart racing.

You drove your heel into his insole, using his shock to wrench yourself from his grasp. You drew your dagger from your bodice with your free hand, your other wrist still encircled within his grip. You gasped for breath, instinctively preparing for a fight. As your mind caught up with your body, you recognized your position and lowered your dagger. Your agreement to secrecy wasn’t worth a life.

“To protect you,” you panted.

Wolffe scoffed, his intense glare centered on your face.

“Your brothers hired me—Sinker and Boost. Said there had been attempts on your life, that they wanted me to look after you,”.

Your eyes searched his, praying that he would believe you. The Duke was a fearsome opponent—if this escalated further, you couldn’t guarantee either of you would walk away injury-free.

The door flew open, Boost and Sinker stumbling into the room.

“Are you both alright? What happened?”

Wolffe’s shoulders fell, and his grip on your wrist loosened. Your hand dropped from his grasp. Recognizing that the situation had been diffused, you reinserted the dagger into your bodice.

“A slight misunderstanding on my part,” Wolffe offered to his brothers before turning to you, “I apologize, my Lady,”. He bowed slightly before offering you his arm.

His gaze rose from the floor to your eyes and he looked at you expectantly. You cocked your head, content to let him stew for a moment. The man did drag you by the wrist across the entire ballroom, after all. His eyes narrowed. You returned his intense gaze before smiling slightly when an unrecognizable emotion flashed across his features, pleased that you had managed to get under his skin.

You took his arm tentatively, and he led you back out to the ballroom.

***

Two weeks had passed since your attendance at the charity gala. Boost and Sinker, though initially concerned by the events of the evening, had maintained that you remain in the area should they require your services once more. Your payment from that night would cover your stay at the local inn twelve times over. The town was quaint—its center held a tavern, a church, a few scattered shops, as well as the inn at which you were staying. You had inquired as to where the Duke’s residence was on your second day in town, finding out from the barkeep that his estate lay a few miles from the town outskirts.

The barkeep had said it was a lovely piece of property. He himself had not had the pleasure of visiting, but he had heard tales of its rolling green hills, lush forests, and the clear brook that bubbled just on the edge of the terrain. While you acknowledged the appeal of the property, your mind was much more entranced by its rather solemn proprietor. Your admittedly dull days were spent deep in thought, poring over your final interactions before the evening had ended.

Wolffe led you back into the ballroom, back to the deserted corner in which you two had been conversing before you had suggested some dancing to lighten the mood.

He motioned to a table with his head, pulling out a chair for you to sit in before taking a seat himself.

His eyes, intense and intoxicating, seemed to bore right through your soul. It was unsettling, yet something about his gaze resonated deep within your chest. Your cheeks flushed, against your will. You took another cursory glance about the room, ensuring that no suspicious figures had made themselves known.

“So, you’re a mercenary?”

Your eyes flashed back to the Duke, a slight smile creeping across your face. You nodded.

“I trained with a well-respected swordsman for quite a few years. Took a few odd jobs here and there as a sellsword, but my ‘unusual’ position made me much more suited for espionage. People rarely notice an extra woman in the household—makes it easier to slip in, do what needs to be done, and slip out,”.

Wolffe’s gaze lingered on your face.

“I find it hard to believe that no one would notice you,”

You snorted, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. The Duke raised an eyebrow in response. Your behavior could hardly be described as refined—despite your earlier attempts—yet something about your casual air drew Wolffe in more than he’d like to admit.

“Tonight was a one-off. Typically, I’m much more discreet,”.

Wolffe shook his head with a barely-there smile.

“Oh, I’m sure,”.

A knock at the door of your room drew you from your recollections. You grabbed the handle of your dagger from the nightstand before peeking into the door’s spyhole. A courier stood, impatiently shifting from foot to foot, with a letter in hand. You opened the door.

“From Duke Fett,” the courier spoke, before darting off to deliver his next letter. Ensuring that no one had followed the boy to the inn, you closed the door behind you and tore open the letter.

It had been closed by an elaborate red wax seal, and you rolled your eyes before dropping the envelope to the ground. Typical nobility.

You scanned the letter quickly, noting the elegant handwriting marking the page while pacing the floor. It was a dinner invitation. You gulped.

Your experience with the nation’s nobility was admittedly quite limited, and you dreaded making yet another grave social error. Still, the Duke intrigued you, and anything was better than holing up in this godforsaken inn for yet another evening. You searched for your quill to pen a reply, but on a second reading of the letter, you noticed that the author had made no mention of an RSVP. The Duke had simply stated his wish for your presence at dinner. You assumed that he was not a man used to the denial of such wishes. You placed your quill back into its case, and readied a gown for the evening ahead.

***

A carriage was at your door three hours later. You took one last glance in the mirror—your gown was a deep blue, with a concealed pocket hidden within its skirt. Your dagger rested comfortably against your hip. You turned away from your reflection to meet the footman at the door. He helped you into the carriage before taking his seat at its front. You watched as the town slowly faded from view, little buildings being replaced by the moor surrounding the town. Low-lying shrubbery and taller grasses swayed in the wind, flashes of purple and green arraying the tawny scenery. You spotted a swatch of trees in the distance. The barkeep had mentioned something about a forest, right? That must be the edge of the Duke’s estate.

The carriage rumbled along the road, until the well-kept path grew over with the same grasses blanketing the moor. You furrowed your brow. Were you in the right place? Your hand travelled to the dagger at your hip. One could never be too careful, you reasoned.

The carriage stopped abruptly, nearly shaking you from your seat. Before you stood a large iron gate, flanked on both sides by tall evergreens. The footman stepped off the carriage to open the gate, its doors swinging open to reveal a wide cobblestone path. The horses’ hooves clacked rhythmically against the stone. Your eyes traced the path, following it to where it met its end and widening at what you saw.

Fett Manor was, quite simply, breathtaking. Dark grey stone, blanketed in ivy, rose up tall from the well-maintained gardens. Candles flickered in the many windows, giving the manor a gentle glow as it imposed upon the dusk-reddened sky. The carriage stopped at the crest of the U-shaped drive. You looked out at the tall oak doors, tentatively stepping out of the carriage and refusing the footman’s aid.

You marched up the front steps, tapping your knuckles gently at the door. You glanced over your shoulder at the footman, and to your surprise, he was already gone. The clacking of the horses’ hooves was still audible—the footman must have headed back to the livery stable.

The large doors swung open smoothly, and you were greeted by the sight of a kind-faced elderly woman. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her simple dress indicated that she was part of the staff. You offered a gentle smile.

You introduced yourself, dropping into a deep curtsy. The woman gave a small chuckle.

“There’s no need for that, dearie. I’m just the housekeeper,”.

Your cheeks heated as you rose from your curtsy.

The woman motioned for you to enter. You stepped inside tentatively, observing the high ceiling and grand staircase. The floors and stairs were solid and wooden, and the décor was elegant if not a bit dated. The manor seemed to walk the line between homey and formal. In your time as a mercenary, you had learned that a person’s surroundings could tell you much about their character. What did this tell you about the Duke?

“This way,” the woman spoke, leading you through the great room and into the dining room.

Boost and Sinker were already seated at the long oaken able, grinning when they saw you enter.

“Good evening, gentlemen,”.

The formality seemed to drip from your tone. Were you alone, you might have laughed at the pretense.

They offered you a greeting in response, before diving into the meat of the conversation.

“My lady, before our brother arrives, we have to ask you something,” Boost stated.

“Ask away,” you smiled.

“I’m sure the inn is quite nice, but would you consider staying at the estate? Just last week, the gardener spotted someone attempting to enter the premises through the back gate. Wolffe dealt with em’, but he’s been on edge, lately. Might do him good to know he’s not the only one on the lookout all the time,”.

Sinker exchanged a look with his brother.

Fett’s estate was certainly preferable to your rather cramped room at the inn, and if nothing else, you could spend your days wandering the moors instead of your one-room apartment.

“I accept,”.

“Accept what?”

You spun in your seat to face the Duke. He rolled his overcoat off his shoulders and took a seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you.

“We have a new houseguest, Wolffe,” Sinker grinned.

Wolffe glanced incredulously at Boost, as if to check whether or not he had heard his brother correctly. Boost shrugged as Wolffe settled into his seat at the head of the table.

“She’s gonna stay in one of the spare rooms so she can keep an eye out for you—maybe you can get some real sleep for once,” Boost said with a grin.

Wolffe nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he turned to address the housekeeper, who stood patiently in the doorway. “Mrs. Nu, would you mind preparing a room for our guest?”

The woman nodded swiftly before exiting the room with a twirl of her skirt, leaving you alone with the Duke and his two brothers.

“So you’re an assassin, right? Does that mean you always carry a weapon—”

The Duke cleared his throat rather loudly, interrupting Sinker’s stream of questions.

“Was your stay in town pleasant, my lady?”

You nodded.

“Very much so, your grace. I’d like to thank you for your invitation to dinner this evening, as well,”.

A sommelier materialized from behind you, filling your glass half-full with a dark red liquid.

“Mulberry wine,” Boost clarified. “The cook makes it himself in the summertime,”.

You uttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to the sommelier before taking a sip. It was sweet, the flavor of summer-ripened berries fresh and warm on your tongue. You set the glass back down on the sturdy oak table, taking a moment to admire its fine craftsmanship. Your eyes flicked back up to the Duke, whose gaze met yours as he raised his own glass to his lips. His accented voice cut the silence.

“Did you find time to visit the bookseller while in town? I’m told he has a new translation of The Odyssey in stock,”.

You shook your head.

“I’m afraid I didn’t. Are you quite partial to Homer’s works, sir?”

“I am, my lady,”.

You grinned.

“I myself prefer Virgil, but I cannot cast blame on your respect for the Blind Poet,”.

Wolffe hummed in approval as your eyes darted over to his brothers, who had been watching your exchange with increasing interest. Sinker cleared his throat.

“Are you fond of riding, my lady? I’m sure the Duke would be pleased to have you accompany him," Sinker paused, blinked, and in an instant turned as red as the Manor's garden roses. "--on his journey into town, that is. You could collect your belongings from the inn, as well,”.

Boost snorted as Wolffe choked on his drink. Your eyes widened as you absorbed what you hoped was an accidental innuendo. Your face rivaled Sinker’s in redness. Your mind reeled for a response, hoping to smooth over the embarrassment.

“I—I do have some experience on horseback. I’d like to visit the bookseller—if the Duke doesn’t mind the company, of course,”.

Your gaze traveled back to the Duke’s face.

“I’d be much delighted, my lady,”.

You smiled lightly. It was settled.

***

Your first night spent in Fett Manor was nothing if not memorable. After a rich dinner rife with conversation, you had been lead by Mrs. Nu to one of the most luxurious rooms you had seen in your life. A silk nightdress rested across the fine linen bedspread.

“I figured it would be more comfortable to sleep in than your corset, dearie,” Mrs. Nu had said.

Comfortable had been an understatement. You woke up late in the morning feeling more well-rested than you had been in years.

You tugged the down comforter up to your chin and extended your legs under the covers with a sigh. Light filtered in through the window, covering the room in a golden haze. You needed to get up.

You flipped back the covers with an exaggerated sigh, your bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. You scooped up your gown, which you had rested carefully on a rather stately chair in the corner of the room. Your fingers coasted over the hem of your nightdress—you made a mental note to thank Mrs. Nu for lending it to you.

Once you had redonned your significantly less comfortable gown, you opened the door to your room and strolled down the spiral staircase to the great room.

The house felt surprisingly empty—a glance at the clock told you it was later than you had previously thought. Still, unease prickled at your spine. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen—it was empty, save for a plate of scones that had been left out from breakfast. You took one in your hand, biting into it as you continued your search.

A clang from outside the manor caught your attention. You hastily made your way to the side door, flinging it open with one hand as your other curled around the dagger in your dress. Your scone fell to the floor, forgotten.

Your lips parted in astonishment. The door had opened to reveal the Duke, with an elaborate silver spear in hand. His broad chest rose up and down as he spun the weapon with surprising speed and grace for a man of his size. Your eyes traced the strong lines of his arms, following all the way down to where his hands wrapped tightly around the spear. You drew in a sharp breath.

The Duke turned abruptly, lowering the weapon as recognition crossed his features.

“I apologize for the interruption, your grace,” you stuttered out, sheathing your dagger back into your skirt.

“It’s alright, my lady,” Wolffe assured. He rested the spear against the garden wall. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,”. Your eyes danced back over to the spear. “An unconventional choice of weapon,” you noted.

The Duke’s eyes followed your gaze over to the spear before locking back on your face.

“I am a man of unconventional tastes,” he replied.

You nodded politely. He intrigued you––his skill with a weapon was undeniable. You had assumed you’d be able to hold your own against him in a fight before, but his use of the spear certainly changed the game. You made up your mind to review defensive tactics against spears once you returned from the bookseller. Wolffe posed no iminent danger to you, but he did present himself as a rather attractive sparring partner. You grinned slightly.

Wolffe turned back around to his spear, wiping off the point and grip with a silk cloth before making his way to the door. You followed, nearly tripping over a rosebush as your skirt caught on its thorns. His hand came to your shoulder instinctively. You inhaled sharply.

“I—I’ll have the stable boy ready the horses,” he murmured. He left your side in a swirl of disturbed air, the slam of the door to his study cutting through the morning silence. You huffed. You supposed his abruptness was typical for his demeanor and not a reaction to some perceived slight against him. At least you’d have time to eat.

You plucked another scone from the kitchen counter. You strolled over to the window near the wash basin, looking out the window to examine the property. Just behind the glass lay the garden where the Duke had practiced his spear-wielding. Further on, you saw a well-manicured lawn, and even further––at the base of the hill––trees sprung up at the lawn’s border. The forest stretched as far as you could see, though in between the thick evergreen branches you were certain you spied a glimpse of running water. That must have been the brook the barkeep had talked about.

Satisfied with your cursory examination of the terrain, you turned back around to face the kitchen, leaning comfortably against the countertop. To your left was an array of fine china, and to your right sat a full shelf of exotic spices. You meandered over to the spice rack, selecting a small jar of saffron and allowing the weight of the glass to roll across your palm. That small jar was worth as much as three weeks of your income. Despite the luxury he lived in, you knew the Duke was far from selfish. After the charity gala, you had examined the donor breakdown. Wolffe had contributed enough to singlehandedly sustain the orphanage for at least a year. Your brows furrowed. Typically, you were quick to figure out these old-money types, but the Duke seemed to be a conundrum. He was quiet, but made use of the words he spoke. Intelligent, with a military background—you suspected that was how he obtained his scar. He was wealthy, but if he didn’t give so much to charity, he’d surely be one of the richest men in Coruscant—aside from the king, of course. As you returned the saffron to the spice rack, your fingers caught on a small leather-bound notebook. You pried it out from between the thyme and oregano, flipping back the cover to reveal pages of recipes in neat, structured print. You noticed Wolffe’s name under one of the more recent ones. You chucked to yourself—he seemed to be full of surprises.

Another glance out the window revealed two horses––one black and one white––stationed just outside the garden walls. You darted out of the kitchen to the front door, almost startled when the Duke emerged silently from his study to walk at your side.

“Do you ride side-saddle, my lady?”

“I do,” you offered, curtsying slightly as he opened the heavy oak door and motioned for you to exit.

The white horse had already been fitted with an elaborate leather saddle, nicer than anything you had ridden on in your life. Hell, you rode bareback most of the time. You turned to Wolffe, whose lips curved into the beginnings of a grin. You smiled in return.

“Can I—” you motioned to the horse.

“Be my guest,” he replied.

***

Taglist: @peacefulwizardfox @nelba @marvel-starwars-nerd @a-lil-perspective

#commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #clone trooper boost #clone trooper sinker #clone trooper x reader

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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years ago

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neglect (five x reader)

requested by : @stitched-mouth - Hi! I'm not sure if requests are open but if they are, can I request a slight angst fic for Five X Reader? They've been married a while but the reader accidentally admits that she doesn't feel much love from Five, and he needs to reassure her? Maybe being caught up in trying to stop the apocalypse from happening and looking for his siblings made Five unknowingly neglect his wife 👀? Could it even be a little bit of a jealous reader 👀? Thank you!

a/n : ty for the request love!! hope u enjoy<333

Your sullen eyes watched the pouring rain through the misty windows as your siblings mumbled between each other. All their words seemed to turn to white noise in your ears and as you looked through the glass pane, the water droplets on the outside mirrored those falling down your face, racing to land on the fabric of your clothes.

Klaus watched you from the other side of the room, a drink in one of his hands. He sighed, not bothering to listen to your siblings and instead coming to sit beside you, resting his head on your shoulder, earning a small smile from your lips.

“Hey, sis. You okay?” His voice was quiet, which you appreciated. You didn’t want anyone else to know that you had been crying, there were more important things to be worrying about right now, like the apocalypse.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Turning your head slightly to smile at him, he ruffled the top of your hair before subtly swiping away the tear stains down your cheeks.

“All this talk about the end of all times really gets ya down, huh?” You chuckled at his words, glancing over to the rest of your siblings for a moment before turning away.

“Yeah, something like that.” Klaus frowned when you spoke, noticing the longing in your eyes when you looked over at Five.

“Ah, trouble in paradise?”

“Not exactly. Five hasn’t exactly been the most talkative since we got back, unless it involves the apocalypse. I guess I just wish he made some time for me, even a few minutes. It sounds ridiculous, I know.”

“No, no, not at all. I get it, totally.” Klaus took a large gulp from his glass after he reassured you, deeply sighing afterwards. “Can’t imagine that him ignoring you makes you feel the greatest.”

“No, not ignoring me, just… He has other priorities right now and for good reason. I just wish he could, you know, balance his time a little better.”

“Y/N, you’re his wife. You should be his top priority.”

“I guess I am, in the long run. He’s so focused on the apocalypse because he wants to save me. He wants to save all of us.”

“Can you guys stop the mindless chit-chat and actually help us with this?” You and Klaus whipped your heads around to find the rest of your siblings staring at you, and Five looked particularly angry. Muttering a sorry, you joined the others, standing beside Diego and he gently clapped your shoulder a couple of times in comfort and you smiled slightly, zoning out again while the conversation continued. You watched the window from across the room now, the droplets turning blurry as your eyes puddled with tears once more. Once you noticed, you quickly blinked them away, looking down at your feet to avoid eye contact with anyone.

After a while, everyone seemed to disperse from the living room, and you trudged your feet up the stairs behind Five, moving up to join him in his bedroom. Taking a seat on his bed, listening to him as he thought out loud. The sound of his voice proving what you had said earlier to Klaus made you all the more upset and eventually, you fell into a fit of tears, sobbing greatly as you sat cross-legged on his bed. Five frowned, moving over to sit beside you, taking your hand in his gently. He let you cry, placing your hand on his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. It had been something that you had always done for comfort. It allowed you to take control back over you breathing, and you did just that, taking steady breaths, letting out a few sobs and sniffles before he finally looked at you, opening his mouth to speak.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Just feeling down is all.”

“Do you want to go to Griddy’s?” He smiled when you gave him a nod, intertwining your fingers with his until you got to the door of the doughnut shop, unlinking his hand from yours as he opened the door for you. You waited for Five to catch up with you, walking to the counter. You were about to take your seat beside him when a pretty girl took it before you could, scooting her stool closer to him.

“Um, excuse me, miss, I—“

“So, do you come here often?” The girl batted her long eyelashes at your husband, resting her hand on her hand as she puckered up her lips slightly. Your face fell, watching as she tried so desperately to spark Five’s interest, but he continued as usual until she ordered a black coffee. His eyes flickered over to her and he cleared his throat, sipping his own before speaking.

“Uh, no. Not really. Oh, and good choice, by the way.” The two continued to talk in front of you and you sighed, moving towards the door and leaving, making your way back to the academy. When the bell tingled, Five turned, watching you through the window. He finished his coffee before hastily walking back to the academy. When he arrived, he shot straight up the stairs and into your bedroom, where he found you, snuggled up in your bed, hiding under the blanket. Your heart felt perfectly shattered, as if it was just fragments in your chest. But the complete heartache remained, tiring your whole body with the sensation.

“What the hell was that for?”

“What?”

“Leaving me there alone. I thought we were gonna have a good time, but apparently not. Y’know, it would’ve been nice to have a good time and get away from everything just for a few minutes, but I guess not.” He gesticulated while he spoke and you frowned, pulling the blanket off of yourself and pushing yourself up with your elbow, frowning at him.

“I would’ve liked it too. That’s what I was hoping for. You don’t understand how desperate I am to spend some time with you. Even two minutes I’d be happy with. I didn’t expect us to turn up at Griddy’s and have some girl deliberately sit where I was going to just so that she could talk to you.”

“So, what? You’re jealous, is that it?”

“I—“

“You have nothing to be jealous of.”

“I know that—“

“I hardly even spoke to her.”

“You spoke to her more than me.” Tears welled in your eyes and Five’s demeanor seemed to soften at the sight. “Like I said, I just want to spend some time with you.”

“We’re spending time together now.”

“I don’t mean like this. I don’t mean when we’re sat together while you’re focusing on equations and I sit and watch the weather change out of your window. I don’t mean when we’re focusing on the apocalypse. It’s all we do, Five. I know it’s important, of course I do. I just want to spend some time with the person that I married.” Your chest heaved up and down and you sighed, in floods of tears again. “It feels like you have no time for me anymore. Like we’re drifting and eventually… we’re gonna be strangers.” Five lunged towards you, pulling your chest against his as he wrapped his arms around you, sighing shakily. Weakly, you snaked your arms around his torso, gripping onto him for dear life. He stroked your hair gently and your breaths matched his whilst your heart rate returned to normal. Slowly, he pulled away, taking both of your cheeks into his hands and drilling his eyes into yours.

“Y/N, I married you for a reason. I love you, and I will only ever love you. I’m sorry I’ve been so tied up in the apocalypse recently, I just… I want to stop it. I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of billions of people when I could’ve stopped it. The point is, I’m sorry. And I love you so much. More than anything. I suppose I have been working a little too hard, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a break every now and again.”

“Five, you don’t have to. I know how important this is to you, and I want to help, and—“

“Y/N, I want to. I want you to know that I love you and I always will love you.”

“I love you.” You desperately pressed your lips against his, pouring your emotions into the kiss. Your lips danced fiercely with each other, moving together in such wildness and yet at the same time, it was all so flawlessly innocent. He leaned his forehead against yours, releasing his lips from yours, trying to catch his breath. You were breathless for a second before you stood and took his hands, pulling him up beside you.

“C’mon, Five. Let’s go save the world.”

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laurensprentiss · 4 years ago

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 4:

Gif credit @84hotpockets

Warnings: More mentions of stalking, mutual pining, some *close quarter tension*, little angst.

Word Count: 2,865

------

“Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed. ” - Leo Tolstoy

------

Your breaths come sharp and short, sweat dripping from your forehead as you bounce on the balls of your feet slightly, lungs burning as you throw punches at the boxing pads that Agent Hotchner holds out in front of you. You throw your weight into every punch, hitting out the aggression and anger at the unknown shadowy figure your mind had conjured up. The person who was trying to take your life away. The gym smells like old rubber and sweat as Hotch calls out combination numbers over the flat snapping sound of your gloves hitting the pads. His head is down and his eyes are laser focused on you, following your every move. You throw a punch on his left hand as his right comes up and taps you on your face. You groan in frustration.

“Come on, we’ve been through this!” He repeats. “Don’t get too into your head. Block.” He brings his own hand up to demonstrate, his thick arms flexing under his t-shirt. “When you’re throwing your jabs, make sure your other hand’s by your face, nice and high, okay?” He places his hand about level with his cheek as he shifts his feet, throwing jabs at the air. You can’t even pretend anymore, watching him punch and flex makes your breath hitch and your thighs squeeze . God, you felt so naive. Stupid even. The situation is quite literally life or death and he’s teaching you to defend yourself against your stalker and instead of focusing, you’re imagining how strong he really is.

“Got it?” He snaps you out of your stupor. You nod. “Okay, try again. Remember, the key is to block.” You nod again, and meet his pads faster and more accurately this time, blocking his attempts to get at your face. He laughs approvingly, a grin on his face. “Alright, that’s more like it! Good girl.” Your heart rate increases at that, warmth pooling, the words of praise coming from his mouth unleashing butterflies in your stomach.

Good girl?

The momentary lapse in concentration has his pad make contact with your face as you grunt. He shoots you a bewildered and slightly disappointed look. “Okay, tell me what went wrong there, because you were doing good.” He demands. You can feel heat rising up your neck and chest while you try to play it off. Authoritative Agent Hotchner is an Agent Hotchner you hadn’t had the pleasure of witnessing until today, and you think that maybe you’d want him to stick around a little longer. Maybe even push his buttons to see how far you could take it. Maybe hear him shout orders at you and lavish you with praise.

He whistles. “Hey. Over here.” He claps the pads together as he narrows his eyes at you, shaking his head. You blink at him as he undoes the straps on the bottom and throws them aside, striding over to you. His shorts ride up just slightly, exposing his flexing quads as he stalks towards you.

Oh, he’s solid.

He corners you against the ropes of the ring as he asks you again, his eyes burning into yours. “What. do you. think. went. wrong?” You blink up at him, words not coming easy now that you felt so exposed. He swallows thickly, exhaling hard through his nose. He turns to stand in the middle of the ring.

“C’mere.” He beckons you forward with his fingers.

Okay.

You stomp your leg slightly, rolling your eyes. “Why? I wanna be done now, what, we haven’t done enough?” His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. He takes another harsh breath through his nose to steady himself, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your rising chest in your sports bra.

“I’m not going to ask you again. Come here.”

That’ll do it.

“Yes, sir.” You concede sarcastically. You kiss your teeth and sigh, making your way over to him, watching as you swear he blushes slightly. He adjusts the waistband on his shorts as you come close.

Oh.

He clears his throat. “Remember the hand to hand stuff we went through? Again.” He throws a couple of jabs towards you, travelling in a loose circle and you block them with your forearm just as quickly as they come.

He makes a point to get you comfortable, until he throws a hook which you swat downwards and try to twist his arm. You try to throw a hook of your own but you’re too slow. He ducks and wraps his arm around your waist, his other hand catching your fist and crossing it across your chest, allowing your weight to fall back on him as he carries you backwards a couple of steps.

You curse in frustration, wincing slightly as you feel a stitch coming. His breath is soft on your neck, cooling against the sweat. You’re hyper aware of his bare arm around your exposed stomach, the other holding your arm across your chest. The length of his body presses snugly against you as your breathing falls into a rhythm, his thumb rubbing small circles on your stomach.

“Hotchner!” You jump as the voice shouts from the hallway. You separate quickly, stretching out your neck as footsteps approach, McCall emerging from the dimly lit hallway. He’s in his work clothes and he looks agitated, his eyebrows pulled tight into a frown, mindless repetitive glances at his watch. “There you are.” He breathes out. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. A word?”

Hotch takes a cursory look back at you as you try to busy yourself with stretches, anything to not make eye contact. He steps out of the ring from under the ropes and while your ears are keenly trained on their conversation, you can’t quite make out anything they say, their voices hushed and intense. You figure you’re probably done for the day anyway and make a start on removing your gloves and tape.

You squeeze yourself past Agents Hotchner and McCall to get to the showers, offering a tight smile as you do, feet fast on the worn Lino floor. You step into the changing rooms but leave the door open just enough to eavesdrop. You curse yourself mentally for developing such a horrible habit, your grandmother’s voice in your head lecturing you on the evils of listening in to conversations which aren’t meant for you.

Still.

“What, and it mentioned me by name? How the-“ Hotch asks, his volume increasing.

Agent McCall shushes him.

“How the hell does he know my name? And how did it even get through? They didn’t see anything?” He hisses.

Your eyes widen. Another note? Your stomach starts to churn. Truth is, yes it had been your idea to move back and make yourself vulnerable, and yes you had felt independent and empowered when suggesting it. But the more time went on, the more you felt like a sitting duck, unable to escape the shadowy hands closing in around your neck.

Metro PD really needed to get better at talking quietly. You’d heard some officers outside your door a few days ago talking about how the FBI preliminary profile speculated that this guy was an obsessive, delusional stalker who’d likely kill himself, you and anybody else in his way, rather than let you go. Since then, those voices had played like echos throughout random points in the day, a sharp pang and your stomach would drop when you’d remember. The back of your neck would burn and you’d feel like your knees could give out.

How many people were you putting in danger because you didn’t want to compromise your freedom? Was your father right? Would they all be better off? Agent Hotchner had been on his list since the day you moved in, and now the psycho knew his name. You’d heard them, he’s never going to let you go, and now you’re a pawn, waiting to draw him out, unsure of whether they’ll even be able to stop him once he gets too close.

Your vision tunnels.

“He didn’t drop it off directly this time.” Agent McCall tells Hotch. “An Officer Mullbeck collected the mail from the mailroom to bring up but he didn’t do a sweep. I did when I arrived and found it lying inside a magazine.”

“So, what? He’s doing counter-surveillance now? Knows we’ve got guys posted outside?”

“Probably. I got a call that said they got a tiny bit of his face on camera, I’m on my way to the tech guy to figure out what they can get, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s good. Knows where the cameras are.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, your breathing shallow so as to not alert them that you’re listening in. Your heart races at the thought of this person, this animal just lurking in the shadows, nameless, faceless, ready to take you down with him.

McCall tells Hotch not to get too worked up and to just stick to routine while they work out a solid profile.

“Alright, but what do I tell her? She acts like she’s fine but I know she’s scared, anybody would be in this situation. Do I tell her about this note?” He asks. Your face softens a little at the concern in his voice, a small smile tugging at your mouth as you lean against the door.

Footsteps approach the changing room, you gently and quickly allow the weight of the door to fall almost all the way, allowing the last few centimetres to close slowly.

You hear a knock at the door. Hotch clears his voice as he shouts from the other end. “15 minutes! We gotta get to the gun range. I’ll wait out here.”

———

The air feels heavy in the Suburban, a lot on both of your minds but the unspoken words hang like smog in the SUV. He doesn’t know you heard him, but you did anyway - and the implications of what you heard - it would take some reconciling.

You glance at Hotch out of the corner of your eye, for the hundredth time since you got in the car, his right hand firm on the wheel, his left elbow perched on the window, index finger rubbing his lips. His frown is perpetual at this point, jaw tensing and relaxing. You can’t find the words.

“I can feel you looking at me.” He mutters matter-of-factly. “If you have something you wanna say, say it.” His eyes don’t leave the road. You feel heat rise in your face, embarrassed at your incredibly indiscreet attempt to gauge him. You come to a rolling stop in traffic as you turn slightly in the car seat.

His eyes are still trained on the road in front, an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact as there’s not much to look at other than the numerous lanes of standstill traffic. He extends his hand across the console and turns the heat up, hot air blowing your hair back.

“Well I-” You exhale sharply. Your brain feels foggy and jumbled as you try to the find the words to not make it seem like you’re insane for listening in to his conversation. You click your knuckles to try and centre yourself, a calming habit you’d had since childhood - unsurprisingly abhorrent to your grandmother.

You take a deep breath. “Well you haven’t said two words to me since we left the gym.” Not since Agent McCall came to see you. Plus, your jaw’s been tensing for about 20 minutes, you’ve been picking at your lips and you’re refusing to make eye contact.” You rush out, in a single breath, your voice an octave higher than usual. His eyes narrow, but he still won’t look at you, his arms moving from the steering wheel to the wing mirror, pretending to adjust it. He sniffs nonchalantly. “The real question is, what are you not telling me?” You continue.

You feel genuinely worked up now, realising that you’re giving him an out and if he doesn’t take it now, he’d be withholding key information about your case. You prod his bicep with your finger. “I’m talking to you.” You remark.

His jaw ticks. He finally puts the car in park, conceding to the idea that you’re going to be in traffic for a long while, and there’s nowhere and no way to escape. He still refuses to look at you, pretend squinting at the road ahead as he lets out a short laugh and you feel a strange pinch of guilt in your chest.

That’s not fair. It was his name on the new note, and you’d heard what he’d said back in the gym. He was worried about you. Not himself. You. “I thought I was supposed to be the profiler.” He finally mutters with a dry laugh.

He puts the car in drive as a green light shows, the car dead silent the rest of the way and through the parking lot as he pulls up. You don’t want to push it-

No. You deserve to hear it from him.

You bite the inside of your cheek again, the tension inside the car making it hard to breathe. “Hotch. Hey.” Your voice is soft. You duck your head to try and seek out his eyes. “Hey, c’mon, Hotch. Look at me. What is it?” You ask earnestly.

He shrugs it off. “It’s nothing.” He finally turns his head to glance at you, but you refuse to take your eyes off his. You stay like that a moment, fighting for him to just tell you.

He finally takes a deep breath and diverts his eyes. He swallows thickly before he clears his throat. “I-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, really. I just don’t want you to panic.” You nod for him to continue. “McCall told me another note came today. But it was addressed to me.” He gauges your expression before he continues. “But it’s okay, I promise. He said they got a shot of him in the mailroom, McCall’s on his way to HQ now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he’s getting sloppy, and he’s making mistakes. It means we’re close.” He explains.

“But what does that mean for you?” You whisper.

“It means that the plan is working. He’s getting jealous, thinks I’m gonna take you away, and the more riled up he gets, the more likely it is he’ll make a mistake.” He reassures you, his eyes burning into yours.

“Take me away?” You chuckle.

“He thinks we’re a uh-” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, averting his gaze. You notice he does that when he’s flustered, small smile tugging at his lips, his dimples peeking through his beard. “-Well, he thinks we’re together.” His voice drops an octave. He clears his throat as he continues. “The whole point of me being assigned to you was that it would be believable, that we would be able to pass as a couple.” He stutters over his words a little, and you can’t help but return his small grin. It’s endearing.

His own heart sinks a little at that thought, guilt creeping in. He can’t help but reach out and grab your hand, to make sure you know he’ll do everything in his power to get this guy. Wants to somehow, some way put a smile on your face, hear your laugh, take all your worries away. Hates it when your eyes well up and you swallow your tears. Hates even more, the fact that he feels like this, feels like he needs to control what he says and does around you, knowing that the thoughts he has are dangerously close to becoming the words he truly wants to say, right on the tip of his tongue. All while his high-school sweetheart probably sits at home wondering if he’ll even make it home, worried sick about his safety, hoping that he’s okay. Hates that he’s even conflicted, that it’s even a thought in his mind.

Yet his hand still finds yours, large and rough, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles, anything to be close to you. He continues, “But look, don’t worry about anything else other than narrowing down a list of suspects for us and we’ll take care of the rest, okay? I got you.”

Yeah. He does, he thinks.

Yeah. He does, you think.

You know It’s to catch this person, this monster, hellbent on ruining your life and you don’t doubt that Hotch would do everything in his power to make sure you were okay. You were his assignment. You know he’s ambitious. You know he wants to rise through the ranks. You know it’s his job but you can’t help but think, anyway. And your heart stupidly sinks every time.

What kind of couple do you two make when the guy gets to go home to his girlfriend every night and you’re left thinking about what could’ve been?

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#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch fluff #hotch smut #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds

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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Choices We Make

gif by @darksber

PART 3 OF MOMENTS IN-BETWEEN

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.6 AO3 link

Content: actual angst, fluff, bonding, found family, kid things, developing feelings for grogu, din is WORRIED

Summary: Soft moments between Din and Grogu that the audience does not get to see In-between episodes, scenes, and seasons.

A/N: ive never made myself cry from writing before now, also childcare experience come thru

***

Its small body drawing in on itself. The deep frown that marred its face. The trembles that wracked its body when it laid its eyes on the Stormtroopers. The cry of dismay when the doctor led the child away.

This is what repeats in Din’s mind. For hours on end he is tormented by these images, a painful cacophony of regret that plays on loop in his mind with no respite, no room to think, to breathe. He wants to run, to get away from this place, the stage that houses his sin.

The further, the better.

Din knows how to move on. He knows how to bury his emotions and focus on the future, because he knows innately that one cannot change the past once the consequences of choice are set in motion. The Way says no take-backs so it’s time to move on. That is why he chose the nobleman's son; high-reward and a long search is just what he needs to keep his mind off the child. Din will take every distraction necessary to forget the child.

If only he weren’t reminded of it at every turn. He sees it in the small lizards that swarm the volcanic rocks, the glossy obsidian that nearly captures the tone of its eyes, the switches in the cockpit, the ball lever it desperately tried to play with. Din is teetering on the precipice of a decision, one with an option that becomes clearer to him at every passing second. He can’t leave the kid. He would never be able to move on, not this time.

As he slowly screws the ball back onto its lever he realizes that he never had a choice in the first place.

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

He found it. He has the baby. He has the baby with him and he can finally breathe.

It- No, he seems unharmed after the ordeal he went through. Playful even. The doctor claimed to have kept him alive through whatever tests they ran on the kid and it seems he has recovered swiftly. He sits in Dins lap, chewing on the metal ball and occasionally banging it on the edge of the Crests console, giggling at the ringing sound it makes. Din winces at a particularly loud bang the baby manages to produce, the sound resonating in his helmet painfully. His ears still ring from the battle on Nevarro.

For half a second Din considers deafening himself with his helmet settings but he swiftly buries the thought. He just rescued the kid, risked his life for him, and now he considers ignoring him? It isn’t right. He will just deal with the sound for now.

With the ship moving safely through hyperspace, Din allows himself to relax just slightly. Spinning the pilot seat to face the back of the cockpit, he stands with the child, the little green boy squeaking and laughing at the sudden movement. Din holds the child out in front of him, level with his helmet visor and just… looks at him. The kid is chewing on his metal ball gleefully, only letting it leave his mouth for a second to grin toothily at the Mandalorian. And although the ability to hide his emotions has always been highly valuable for the Mandalorian, this time around Din isn’t sure he’s glad that the helmet hides his smile.

Maybe the kid would benefit from staying around people who can show their expressions, to give out cues and micromovements for the baby to learn from. Is he denying the child a proper life just by way of his code? Din starts wracking his brain for ways to stimulate the child's senses, to provide the proper amount of diversity in his day to day life so he doesn’t end up underdeveloped. There isn’t much on the Crest currently. He could bring the kid down to the hull and explore his options.

Din recalls that, as a foundling, his people would expose him to different environments both in and out of armor so that he would know what to expect on his journey with the Creed. To see for himself just how well their armor can protect the warriors from merciless sandstorms on desert planets all the way to biting winds in frozen wastelands. It was also a way for the foundlings to say goodbye to these senses. To bid farewell to the normalcy that others take for granted. Din hasn’t felt the kiss of sunshine for decades.

Suddenly, an idea pops in his head.

“Hey... Hey, kid.” He clears his throat, voice cracking from disuse. He can’t recall the last time he actually spoke on his ship, except to tell off quarries. The foreign sound of conversation bounces off the metal walls with a dissonant echo, as if the Crest itself doesn’t know what to make of it. The baby coos and looks at him, openmouthed and curious. Din still doesn’t know if he can understand Basic, or any language for that matter, but he remembers learning that babies benefit from conversation even before they can speak.

Hearing is one of the few senses that Din has the privilege of experiencing. He won’t deny the child of it.

“I have an idea for you, kid. Hold on tight.” The Mandalorian makes his way to the cockpit ladder, cradling the kid under one elbow so that he doesn’t get jostled too much in the descent. The child lets out another giggle as Din slides down the ladder, the bounty hunter landing lightly on his feet with a huff. Din sets the baby gently on the floor before crossing the length of the hull to robotically dig around in his storage, tossing useless pieces behind him before he remembers the kid is there. Flinching in alarm at his mindless action, he turns and looks for the baby hoping that he didn’t accidentally hit him with anything. The kid is just sitting where he left him, drooling on his favorite ball.

Shaking off the uncharacteristic panic, Din turns and continues his search, quickly finding what he was looking for now that the rest of the junk is out of the way. He holds the bulky object gingerly in his arms, making his way over to the kid and placing it carefully on the ground in front of him.

It’s a lightbox of sorts. A square shape with several settings to control the heat output, brightness, and hue of light. Something that Din uses to warm his skin when free of armor, in order to soak in the necessary vitamins that he is unable to absorb naturally outside the ship. As of now, the kid is transfixed on the object but Din can tell the box wont hold his interest for long, not while he still has access to his ball. Reaching over quickly before he can get distracted, Din messes with a few settings on the box and turns it on. A soft, golden light fills the room and the sound of birdcalls flutter up from the object. Din has never used the sound settings before, finding them frivolous, but he switched it on for the first time so that the baby could hear.

“That's a Naboo sunset. I set it to a summer's evening.” He tells the kid softly.

The baby’s large eyes are focused on the light, looking down at himself to see the way it bounces on his green skin. His metal ball falls to the floor with a clang but the baby doesn’t even react, instead twirling his ears and cooing at the noises the box produces.

Din sits on the floor of his ship and watches the kid. He’s fascinated, trying to take in every detail of the moment, savoring in the way the artificial light reflects in the child's eyes, filling his pupils with a radiant glow. If Din focuses only on the baby he can imagine that there is actually a picturesque Naboo landscape behind him. The kid reacts with the level of enthusiasm he imagines it would show while visiting the actual planet. After a while the kid seems to grow more energetic, attempting to catch patches of artificial sunshine as they bounce around the hull. The little womp-rat even places his hands on the lightbox and starts to violently shake it back and forth like he's trying to break into the virtual world that the box is creating. The image is so ridiculous that Din actually laughs at this, a full, rich sound that bursts from his chest in an almost hysterical explosion of energy.

Even with all the fear Din holds, all the anxiety from being on the run, his loss of income, the loss of his tribe... Din feels that there is a place inside him that is mending. A hole he never knew existed has begun to stitch together within him, every giggle the child produces is another thread that sews the edges in place. Wherever he goes with this kid... he just hopes he can feel like this more often, no matter where they end up.

It’s fulfillment, he realizes, finally finding the word for this emotion, showing him happiness… It brings me fulfillment.

The pair sit on the floor for hours, switching through different settings to discover all they can in the limited time they have before they must run. If the choices Din made throughout his life have all built up to this moment, weaving this small picture of the hunter and child… Then Din wouldn’t change a single decision.

#the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu #found family #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #fluff fic #fluff #family fluff #din djarin #pedro pascal #bonding #star wars #mandalorian fanfic

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kbstories · 5 years ago

Text

Signification

sig·ni·fi·ca·tion (n.)

The process of assigning meaning to something.

Captain and First Mate, two years later.

(Or: Zoro adores his captain. A lot.)

Tags: Reunions, Nakamaship, Introspection, Fluff, Domesticity (!)

Post-Timeskip setting, between Sabaody and Fishman Island. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

Surrounded by tumultuous battle and the distant booming of cannons, the Thousand Sunny begins to sink. The waves churn and slosh against her hull with increasing might; glinting foam breaks across the sky in half-formed arcs and yet not a single drop touches the grass below.

The crew watches, wonder shining in their eyes. Roronoa Zoro counts, sharp gaze touching upon every familiar face, every smile that glows with shared relief, then starts over.

Nine. Nine, again.

Finally complete, the Strawhats are swallowed by the sea.

In a heartbeat, the breathless moment dissolves into the usual chaos as Nami commands their gradual descent: Usopp and Chopper screech in unison about this sea king and that monster over Franky’s good-natured reassurances at the helm and the melodic humming coming from Brook; blooming and wilting like flowers, Robin’s elegant hands crop up all over the deck where Sanji and Zoro are wrangling the sails against the ocean’s massive current–

The Sunny moves like a living thing underneath them and through it all, Luffy laughs and laughs like he couldn’t get himself to stop even if he tried.

Having his friends back is a delight in and of itself but it’s that sound that does it. Zoro can feel the rough edges of the past months knit themselves together into something nostalgic, something fond, a type of gooey-warm devotion that became second nature somewhere along the line.

Like muscle memory, dormant for a while and never forgotten. It’s good to be home.

And yeah, he’s the first to admit soft things don’t come easy to him. There is a private smile on his lips, though, one he doesn’t care to hide. There’s no reason to, not here. Above them, a school of fish swims by, silhouetted by the sun like silver-coated birds and–

“Woah, it’s huge! Is that a shark?”

–the smile turns into a grin. Zoro’s eye meets those of his captain and, before Monkey D. Luffy can utter the idea brewing in that rubber brain of his, Shusui glides out of its sheath smoothly. Luffy cackles and together they stand, with their crew behind and the vast ocean ahead.

“You ready, Zoro?”

Those three little words settle in the spaces between skin and muscle and bone and – after two long years of worrying, wishing, waiting – Zoro nods and gladly takes his place beside the man who will be Pirate King.

The reunion party takes days to run its course until, on the third night, even the most energetic among the Strawhats are turning to their spot on Sunny’s deck for a cozy evening. A bonfire burns brightly in their midst and, under Sanji’s watchful eye, all kinds of sausages and vegetables sizzle away on a makeshift grill. Curiously, the smoke it produces leaves the resin coating of the ship in small, harmless bubbles – arms crossed and leaning back against the railing, Zoro follows their path until they disappear into depths unknown like sticky shooting stars.

A bit of imagination and even this cobalt sky can yield a few constellations, though it would take a creative mind like Usopp’s to name them all. Their presence is soothing, regardless.

No need to look so glum, Mihawk had said, that first night an eternity ago, after awkwardly hovering in Zoro’s periphery for far too long.

It had been a clumsy attempt at comfort at best. There was blood on the cuffs of his shirt and the soot of cannon fire still clung to his coat; made vague by the darkness, it was nonetheless the kind of tangible proof that all those headlines in the paper lacked. Somewhere out there, the ruins of Marineford smoldered. Somewhere out there, his captain was hurting.

Zoro had just huffed and stared out into the void. There was nothing to say, nothing at all.

There had been a quiet sigh, and steps echoing in the silence. Arms crossed, Mihawk had stared until Zoro couldn’t but stare back, quietly surprised by the intensity of emotion burning where nobody dared to look for it.

Don’t grieve what you haven’t lost, kid. You’re all under the same sky, after all.

Still, Zoro muses, eye slipping shut and shoulders relaxing against the Sunny’s comfortable embrace. Around him, the ever-present chatter of the crew dulls to a low rush. This is better.

The transition between sleep and consciousness is so gradual that Zoro doesn’t bother to track down the moment he dozes off. Eventually, there is a subtle shift around him, like gravity itself bends and realigns towards a greater force – a silent force, and that is what makes Zoro glance up between sleepy blinks.

There Luffy stands, hand on his hat and his hat on his chest and a woven-straw brim barely covering the crater of a scar below it. The fire casts shadows on Luffy’s face (Is it doubt flickering there? Indecisiveness?) and yet they’re fleeting enough to make Zoro question what he sees, fractured as his vision has become.

Then Luffy notices he’s awake and it’s all gone with a smile. “Napping already?”, he chuckles as he hops on the railing next to him. Zoro shrugs and stretches with a satisfied grunt.

“We getting close?”

“Nope, not yet.” Luffy snickers as Zoro slumps right back to where he was, his back snug against warmed wood. Sandals flip-flop along with the carefree swinging of Luffy's feet. “It’s okay, though. More chances to listen to Usopp’s stories! He met the Hercules, can you imagine?”

“Hardly”, Zoro grumbles indistinctly enough to not disturb the starry-eyed marvel on Luffy’s face. “Did he tell the one about the man-eating plant turned island yet?”

“The what?!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at how wide Luffy’s eyes can get: Zoro snorts and gestures towards the shape of Usopp on the other side of deck, a silent have at him that Luffy almost follows.

Almost. Cheers and laughter carry over from Usopp’s loosely assembled audience, and Chopper’s astounded What, really?! proves the story being told is a good one. Even so, the motion to launch himself into an unsuspecting Usopp is stopped mid-way and Luffy bounces back to the railing.

Huh.

At Zoro’s questioning grunt, the man just shakes his head and lowers his hat to his lap. “Ah, y’know. We have time now, right?”, he says with a thread of serenity woven into his voice – one that wasn’t there, last time they spoke, and the realization that Luffy is pacing himself shouldn’t feel this monumental.

Zoro lets his gaze linger, this time: over the subtle lines around Luffy’s eyes and the hint of exhaustion underneath; over all the little scars dusting his knuckles, old and new, and the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb over the ribbon of his hat, a mindless gesture of comfort that aches, somehow.

Threadbare it has become, this most faithful of companions. The red is long washed out by the sun and the sea and hell knows what else. Gratitude registers as a warm glow at Zoro’s core, for it being there when none of them could. For weathering the storms and the tears and the laughter, from the instant it left Shanks’ head to this very moment.

“It’s looking good”, Zoro comments lightly as he sits up and rubs the last traces of sleep from his eye. “Feels like ages ago that Nami had to stitch the hat back together. After… Buggy, was it? The clown guy.”

The expression on Luffy’s face goes a bit funny at that, half-way to a grimace yet too fond to be one. “Hah, yeah, him. I’ll have to thank him next time we see him, him and Jinbei and the others.”

Zoro blinks. That… makes no sense at all. Then again, Mihawk did grumble about the clown becoming a warlord, so weirder things have happened. “Who’s Jinbei?”

Luffy smiles, then, bright and toothy. “A friend! Don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon. He’s all serious and talks about honor a lot, so.”

So you’ll like him, Zoro fills in for him and huffs to himself. That part of himself that is fiercely independent wants to argue the point – then again, Luffy’s instincts are rarely off the mark.

Another thing to look forward to, then. Hopefully this Jinbei guy likes to drink.

“Say, Zoro?”

In a bundle of rubbery limbs and rustling fabric, Luffy joins him on the grassy deck, legs crossed and hat back where it belongs. His head tilts curiously, the steady weight of his full attention one Zoro shoulders with ease. “Where did you go?”

Ah, that. It’s a question he’s heard a few times this week, along with How in the world were you first? and What the hell happened to your eye? and Zoro has no room to complain. He, too, keeps a list of names in his heart, and the question marks around their fates are a subtle discomfort but very much there.

It’s weird to think of adventure as something they can experience even when forced apart.

And so Zoro tells him, about the castle standing proud among ruins and the ship that wrecked before it even touched the sea and the day he bowed to become stronger. He doesn’t mention the tense days spent in-between, reading the newspaper near-obsessively for even a scrap of new information. That black-and-white image of his captain standing alone on a battlefield is fresh in his memory, and will remain there for eternity. “Took me a while to get what you were trying to say”, he admonishes without heat, and Luffy nods sagely.

“I know, right? So complicated… Without Rayleigh I would’ve mixed everything up.”

That confirms that theory, then. A whole library of those exists in Zoro’s mind, years’ worth of theories and questions gone unanswered and wild speculation and it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Not with Luffy sitting next to him, looking more at peace than Zoro expected, deep down.

“You did well, Luffy.”

The words are out before he really thinks them through. It feels right, though, to see surprise dawn on Luffy’s face; the pride Zoro places in his voice soon takes root in the square set of Luffy’s shoulders, too, and the strong line of his back.

Then, he grins, eyes alight and squinting with it. Like this, the signs of weariness melt off entirely and there Luffy is, a little older, a little more mature and scarred to hell but still the happy-go-lucky idiot Zoro chose to follow two years ago.

“We really made it, huh, Zoro? It felt like forever and I was wondering if I’m just dreaming or something but… We’re finally here.”

Zoro sighs and reaches over and pulls the hat down, the brim briefly covering the amused chuckle on Luffy’s lips before it’s righted again. “’course it’s real, captain. You think we’d all bust our asses to be on time for some dream? Seriously.”

Luffy is still laughing, “I mean, you were early! Everyone was so surprised!”, poking him in the cheek and wiggling his feet in delight. Zoro lets him have it for a second longer than he normally would have before he rolls his eye and gets up.

“C’mon, rubber-for-brains, there’s some sake I brought that’s calling my name. Oi, Usopp! What was that thing with the plant island again?”

And with the sound of stretching rubber and a not-so-distant crash, Luffy is gone and Usopp yells.

>>Read Chapter 2

#one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #zolu #one piece fanfiction #i love..... zoro so much.....#my stuff #this fic is also on AO3!#(lets hope the readmore works this time huff huff)

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creativeskullcreations · 4 years ago

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Outside chapter 15: Can We Fix It? Maybe!

And thus ends this arc, where we also see what caused the problem. Next thing I write will most likely be for Happy Times, so keep an eye on that if you're interested.

Don't stop taking your medicine even if you do feel better, unless your doctor orders it.

Scout opened her eyes slowly, feeling groggy and with her head hurting like a bitch. She was in a very clean, white room she had never seen before, and, somehow, felt very full in a very weird way.

"Hey." She looked down, slowly, at the source of the noise, and saw Stacy lying there staring at her. The Host gave a small smile, and instantly Scout felt a little bit better. "You should go back to sleep. We have stuff to do tomorrow, and you'll need the energy."

"Oh, okay." Stacy watched the Puppet close her eyes, and within seconds the heartbeat against her arm fall back into a steady beat. She let her head hit the table with a quiet groan.

"Will, she did it again." She moaned, and Mason, who was sitting next to her, patted her head and moved a glass of water with a straw in it closer to her. She accepted it, taking a long drink.

"We're almost done here, don't worry."Will told her from where he and Lisa were by Scout's head, working quickly. The head itself was split open, fabric peeled back carefully to expose the felt brain, and wiring surrounding it. He sighed as he tried to figure out what was broken and how, but as the whole thing was confusing to him. There was no rhyme or reason to how the flashlight was supposed to work, when it should be a simple smack-to-turn on kind of thing. He couldn't even see a battery pack anywhere, instead concluding it must be on the other side of the brain. He sighed, finally giving up.

"There's no fixing this." He told Stacy, who looked crestfallen. "The wires seem to run through her brain, and there's no sign of a power source anywhere. I think we need to close her up, and call it good." He sighed, pulling off his gloves and moving back while Lisa stepped in to stitch the Puppet up.

"But the flashlight-"

"Is broken beyond repair, Stacy. Which means, at least, if she gets wet again that shouldn't happen anymore." He sighed, relieved despite himself. His girlfriend's sudden seizure in the car had been terrifying, finding Scout's lifeless body surprisingly more so. But while Stacy had woken up, seemingly no worse for wear, Scout... hadn't. So they'd called Lisa, who'd brought Mason, and had attempted emergency surgery. Which, he supposed, went rather well all things considered.

At the very least, she'd woken up about five times, seemingly coherent each time, which Will took as a good sign. That, and Stacy could feel the Puppets heart beat while her hand was.... inside her and good Lord wasn't that just creepy? And Stacy said it had felt wrong, using her right arm instead of the left. But she'd kept it there anyways, hoping the more intimate physical contact would help keep the Puppet stable.

And it seemed to work, too. Broken flashlight or no, Scout had lived and that was what was important here, at least to Will. He didn't want to know what would happen to Stacy if she died. With a sigh, he washed his hands and watched as Lisa finished stitching up the surgical wound on her head.

Once that was done, and Lisa had styled Scout's hair in a way that completely hid the scar, Stacy finally felt like the Puppet was stable enough for her to remove her hand. And, luckily, she was right. There was no change except for Scout looking a little more deflated. The Host covered her with a small blanket sitting nearby, and settled in to wait.

It was a long wait, made even longer due to the fact they were sitting in Will's creepy basement lab. Granted they were in the cleaner part of it, without the haunted dolls in cages, or half-torn apart monsters, but it still made Stacy nervous. It reminded her of the Studio, and she hated that. No part of her home should remind her of that awful place. She only hoped Scout didn't make the connection when she woke up.

Speaking of, it looked like the Puppet was already starting to stir. Unable to help herself, Stacy reached out to stroke her hair, careful to avoid the new scar.

"Ugh..." The Puppet groaned. She turned, spotting Stacy quickly. "What happened?" She asked, sounding groggy. Her eyes were still half closed, and she looked as though she might pass out again at any minute.

"Uh." Oh, Stacy hadn't planned for this. "What do you remember?" That sounded safe enough, and then she could figure it out from there.

"Not a lot." Scout admitted, not getting a chance to look around before Stacy scooped her up, blanket and all. She settled into the crook of her arm easy, though now the Host felt a little unsteady with her only arm taken up.

"... That's okay. Maybe you'll remember more later." She suggested, making her way up the stairs. She sat on the couch, letting Scout lay across her lap as she turned on Netflix. She selected something mindless, and kept the sound turned down. They watched for a while, before Scout craned her neck to look up at her Host.

"Why don't I feel as bad as I did before?" She asked. Stacy didn't look down at her, feeling more than a little stupid.

"Well, you remember the medicine I take?" Scout nodded. "Well one of the pills I'm supposed to take is a antidepressant. Because I have depression. It means I get really.... sad, I guess? And that makes me want to... not be alive any more." She added when she saw the Puppet open her mouth. Scout frowned.

"And what does that have to do with why I felt bad?"

"Well..." Stacy swallowed thickly. "When we got out of the studio, I felt... better. Normal. So I stopped taking the medicine. And then, and this is just a theory, but I'm pretty sure you.... caught my depression. And suicidal tendencies." She coughed lightly, staring at the wall. She felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner, but she'd been much more concerned with whether Rosco could follow them home.

Scout stared at Stacy. "What."

"Yeah..." She drew out the word, trying to think of a better way to explain. "I think it's cause of that psychic link you mentioned?"

"You're suicidal?!" Scout exclaimed, and Stacy sighed.

'Of course that's what she hears.' She took a breath. "I mean, not anymore? I'm in therapy for it, and taking medicine. Supposed to be taking medicine." She corrected herself. "I, uh, I gotta tell the Doc I haven't been taking it."

"But you're going to kill yourself? Or have you already tried?!" She accused, and Stacy felt terrible once again. She hadn't wanted to make the Puppet worry, and was quick to try and reassure her.

"I mean, not since I was fifteen." She admitted. "That's what the therapy's for." Her eyes widened as she realized something. "And don't you dare think it's because of you! My issues started a long time ago!"

The Puppet flinched back, looking away, and Stacy felt bad again. "Look, Scout, this really isn't your fault. It's mine. I wasn't paying attention to what was going on, or I would have noticed what had happened." She sighed, rubbing her temple and feeling a headache coming on. "Thank God Will at least has some sense, or we might both be dead right now."

"Yeah..." Scout agreed. She rubbed the back of her head, but paused when she brushed the stitches. Her eyes widened, and the memory of getting splashed flashed briefly back into her mind. 'Oh shit.' She realized, glancing up at Stacy, who hadn't yet noticed her shift in attention. "Um...?!" 'She seems okay at least. Should I ask about it? Or just pretend like it never happened? What's the right answer here?'

Stacy glanced down, noticing the look on Scout's face and misinterpreting it. "Yeah. I mean, he did the best he could, but..." She let the sentence hang, and cleared her throat. "It... might not work anymore. Your flashlight, I mean."

"Oh..." The Puppet moved her hand, unsure if she should test it or not while Stacy watched, tensed to yell for Will if things went wrong. But, after a moment, Scout lowered her hand, bunching up the bottom of her shirt in her mitten hands instead..

"By the way, you're also going to be doing therapy." Stacy blurted out quickly. Scout looked shocked.

"What?! Why?! I don't need to!" Therapy meant doctors like Riley. And Scout would sooner take a bath then come face to face with a doctor.

"Yeah right, you're worse off than I am right now. Trust me, it'll help. Besides, I've already talked to Doc about you, so she's who you're going to be seeing." Stacy told her, adopting a no-nonsense tone. "And don't even try to hide from it, because I can and will find you the same way I did before."

"This fucking sucks." The Puppet muttered, turning away. She crossed her arms and hunched into a sulk.

"Yeah..." Stacy agreed and, after a moment pulled the Puppet into a hug. It was a little awkward, and Scout stiffened up at first, but eventually she relaxed into it, remembering how nice it had been to be hugged the first time. It was still nice, but now had the bonus of feeling familiar. Stacy leaned back, settling in and turning up the volume of the show.

With any luck, things would be easier from now on. She'd take her pills again, Scout would get therapy, and they'd be leaving the studio far in the past where it belonged. Plus, now Scout had met the rest of her friends, so maybe she wouldn't be as lonely as before. She work on getting their numbers into the Puppet's phone later. For now, they were going to watch the show..

All in all, despite what had happened, Stacy held high hopes for the future.

#hello puppets #fanfiction #outside #scout #stacy stein #will carson

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gamerwoo · 5 years ago

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Seungcheol: Fear the Demon

Characters: Seungcheol x reader (gender neutral)

Genre/warnings: demon au, horror, angst, implied kidnapping, mentions of abuse

Word count: 2,599

Summary: Get out of my mind. I can’t manage it and I’m afraid of myself as well. The truth has me bound up. Even my sincerity has been stained. I’m afraid that you’ll eventually become absorbed and change.

a/n: if I accidentally put she/her pronouns, I’m sorry, I wrote this in like an hour without stopping so I was too in the zone and reverted to what I’m used to and that’s my bad dkfsdsjf

Tag list: @exo-chan-kai @purpleseleva @mntax @squishy-yamdumplings @linophobia @fullsun-donghyuck @greenmetalroof @svtbitch

Fear Masterlist

Humans were fun to play with. They were weak and afraid of things they didn’t understand, such as demons. So that was why Seungcheol and his friends liked to keep them as servants. They didn’t steal their souls, they simply kidnapped humans to bring them to the Underworld and keep them to do whatever they wanted. Servants, sex slaves, and some even seemed more like pets in some cases. It wasn’t allowed to bring humans to the Underworld even though there technically were no real rules where they came from, but Seungcheol was a prince. He could do whatever he wanted and get away with it.

However, there was a problem with humans being around demons for too long. Bit by bit, the demon would take the human’s soul without even meaning to until the human was just an empty, blank shell. Of course, Seungcheol and his friends found that to be no fun, so they often had to replace their humans.

He didn’t mind having to get new humans. He never particularly grew attached to any of them, anyway. They were all mostly the same, blurring together into one person in his mind. He never remembered their names, what they looked like, or what they did for him. It wasn’t important enough.

Until you came along.

“Cheol!” Jeonghan called with a laugh, dragging his new human along by the arm as she looked around in fear. “We brought you back a present.”

Seungcheol didn’t move from where he sat on his thrown, looking at his friends in amusement. Five of them had gone to the human world to replace some of their old humans, and while Seungcheol didn’t necessarily need a new human, he was easily bored of the ones who still had their souls in them. So he wasn’t complaining, either.

“This one puts up a bit of a fight,” Mingyu smirked as he all but tossed you onto the floor in front of Seungcheol’s thrown. “We thought you’d have fun with that.”

The stubborn ones were always the most fun for Seungcheol. They were different from the usual terrified ones -- though he knew just how to spark the fear in their eyes regardless. But they were the ones he could chase after and punish for disobeying him. The others were too spineless to do much, so it got boring after a while. But the fighters... You would definitely keep him entertained for a while.

You fell on your hands and knees against the marble floor, grumbling curses at the tall demon that had tossed you over. As you stood up, Seungcheol eyed you curiously. He was waiting to see if you’d lash out or anything, smirking at your choice of words for Mingyu. But once you were steady on your feet, all you did was stand there and look up at Seungcheol as he sat on his throne.

You could tell his was different than the five demons you’d been forced to meet already. Seungcheol just looked more expensive, though you weren’t sure if money was really a thing here. He wore black slacks with a white button-up shirt that looked very thin since you could easily see his smooth, flawless skin underneath. The jacket he wore over his shirt was made out of fabric you only ever saw in those stores where the minimum for a pair of shoes was $800, and the designs stitched into it were intricate and beautiful. Even his black shoes were s shiny that you could see there were no scuffs or scratches. Everything about him screamed power.

Still, you didn’t move. You weren’t shaking or crying. You didn’t avert your gaze once you were done looking him over. You just stared back into his eyes that were so dark that they looked like he didn’t have any irises. Just the whites of his eyes with a dark abyss in the middle.

“Do you have a name?” he wondered, his voice low but quiet.

He would never remember, nor did he care, but it was something he always asked his new humans. It sometimes made them feel like maybe they had a chance for some reason, and it was cute to see the little bit of hope in their eyes.

“Not one that I’d let you call me,” you spat.

Seungcheol sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he studied you. You definitely had some balls to speak to him like that. But instead of punishing you for it, he was intrigued. Even the feisty ones seemed a little scared. But you? It was like you’d seen Hell already, and now nothing could faze you.

“They’re gonna be a real treat,” Minghao chuckled.

Seungcheol nodded slowly, a smirk growing on his face, “Indeed you are.”

It became very apparent very quickly that you weren’t like the other humans Seungcheol had owned. You didn’t try to run away, but you never did anything he asked of you. However, punishing you didn’t work like it did with the others. It never broke you to tears or made you question your sanity. He could lock you up in shackles in a dark room for hours, and you would come out with the same hard look in your eyes when he asked if you’d learned your lesson.

“Sure,” was what you’d reply every single time.

Despite you not reacting to anything Seungcheol did to you, he was intrigued by you. He was curious as to what your deal was, so he often had you by his side -- even if you did misbehave. He wanted to figure out what made you the way you were, and he wanted to know what made you tick. So he kept you around so he could observe you and hopefully gather information.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you asked one day when it was just you and Seungcheol in his thrown room.

He always liked his humans to sit on their knees for him, but you never did. Sometimes you’d sit criss-cross like you did in school as a child. Sometimes you’d have one leg to your chest and the other stretched out down the steps that led to his throne. He even sometimes saw you lay on the floor either on your back or your stomach. But you never once sat the way he told you to.

Seungcheol looked down at you, raising one eyebrow, “Hmm? What would lead you to believe I think that?”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing with me,” you replied, your cold expression unwavering as you looked deep into his eyes. “You’re trying to figure out my secrets or whatever. You want to know how to break me. Well, Seungcheol--” he always hated when you called him by his name, so that’s what you did, “--you’re not finding out. Nothing can break me, especially not some demon prince who thinks he’s scary.”

Seungcheol reached down, grabbing you by your neck and pulling you up to sit on your knees. You gripped his wrist and his arm for support as you scrambled to move how he wanted you to, but your eyes only hardened, your jaw setting as he slowly closed off your airflow.

“Oh, my dear,” he growled as his eyes were completely consumed by black. It was something you’d already seen a million times, and it still didn’t scare you, “you haven’t seen scary yet.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” you croaked out.

Angrily, Seungcheol threw you down the short marble steps. You rolled, but there was no real damage to you. Your body was just sore from the fall.

He knew he didn’t have a rebuttal. He’d already tried everything he could think of to break you, but nothing seemed to work. So you could talk back to him all he wanted, and he had nothing to get you to shut your mouth or to prove you wrong.

For that, he both hated you and respected you.

The curiosity Seungcheol had for you was quickly growing into something else that he couldn’t quite place. He had never met anybody, even a demon, who had the guts to stand up to him like you did. There were times where you’d even size up to him, staring unafraid into his eyes like he was just some regular human on the street. And while it did infuriate him to be disrespected by a human, it made him feel...something else.

His friends could see the difference. Seungcheol’s eyes almost had a fondness in them when he spoke about your stubbornness or asked to have you brought to him. But because they were afraid to anger him, they never brought it up. They knew Seungcheol never had favorite humans, and they knew he’d be offended if they mentioned it.

However, there was one thing that Jeonghan thought would be important to note to the demon prince.

“They’ll soften up the longer they’re with you,” he had said one day while the two were talking in the throne room.

Seungcheol’s eyes flashed over to look at his friend. He had completely forgotten about that fact. Seungcheol was slowly taking bits of your soul without you knowing or him meaning to, and that would change you. You’d eventually become something like a mindless slave that would do or tell him anything he asked.

He didn’t want that.

Was he even afraid of that? Afraid of you changing? Afraid of you becoming a different person?

Jeonghan could see something in Seungcheol’s eyes that he’d never seen before. It was a mix between shock and fear.

“Is there something wrong, Cheol?” Jeonghan wondered.

Now he was torn. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but he enjoyed having you around. So did he keep you around, or did he lock you away somewhere so you could never change who you were? But what if you didn’t change? You weren’t like the other humans, so maybe your resolve was stronger. Maybe you wouldn’t change.

“No,” Seungcheol murmured as he turned his head away again, “nothing’s wrong.”

It was a few weeks after his talk with Jeonghan, and Seungcheol had been watching you like a hawk. He didn’t keep you by his side as often, but you could always just feel his presence and his stare on you. You couldn’t tell if it made you feel better or worse, but you also didn’t really care at this point. It wasn’t like it made a difference.

But that day, Seungcheol had you sitting beside him in his throne room once again. You were always bored there since it was always demons coming in to him -- typically his friends -- and all of them would look at you like you were a meal. You couldn’t tell if Seungcheol noticed or even cared, but he certainly never said anything. However, you usually saw fear pass most of their eyes.

His friends were...okay. You hated Mingyu the most just because you never forgave him for throwing you on the ground, but other than that, you didn’t feel much of anything toward them. Jeonghan made you uncomfortable because most of his humans seemed to be for sex more than anything else. Minghao kept one of his on a leash, which you found to be odd, but to each their own. Soonyoung always had a whole entourage of humans fawning over him, and you were sure they must’ve been consumed by him already. Maybe demons could hypnotize people. You still weren’t sure how things worked.

Seungcheol watched as you laid out on the floor off to the left of his throne. One of your arms was hanging down off the step, and one leg was bent up as you stared up at the ceiling, a bored look in your eyes.

“My dear,” he spoke up.

You always hated when he called you that. It made your skin crawl, but you knew he had nothing else to call you since you refused to tell him your name -- he asked at least once a week, and you had a new comeback every single time. But you were slowly becoming numb to the name, not caring what he called you. You weren’t sure if your tolerance was just building up or if you were becoming used to it or what.

“What?” you sighed.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” he asked.

Lately, him asking for your name had become like a test. You still always replied with snappy comebacks that fell off your sharp tongue like you’d rehearsed them, but he knew it was just because you were witty and quick. He’d smirk at every single one and reply with something along the lines of, “That’s cute, my dear,” which would then make you grimace and grumble to yourself. As of late, you didn’t frown at his pet name as often, though, which worried him. What if Jeonghan was right?

You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t feel any need to keep it a secret from him. You didn’t feel like you had to tell him it was something it obviously wasn’t like “go fuck yourself”.

“_____.”

Hearing your name so soft from your lips made Seungcheol’s heart race in two ways. He liked knowing your name, and maybe that was because his fondness for you had never stopped growing. However, he hated that you told him. You never would’ve told him in a million years, no matter what he did to you -- and he had done a lot of things to you to try to get you to conform to how he wanted you. But even then, you would spit insults at him until he gave up.

You were changing. Your soul was being consumed by him.

Seungcheol was on his feet before you could even blink, and he had already yanked you up by your upper arm. He was dragging you out of the throne room before you could even process it, your legs trying to gain balance and help you keep up with him.

“What the fuck?” you demanded. “Let go!”

But he didn’t respond, heading down a familiar hallway that you had only seen when you were first brought here. It was just off the throne room, and it was where Seungcheol would put you in an attempt to break you. It never worked, so he eventually gave up. You were never put in the dark, empty room again.

Not until today.

“I did what you asked!” you shouted, not understanding what you were being punished for.

“That’s the problem,” he growled as he threw the door open before he forcibly shoved you inside the room that was just made up of four plain walls, a floor, and a ceiling. No windows. No nothing.

“What the fuck are you doing this to me for?!” you shouted.

Seungcheol’s mouth opened, but he suddenly froze when he realized the words that were going to come out of his mouth.

‘Because I love you!’

Was it really because he wanted you to stay the same? Was it because this you -- the real you -- was something that he might’ve possibly fallen in love with?

“It’s for your own good,” was what he ended up saying. “You have to stay as you are. I’m changing you, but I refuse to give you up. You belong to me. You’re my human -- now and forever.”

And then he slammed the door shut and locked it, and you were sure you would never be let out.

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 16 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read chapter fifteen (NSFW)

Title: Wake-up Call

Words: 4500

Summary: Who knew men's underwear could be so erotic?

ST Rambles: Y'all. We are getting closer and closer to the good stuff, my friends. Not that there hasn't been good stuff already, but the really good, messy, plot-heavy stuff. When I was just reading through this chapter I started to get very excited about the future of this fic. I hope I can deliver on this, I really do.

[Masterlist]

Sleepy eyes peered around the mirror, examining the savaging which took new residence over your skin. All shapes and shades of dusk covered your prominences; one purpled puddle spanning your elbow, another three parallel over your side – one etching over your hip, another dripping over the curve of your rib cage, and the final fringing atop your deltoid in a russet starburst. A suggestion of a hand print fixed itself over your opposite shoulder, the bruise more vivid where your Commander’s fingers had bitten into the muscle. The grisly sight continued below your waist, both your knees inked in injury, one blotch creeping upwards in memoriam of the joint’s protrusions crashing against the floor. For once your neck remained free of the ghosted grip of Kylo Ren, the only evidence of him blending together in a patchy trail along your artery.

The tips of your fingers traced down the perforated contusions starting at the hinge of your jaw, drawing down the curve of your pulse, and ending at the proximal end of your clavicle; a violet twilight splayed beneath your touch, the memory of its fruition warming the tops of your cheeks. The reflection gave light to the faint lines which racked together over your wrists, the sight prompting the mindless rolling of the joint to test its range of motion. To any unsuspecting onlooker you appeared a survivor of a gruesome tale, one that indicated a battle with some ferocious creature; in a way, you thought, that wasn’t completely false.

Every welt lingering over your skin, visible or not – the torment which your core had endured aching with each suggestion of movement – belonged completely to Kylo Ren. Last night he’d painted his own pain over your body, the ache of his anger obvious with even the slightest pressure over the affected areas. Though you knew this, knew that these marks were premeditated, you distantly regarded the comfort the echoed pain offered; while the night had been birthed in egregious wrath, its end offered a breath-stealing contrast.

In the full light of Kylo Ren’s bathroom, you brought your hands together before you, the mirror falling out of focus as they turned over and brushed over each other’s knuckles and tendons. The soft skin was painted with vestiges in the valleys between each knuckle, the sight reminding you of the intimacy which had created them, the irony of how a moment of such beauty could manifest in such an injurious manner lighting a spark at your spine. The frozen air of his quarters nipped at your bare skin, reminding you what had prompted you from the warm, yet vacated, covers: the search for clothing.

Waking up had been disorienting, jolting you past the haze of morning and into the acknowledgment of the unfamiliar environment. It felt hollow waking up alone, like you were on some separate plane of reality without Kylo’s presence in his own bed. Out of habit, you’d gone to search for the time on your wrist, only remembering the timepiece’s absence when its red-shining face didn’t blind you in the shadows of early light, artificial in its existence, which framed the ceiling.

It had been too chaotic to get a good look at the Starkiller quarters last night, but as the frozen floor bit at your toes in your walk through the unfamiliar space, you noticed how mundane the provisions were. Everything lacked in comparison to the Finalizer, noting how the smaller rooms and shorter walls created a false sense of hominess; there was barely a kitchen, no dining table, and a hint at a sitting area – all of which blended together in various shades of similar blacks, greys, and whites. It felt uncomfortable to think that the Commander of the First Order lived in such normalcy and necessity when he wasn’t killing innocents or training to do so.

A pile sat at the countertop’s center, your uniform obvious at the top, the red embroidery prominent even in darkness. After a short search, you flicked on a light and padded towards it, crossing your arms as your breath shuddered through the cold air. It was a curious sight, your uniform folded into a frumpy square as your bra poked out from beneath the collar and your watch sat parallel above the red threading. Confused alarms sounded in your head, the fact that Kylo Ren had spent time collecting your belongings and compiling them into a neat pile making you doubt your consciousness, momentarily stopping to see if you had only been imagining the past few minutes.

Something else stole your attention, bringing your eyes away from the stack and up towards a rectangle of paper. It was folded in half, its torn edges and faded print indicating it had come from some scrapped document he no longer needed. Reaching for it, you found something underneath, a soft piece of unfamiliar black fabric. Then, when you lifted it, something slipped out from its confines, a black plastic rectangle glinting beneath the overhead light; its familiar design quickly indicating that of your Finalizer room key. Squinting in effort and inquiry, you read the hand-penned note, skin igniting as your leaned into the icy counter and half-admired the pointed scrawl of your first name at the top left-hand corner.

I’ve arranged for your residence’s security to be updated and reprogrammed to this key. Return there unless otherwise indicated.

You’ll also need these, as yours are tucked into the fasteners of my uniform.

Thanks for the keepsake, officer,

K.R.

With a hesitant curiosity, you took the folded fabric and unfolded each of its creases. It was a pair of his briefs, the sight eliciting a heartbeat between your legs. An astonished gasp fell from your lips, your face burning with exhilaration at the thought of your panties – unwashed and nearly three days old – stowed at his hip, their presence only known to him and you. As you imagined the frail stitching hanging loosely at his waistband, your thighs clamped together, the shifted bones of your pelvis crying out in protest at the sudden plead for satiety. He took your panties as a prize, spoils from last night’s conquest. Such a sick, unapologetic, hot bastard, you thought, your face split in an unintentional grin.

Taking his donation in stride, you pulled the article over your legs, surprised to find the elastic resting easily at your hips. The material was stretchy, an excess amount of give indicating, though they could fit, they were intended for legs much larger than your own. The hem rested four inches below the apex of your thighs, your hands smoothing over the front, your thumb catching on the open flap which rested along the line of your inner right leg. The light sensation, sending tiny continuous vibrations over your mound, built on the prominent pulse beating at your entrance.

Kylo’s face, nonsensically beautiful, passed through your memory, your teeth pulling your lip between them as you thought of how his tongue felt over yours, how his breath ignited body-enrapturing sparks at your ear. A gasp caught in your throat, your thighs pressing together in need, your head bowing down into the counter while you filed through the endless thoughts you’d cataloged from previous encounters. Congratulations. A sharp throb came from your core, your hands grappling onto the countertop’s edge at the memory of graduation.

“Stars.” The plead led into a moan, your throat thickening with need as your body ached for what it couldn’t have.

Closing your eyes and pushing a long breath from your lungs, your fingers dipped into the briefs’ opening, the knowledge that they were his frenzying you further, your skin reveling in the feel of the smooth fabric gliding over the back of your hand. The tips of your index and middle fingers trailed parallel down your slit, mind drifting to how Kylo’s could frame your sex in their length as they drifted closer towards your entrance, the thought seething a whine through your teeth. His modulated voice percolated in your ears, the way his breath falls out in proximity eliciting another merciless pulse, your abdomen tightening to absorb the ramifications.

Parting your folds, your fingers dipped into your slit, collecting the fluid which fled from your core. Just the thought of Kylo Ren – the way his abdomen ripples with every calculated step, the way his hair shifts in rhythm with his thrusts, the way it feels to have his full weight consume your body and alter your breathing – had worked diligently to ruin the fresh garment, your center preparing for a fullness it couldn’t currently achieve. Taking the pad of your middle finger, you pressed against the buzzing flesh of your clit, winding a wide, deep circle around it. A muffled cry fought to unlock your teeth, your head falling back at the taunting.

Are you a good girl? The melody of his past words crept over your skin, your leg crossing behind the other as you remembered his lips kissing the tops of his gifted stockings; a hum buzzed in your head, your fingers leading down to your entrance so your thumb could take residence over your clit. Hunching down lower, your head pressing down onto the smooth countertop as you took a wider stance, you pushed two fingers past your entrance, a shuddered whimper leaving your now parted lips. Your walls were throbbing, your pulse rising with each new reminiscent thought of your master.

The pad of your thumb wound a tighter, fuller path around the engorged flesh beneath, your fingers pumping into your core, your mind wandering through time while pressure heightened within you. A fast thought, a wondering instead of a memory, passed through, imagining how Kylo would react seeing you like this, setting eyes on you while you stood in his kitchen, wearing only his briefs while you bucked into your hand as thoughts of him cascaded from your mind to his. Would he be angry, furious that you could build your own release without him? Or would he watch you, his hidden eyes gawking as he felt your every intention before it came to be, attuned to the way your body sang at the memory of his voice, of his eyes, of his frame?

“Fucking hell,” you gasped, the heel of your hand grinding into the rapturous nerves as your digits hooked into your core, fluid streaming past your knuckles as your body promised an impending release.

With each second and every flex of your hand you crawled towards climax, thinking of Kylo Ren’s cock as it throbbed in need, beads of precum dripping from the slit as it twitched in his hands, readying to fill you with each torturous inch of its pulsating length. Breath stuck in your throat, your pulse pounding in your skull as your mouth hung open, salivating at the thought of him painting your face with thick, hot ropes of his cum, moaning as you remembered how the liquid collected over your nose and slowly dripped within reach of your hunting tongue.

“Oh, Kylo,” you whined, drool dripping onto the floor within your spread stance, remembering how badly you’d wanted his cock, dowsed in his own blood, to completely destroy your cunt, to stretch you until you tore, to have your own blood combine with his as he rocked into you, relentless even in your pain.

Your walls peaked, your body stalling and unfurling into a nebula of pleasure, hearing the phantom cries of your master echo into the false reality as your free hand strained against the countertop, your lungs trembling with quick breaths. Taking in your accomplishment, you leaned down onto the marble, your hand leaving his briefs and hugging onto the chilled stone, gulping as you slowly left the hazed state of contentment.

“Thanks for the wake-up call, Commander.” Not that he could hear you, you felt it was now a fair trade, your panties for his briefs, acknowledging the notion had done a nice job at kick starting your day.

Reaching over towards the pile, you brushed over the watch’s screen, finding it to be a quarter before seven. Although you knew you hadn’t been to the stormtrooper hub in what seemed like a lifetime, you could make it there for shift change if you left from here in five minutes. Reluctantly, wanting to stay here and hide from life’s responsibilities, you pushed off from the counter and grappled your uniform over your head, not bothering to toil with the buttons. Without looking down, you slipped your shoes on and fastened the watch around your wrist; with a quick finger-brush through your hair and a swish of water from the sink, you stowed the keycard into the front pocket of your uniform and activated the door, keeping your head low and face hidden as you made your way into the open hallways.

In an effort to multitask, you pulled your phone out, finding an email waiting on its home screen. The subject line read CONFIDENTIAL: Trial proceedings. In your hobbled stride, the notification dropped your heart. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since meeting with Hux? He’d informed you of the email, that it would come later in the day, but you’d been so tossed up in the world of Kylo Ren that you’d forgotten to worry about it, forgotten that life wasn’t simple anymore. Even as you skulked away from your Commander’s quarters after not just fucking him, but sleeping with him, this email was what brought you back to reality, your shoulders falling as to remind you of the burdens they’d set down for the night.

Swiping across the screen, you opened the contents, being half-mindful of your surroundings as you trekked towards Starkiller’s general med bay. The scrollbar indicated the lengthiness of the correspondence, your pulse quickening thinking about how serious this all was. This was the beginning of the end, or at least the beginning of trying to prevent the end. It was difficult not to place blame, accepting that it was both a risk and a necessity to take the blood, but also knowing full well that none of this would be happening if Kylo Ren hadn’t taken you from the valuable clinical experience you would have obtained had you been allowed the time to learn in a professional setting. Inwardly you knew you did the right thing, but knowing the entire Board of Physicians was against your cause made it impossible not to feel guilty.

Continuing towards your destination, you delved into the email, first reading the sender information of the Board in all caps – their institutional name, address, contact information, and correspondence code – and then seeing your own information, stomach churning at the sight, head dizzying simultaneously.

Concerning the defendant,

This is an official summons to appear before the Board of Physicians to be tried for the accusation made of first-degree larceny based on multiple eyewitness accounts, a detailed variance report provided by an on-staff provider, and physical evidence surrounding this case collected during the time between the incident’s occurrence and determined trial date. The defendant is required to be notified via word of mouth and either physical or electronic correspondence; once these requirements have been met, construction of the case can and will be expedited.

The defendant will appear directly before the Board, bypassing the selection of a jury as to keep in pace with this time sensitive matter. For clarity’s sake it is reinforced that the defendant is being tried on the matter of her execution, as her license will be promptly revoked upon the formal announcement of the Board’s judgement. As the defendant has been informed, she will be placed under surveillance in an effort to provide adequate evidence regarding not only her practice as a nurse and provider, but as a functioning member of the First Order. During this time of surveillance the defendant should go about her daily life as she normally would to provide the most accurate idea of her character. In addition to technological monitoring, the character review will be centered around personal accounts of those who have worked with the defendant and superior reviews; these documents will be collected directly by the offices of the Board of Physicians and are to be collected no later than the morning of the defendant’s initial hearing.

The initial hearing will provide the defendant the opportunity to be introduced to the current elected members of the Board of Physicians. There shall be no questions asked verbally during this time as the defendant will be provided a list of official inquiries following her appearance. In the time between the initial hearing and the official trial – which shall be no less than five days and no more than seven – the defendant will be allotted adequate time to prepare for her questioning; during this same period, the defendant will choose a representative. Let it be known that the defendant is limited to the representatives provided for and selected by the Board of Physicians. Though it is ill-advised, the defendant also has the choice of representing herself.

Once the defendant has prepared her answers and chosen her representative, the official trial will promptly begin at O-eight hundred the following morning. The trial will follow all legal policies and proceedings as established by the First Order in exception of a selected jury. In the absence of a jury, the defendant will plead directly to the Board of Physicians; the Board has gone through training and certification to disallow bias, emotional or otherwise, to affect their judgments, barring the defendant from skewing their final decision. There will be three testimonies in accordance to the case – one from Officer Talia Harper, another from General Armitage Hux, and a final to be chosen by the defendant to speak in her favor.

The deciding members of the Board will be allotted seven days to construct their judgments and rationales. As there are five members of the Board, there will be no possibility of a tie. A majority of three will decide if the defendant is to be executed. Once the final judgement has been ratified, one chosen representative will formally announce the decision before the Board and the defendant. As disclosed earlier, upon the judgement’s announcement, the defendant’s license will be permanently revoked and she will be barred from practicing medicine under the First Order. Should the judgment entail the defendant’s execution, she will spend an additional seven days on Cantonica; during this time, the defendant will be allowed the facilities and liberties to get her affairs in order.

The trial will be conducted in the city of Canto Bight, six weeks from the initial send date of this correspondence. The defendant will need to arrange for travel and plan to arrive two days prior to the morning of her initial hearing. Standard necessities will be provided to the defendant during her time on Canto Bight; in addition, the defendant will also be assigned a security detail who will report to General Hux at the end of each day. During the defendant’s time away from her Master, Commander Ren, he will be assigned a new provider in her absence; this new provider will be selected from the pool of individuals who were screened for the position earlier this year.

Let it be known that this correspondence does not require a return from the recipient as she cannot refuse an audience with the Board of Physicians without forfeiting her case. Should the defendant be absent at her initial hearing, it would result in a call for her capture followed by an immediate scheduling of her execution.

On a final note, the Board of Physicians has deemed it necessary to put emphasis on this case, meaning all legal proceedings – the initial hearing, the official trial, the formal sentencing, and the potential execution – are to be televised and allowed for public viewing. The defendant should be prepared to go before upwards of two hundred people.

Direct any questions to the return address at the top of this official correspondence.

Respectfully,

Karmen Zag, Esq.

Head of Communications,

The Board of Physicians

The glutton of air which your lungs sucked in pointed out the fact that you hadn’t taken a full breath since you began reading the document. As you’d been reading, your head down and your eyes focused on the bright white screen, the world had fallen away, your journey towards the stormtrooper hub nearly complete. It was five minutes to seven, time evading you in the wake of all the new overwhelming information.

Six weeks didn’t seem like a long enough time for life to change so drastically. Then again, though, it had only been a little over two months since graduation and look how different life looked from then. Standing so far out yet to close to the trial, it felt impossible to win; and how could you win? What’s the prize at this point? Even if the Board rules against your execution, what life could you return to? All the schooling you’d put yourself through, every hour of studying and practicing, just, gone; if you had known it would be so ephemeral and pointless, maybe you’d have spent less time in the library, enjoyed your youth more than you did.

When you turned the corner, you collided into something solid, your body tripping backwards as you took in the familiar sight of your masked master, mind quickly thinking about your hidden belongings tucked beneath the layers of clothing they rested behind. Taking another step back, you regarded General Hux at his right arm, face resting in its usual repugnance.

“Oh, uh, I’m so sorry Commander Ren, I was just on my way to the stormtrooper hub,” you said, shifting your hair so it hid the superficial injury.

“I trust you’ve read over the email detailing your trial, officer?” Each syllable was annunciated, Hux’s voice clear and loud, a sense of unmistakable pride seeping from the question.

“Yes, actually. That’s what had me so distracted from my surroundings.”

“Hm. I’ll see you in six weeks, I suppose.” He took a step forward, away from your Commander. “I’ll notify you when the documents have been cataloged and filed.” With a too-long glare, he tromped past you, his steps growing quieter in his distance.

Looking back up at Kylo’s visor, you went to speak, but he beat you to it. “I trust you’ve had a productive morning.” There was something seductive about his tone, like it was laced with intentional double entendre.

Looking over your shoulder, you scanned the room for onlookers and cameras, finding nothing within earshot before looking back to him. “You could say that.” An unintentional throb came from between your legs, your mind trying and failing at not recounting your earlier self-satisfaction.

“I assume you found my note.”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you for the… resources. They are both very much appreciated.” It felt funny being so formal with him in public, like a game of pretend.

“Oh, you’re welcome, by the way.”

Had you not just thanked him for the security – both technological and textile? “What… am I missing something?”

Kylo stepped forward, his arm grazing over yours as his head turned down towards your ear. “For the wake-up call, of course.”

Your mouth fell open, a gasp coming from your stunned lungs. “How did you – but you were nowhere near me.”

“I found you last night without that glorified compass on your wrist, didn’t I?” Two fingers pressed into the curve of your hip, goosebumps prickling your skin in fast waves.

Turning your head so your nose almost met his sleeved bicep, you cleared your throat. “So, what? You can hear me now?”

“Not in the literal sense, no. But, you were particularly obvious in your pursuits this morning. You were easy to sense above everyone else.”

You said nothing, still astonished that he grew more attuned to your presence with every encounter. He brushed past you, his fingers pulling at your uniform until they left completely. “Have a nice day, officer.”

His boots echoed behind you in his stride, leaving you hanging like it was nothing to him. Standing there a moment longer, you realized it was past seven, now. Shift change had already begun, and you were once again going to be late due to Kylo Ren’s distractions. Nearly running through the halls, you made it to the nurses’ station five minutes late, seeing the small huddles of night and day nurses around the patients’ doors, listening to their whispers related to client care. A few faces were twisted in confused disbelief, your face hot under their scrutiny.

Walking to the nurse manager’s office, you leaned into the room as you lightly knocked at her door, alerting her to spin in her chair to face you, her own expression following suit with the others’. “Uh, hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but-,”

“You can’t be here,” the woman said, her words fast and jarring.

“I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?”

“Here—” she patted her desk until she gripped the document of her intent “—this should explain it.”

The paper was fresh, warming your hands when she passed it to you. On the front it had a photocopy of your ID, your unbeknownst face looking back at you in black and white next to your licensure information. Looking at the bottom of the document, you found a short blip of information, reading:

By signing this document, you hereby enforce the temporary disbarment of the above indicated physician from practicing medicine not related to his or her own assigned master.

Once more you looked further down the document, seeing the same pointed script from earlier scrawled across a printed line, next to it finding General Hux’s name in its own full, sweeping signature. Was this a joke? He really let you embarrass yourself in coming here instead of telling you in the halls? And, just, why? Why was he insistent in finding new ways to drive you insane? There was no logical reason for him to ban you from practice.

Without noticing, your teeth had clenched together, your fingers gripping too roughly into the thin document, staining your thumb in the fresh ink as it contorted within your grasp. The nurse manager was looking at you with a forced smile, silently saying you had no more business being here.

“Feel free to keep that,” she said, pointing to the crumpled copy.

Shaking with anger, you fought to contain yourself. “Yep.”

With that, you skulked out of the infirmary, not bothering to look up at the knowing faces of the coworkers you never got the chance to befriend. Would there ever come a day where you weren’t humiliated in your professional life? No. That was a pointless question to ask. Whatever career you currently had was about to end, and now you couldn’t even attempt to make up for it. As you whipped down the halls, fast, seething sounds left you, curses for Kylo Ren and General Hux distorted in a frenzied talk.

As if to piss you off further, your phone buzzed at your hip, hand tearing it from your uniform like the object had any say in the matter. The screen was free of emails, but your stride still stopped abruptly, your anger quickly replaced with a sense of ill-defined fear. Staring back at you was a message from Mason, only offering a single question with no context; three words that could mean anything:

Can we talk?

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #smut #ao3 #st kyp

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

Text

929. Now I know where half my wardrobe went.

This story was prompted by a lovely anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

Nines was anxious to begin. In front of him lay several wooden planks of various sizes, cardboard-boxes, tubes of glue and buckets of paint. He didn’t quite know how to begin; he had only bought what several websites suggested and had returned home. Killing time really wasn’t his strong suit. He didn’t know how long he stood there as a message came in. What r u doing tin-can? Gavin laid stretched out on his sofa, head hanging over the edge stretching his neck tense from work and bad posture. He held his phone in front of his face in a position that could as well be yoga. Enjoying my vacation in piece and silence, Nines send back, picking up a plank trying to “see” something in it like the articles had described. Aw, come on, what did I disturb that has you this pissed? Gavin grinned at the screen. It would be fun to get to know a more personal side of the toaster. What had him so frustrated? I’m trying to find a hobby, as you instructed me. A hobby different to making fun of you. Nines laid the plank down. There had to be easier ways. He grabbed the cardboard and stared at it with his best interrogation face. Oh, baby’s first hobby? Can I come over? Gavin didn’t want to miss Nines stumbling into humanity at any cost. For what reason? The android put down the cardboard too. Gavin coming over was something he wanted to avoid. Not to get it wrong, he liked the guy. It was pleasant to work with him and he actually was a nice conversationalist once he had completed his Gavin-English dictionary. But having him over to watch him fail a seemingly easy task wasn’t how he had planned his day to go. Hey, I’m human, I have hobbies. Maybe I can help you. Gavin wasn’t dumb, he realised the RK900 wanted his distance. But by God, if Gavin wasn’t a stubborn pain in the ass. And on top of that all: bored. Fine. Gavin had nearly texted an enthusiastic “hell yeah!” but stopped himself rolling off the sofa and very pointedly not run, just hurry a little, to his room to find something decent to wear.

He arrived at Nines apartment, knocking on the door and having it opened to the android out of his Cyberlife jacket. It was a bit taken aback by that; he had never seen him without it in his life. Maybe that was his idea of wearing something comfortable at home, who would know. ‘Err… Hi!’, Gavin greeted him and was let in with a simple ‘Detective.’ ‘Hey, you know we are not at work, you can just call me Gav- woah.’ Nines had closed the door behind him, leaving him to look into the living room full of wooden planks and other bulky material as well as tools. ‘Hey, toaster, you trying to build all the furniture for someone?’ ‘… No. Is it too much?’ ‘Depending what you want to do with it’, Gavin shrugged, kicked off his shoes to the side of the hallway and hung up his jacket. ‘If you want to re-furniture my brother’s mansion, then it would do I guess.’ ‘I planned on experimenting with basic woodwork and model making’, Nines explained a bit shy. ‘I don’t have anything else to do during the vacation you pressed on me.’ ‘Hey, don’t make me look like I’m the bad guy here. I’m sure Fowler won’t complain having you at the precinct without me.’ ‘He does complain. I went to work this morning and he told me to “go find a hobby”. You said the same to me, so I wanted to at least give it a try.’ ‘You actually went to- you know, never mind. What do you want to build?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Well that’s unfortunate’, Gavin laughed. ‘You should have some idea.’ Nines sighed. He had known it would end in the man making fun of him. ‘If you came here just to see me fail, I would advise you to leave.’ Gavin looked at him startled. ‘Hey, Nines, I came here to help you. I mean it. Sorry that I laughed. It’s just… You prepared to build the Cyberlife tower life-sized with this and have no idea what to do. Normally people start smaller.’

Nines looked at the man marvelling at his mindless creativity. ‘That’s actually a good idea’, he nodded and didn’t pay the frowning human so much as a glance as he started picking up pieces of wood again. ‘What have I-‘ ‘Take a seat, Det- Gavin.’

It was fascinating seeing Nines work away with robotic speed and precision on a wooden block, until a few hours later he had completed a perfect replica of the Cyberlife tower. ‘Wow, that’s super impressive, Nines’, Gavin cheered. ‘It looks exactly like the real thing!’ The android smiled. Whether it was from the [mission successful] blinking in his HUD or from the praise he didn’t know. ‘And what are you going to do next?’, Gavin asked him. To Nines it was clear as day. ‘Why refurnishing your brother’s mansion when you can build a whole city?’

Nines had worked the whole day on his project and recreated belle-island. Gavin had sat there with him the whole time, just watching him and cheering whenever a building or tree was added to the bunch. One time he had ordered take-out and ate it and Nines hadn’t even batted an eye at it. Afterwards he had helped, gluing the buildings to a plate the android had cut to without doubt resemble the exact soil conditions over there. The man had left him only late in the night yawning and thanking him he had been allowed to come over. Nines accepted it, knowing well he should have been the one thanking him.

The next days he tried out a lot of different hobbies. Later, when he had made his mind up about how much he liked the different activities, he would continue with his projects. Gavin had only been there for some days and activities, enjoying his vacation only to come over when he was bored. Nines had begun caring after plants he had bought. He started cross-stitching. He took up cooking on a day Gavin was over for the practical reason of having someone to taste it only of course. He had tried puzzles, singing and foreign language learning. When it had come to magic tricks Gavin had been there as an audience for him. The last activities on his list were bread baking and pottery.

Baking was something simple, without much reward for him except for a nice smell. So it was on the same day he unpacked clay and set to work on a simple vase. He started up the electric potter’s wheel and started, fascinated at how the clay changed under pressure. Until he experimented too much with pressure and speed and the whole thing came suddenly flying at him landing across his chest. So much for pottery…

Frustrated he had been so stubbornly determined on trying it the human way without any program-guidance, he stood up to change into a clean turtleneck and wash the one he wore. Interestingly enough his wardrobe was empty. His spare upper-body clothes gone. Nines cocked his head to the side and closed it again. Had he left his spare pair at work? He didn’t care too much about it, as he went to the bathroom and pulled off his shirt to wash the clay away. He could always order new ones from Cyberlife as they had been produced in advance for the army he was supposed to become. When there were two-hundred-thousand jackets with his number on it, he wouldn’t shed any tears over it.

He put more interest in evaluating his experimentations. He disliked pottery. Cross-stitching was relaxing but felt inefficient to him. Caring for plants was too easy. At least with the plants he had bought. Puzzles were too little of a challenge too. Same with learning a new language, as he always could just download another patch. What he really liked had been cooking and building the model city. And doing the magic tricks with Gavin. What was the connection between them? Maybe if he found one, he could discover new hobbies with that trait more easily. He had liked Gavin’s reaction to his card and coin tricks. That was also true with cooking. And if he was honest with himself that too was the case with the model city. With a bit of shock, he realised that maybe he didn’t like these hobbies more than the others. Maybe he just liked that he had company. No that couldn’t be. That was so irrational. That wasn’t like him at all. But it was true.

He was faster out of the door that he could realise he had forgotten to fetch his jacket on the way out. A short drive through town he ended up in front of Gavin’s apartment hacking his lock to be let in. He had to tell him this weird development and needed a human to explain it. As far as he knew a hobby couldn’t be a person. He barged into the living room to face a terrified human wearing- ‘Is that my jacket?’ ‘I swear it’s not what it looks like!’, Gavin cried out, stumbling over the words. ‘Now I know where half of my wardrobe went’, Nines mused. ‘Wait, how does this look like?’ ‘Ahh, dunno, sorry! You can have it back!’ He scrambled off the sofa while pulling it off hurriedly. He finally got out of his Cyberlife jacket and had the seams of the turtleneck between his fingers as Nines gently put one hand on top of his with a pained look on his face. ‘Keep that on… please.’ ‘Err… okay. This is awkward as hell, sorry. Wait- half your wardrobe? I stole two things…’ ‘I don’t have to change. I don’t sweat. And my clothes never… They rarely get dirty.’ ‘Okay, we definitely have to go shopping someday’, Gavin uttered, still uncomfortable with being caught. Nines wanted to disagree, but then closed his mouth at the realisation that would mean he got time to spend with Gavin. So, he nodded. ‘Okay, after that weird start, what did you break into my home for anyways?’, Gavin asked. Nines straightened his back. ‘Is it possible for a hobby to be a person?’ The human laughed. ‘Heh, well, normal people would call that friendship or something, but… maybe? Why?’ ‘I tried out every hobby I had on my list. In the end I compared them all to find my favourite. I found out I had to add one.’ ‘Really? Then come on, tell me! What is it?’ ‘You.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Ok focus this is a story about clothes and people wearing the clothes of their SO(s) and whatnot #instructions unclear googled human hobbies #Just so you know Gavin's hobby is Nines too.#And now to the today you learned: cleaning shirts doesn't work with polymer clay I still have a stain on my chill-shirt #looks like a damn tooth paste stain too #sometimes being an artist and a human disaster coincides so who cares

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peggy-cherepaha · 4 years ago

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How I deal with trichotillomania (compulsive hair pulling)

Warning: this condition could be considered self-harm. I am not a doctor, so this is not medical advice. I am simply giving my personal experience and strategies. Please consult a medical professional if you are dealing with mental health symptoms.

Several years ago I developed trichotillomania, which is the compulsion to pluck hairs from my head/body. This is a behavior that usually starts as the brain’s way of dealing with stress, but can turn into a habit that is incredibly hard to break. I would not say I have completely stopped the behavior, but I have gotten it mostly under control and wanted to share my experience with others who may also have this condition.

I started with plucking hairs from my head, and like most OCD behaviors, I had a pretty specific methodology. I would find hairs that were of a thicker, kinkier texture and pluck those so that I could run my fingers down the hair to feel the texture. I didn’t feel any pain from plucking hairs, so the obsession was about feeling that texture. It would probably make more sense to just feel my hair without pulling it out, but it was almost impossible to fight the urge not to. Because the hairs were a different texture, I felt like they didn’t belong on my head and needed to be removed. I had a vague sense that this behavior wasn’t good, but I wasn’t too concerned about it since it didn’t cause pain and I didn’t think of any long-term consequences. However, after a while (maybe a few months?), I happened across a woman with thinning hair, and I hate how vain it sounds, but seeing that woman made me realize that I could look like that if I continued plucking hairs. I say vain, but I didn’t judge the woman or think less of her, it was more that I had never considered that there could be long-term consequences of my hair plucking. I enjoy my hair, and if it were to thin out, I would want it to be a natural process, not because of an action I was taking. I was able to completely stop plucking hairs after that moment. Instead I would feel my hairs without pulling them out. Although, for some weeks, I did keep one strand of hair in a box so that when I felt the urge, I could just feel that hair instead of plucking a new one.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the behavior all together. I instead just ended up plucking hairs on my body. This way, I could pluck hairs without there being any change in my normal appearance. My first strategy to stop was to tell myself that this was not an appropriate behavior, that I was causing not only mental pain, but physical pain and damage to my skin. However, I came to learn that these thoughts did nothing to stop the behavior, and if anything, they caused the behavior to become worse, as the guilt I felt only fed into my anxiety, thus leading to the compulsion growing stronger.

I had to come up with coping mechanisms that didn’t involve guilt or berating myself. I saw some advice online about finding an alternative activity that would give me a similar feeling. This ended up being the best advice, and also helps with when I pick at blemishes on my skin. I came up with several activities I could do that give me some textile feedback without causing harm to my body. They are as follows:

1. I bought a pack of those little dot bandaids with a pleasing texture on them. When I found myself plucking at my skin/hair, I put a bandaid on the area, and I could run my finger over the textured bandaid. Of course, this could end up with you covered in badaids in visible places, but I found that if someone mentioned it (and I find people who do this have genuine concern, not judgement) I was just open with them and told them that the bandaids stopped me from picking at scabs/blemishes. Most people have felt the urge to pick at scabs so they are very understanding of this reasoning.

2. I have small scissors I use to cut my fingernails. When I feel the urge to pluck a hair, I will instead cut the hair very short. This is not nearly as satisfying, but it still gives me something to do and it deters me from plucking that hair since it is so short. Obviously this strategy will not work for hair on your head/eyebrows, but it works very well for body hair.

3. Identifying times/places where I feel the most inclination to pluck hairs and finding a distraction. For example, if you find that you are plucking while sitting in class because you are bored, then bring some sort of fidget toy or something else to do to keep you distracted. I really enjoy crafts like knitting/cross stitch, and those activities can keep my hands busy while I’m doing something mindless like watching TV.

4. Of course, this condition is a symptom of OCD or anxiety disorder, so the best way to deal with it is to consult a psychiatrist/psychologist to discuss your options. I take medication for my anxiety and see a therapist.

Like I said before, I have not completely stopped this behavior, but these are the things I do to help. The problem with this condition is that hair plucking causes a rush of feel-good chemicals, so it is quite similar to a chemical addiction. I don’t know if I will ever be “cured”, but I am proud of the progress I made. I like to view this less of something I need to go cold-turkey on, and more of a reduction of harm, where I will make slow but sure progress to reach the best point I can.

#tw ocd #trigger warning #tw self harm #trichotillomania

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wrongeddeadthenevermourned · 5 years ago

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Abominations Don’t Have Friends.

He could see the brown of the wood floor, followed by another fade to black before just as quickly the vision of the wooden floor of his family home had returned, it almost seemed as if it were a painting, more than the familiar wood floor he had grown to know. Like it had been smeared on, blurry, rather than clear or real. Again, his vision faded to black. All he could hear for a the longest time was the ringing in his ears, but beneath that, there was whispering. Someone, no, not someone. His parents? Josette? All three? He could hear them talking toward one another. Josette had sounded a bit whiny. The side of his head that had been against the wooden floor had felt odd, a dull sting pulsing out over it...there was a strange, wet warmth stretching around the side of his face. Then his mind faded back to black, everything he could see following the same. But again he was pulled back to reality as the whispering continued, another woman's voice, outside of Josette's, asked if someone was dead. Twitching, as if on cue, Kai attempted to move.

Pushing his right hand out he focused on just moving. Picking his head up from off the floor just an inch or so before dropping back down. Joshua spoke then, telling the other two voice that whoever they were talking about was breathing. Closing his eyes again, the darkness remained longer, this time. But he could still hear the voices, Joshua's had almost seemed disappointed by the fact that whoever they were talking about was still alive. Kai could have grinned, knowing they were talking about him, then. Then nothing but darkness and silence followed. Maybe for the longest time, though if he thought back some time later he could have sworn he remembered a visit to the hospital. His left arm being wrapped up since it had been broken. The side of his head being stitched since it had been split open. It all had come to him in a blurred, slowly falling apart memory. By the time he was able to keep himself stable enough to be present instead of fading into the background of his own head, Kai was watching something on tv. Joey had been chatting away to him.

It had appeared, to him at least, that he had been being given something for his head. Blinking, he looked toward the cartoon that was currently on tv, watching ThunderCat's. Blinking as Mumm-Ra was talking, he stares at the villain's insignia. It was Cobra's. At least he had thought so. Either way, it had reminded him of another favorite of his, The Karate Kid. Blinking, Kai swallowed, before turning his head and looking toward his brother who was still chatting before noticing then that Kai was staring at him and a small 'oh', left him before he shut up again. Kai watched till the episode had ended before standing and moving to leave the room. At least he was able to watch the rest of it without his younger brothers mindless chattering. Entering the kitchen he moved toward the fridge. Opening it he looked around for something to drink, soon taking out a soda, though paused and quickly put it back quickly. He wasn't feeling in the mood to drink soda. Moving then he went to where his father had kept the alcohol, then.

The then fourteen year old proceed to make himself an Adios Motherfucker, which had been the color of one of his favorite colors. As he finished making that drink he scrunched his nose. He hadn't been very interested in drinking such things, before. But he had suddenly just gotten a craving it seemed. Taking another drink he smacked his lips before nodding, he liked it, he supposed. Still, most of him didn't care about it but why should he have waited to drink when he was destined to die at twenty two. He knew that, he had to accept that. But mostly he knew he should enjoy life while he still had one of his own. Pulling away then he carried the drink back into the kitchen and started taking out things for him to make for a meal, so he could eat. Taking out some salmon he de-thawed it in the warm water he had filled the sink with. Using one arm made things a bit slower for him but he was still determined to get something to eat. Kai had no interest in waiting for his mother, or anyone else to make something. Nor did he wish to make anything for anyone else.

When his water began to boil he poured some noodles into it. Letting those soften, Kai moved to take his salmon out and cut off one end before slipping the salmon out of the packet. Leaving the salmon out on the plastic he moved to look for a knife. Searching for one he needed before hearing Joey ask if he was making them food "You want something to eat, Joey? Hm?" Kai then asked, grinning at his little brother as he opened up another drawer and reached into it. Joey nodded, smiling cutely at him before saying that yes, he was hungry and didn't know when anyone else would be returning home " So it's just been me and you, huh?" Joey shook his head saying that their other three siblings were just off playing outside "Oh. Huh." Kai looked back toward the drawer and took out a knife, pointing it toward his little brother "And so they just left you here, huh. With me, t-t-t." Kai shook his head, seeing his brother flinch back then, as Kai have moved closer to the young boy. Joey then said that their mother asked for Joey to keep an eye on Kai.

Kai blinked " Is that right, you, little Joey, going to keep an eye on me?" Kai glared a bit toward the younger boy who had smile and nodded, saying he was being very responsible, but frowned suddenly realizing that he had forgotten something. Then asked Kai if his head had still been hurting, because they had pain killers for him. Kai pointed the knife into Joey's face then, the tip soon sliding along the other boys flesh " Why don't you take those pills, Joey." The teen muttered before turning away then, realizing he had scared the other a little more than he wanted to...he...didn't want to. Did he? Blinking, he went back to his salmon and Joey turned, running away from him. Gulping, Kai swallowed down the thick feeling in his throat, forcing himself to become numb to it. A good way to get over it, he had found was to focus on chopping up the salmon for his meal. Some time later his dinner was finished. Setting it at the empty dinner table, in his usual spot he moved to take his eat, sticking a fork in the bowl of smoked salmon carbonara with lemon and dill.

As he was enjoying this delicious meal, of which he was kind of proud of having made, all by himself, and having it turn out so good, his parents returned home. He could hear his mother asking where he was, and Joey replying that he was in the kitchen making something. Kai glanced over a moment later when she had turned the corner, eying him suspiciously as she slowly entered with Joshua closely behind " Hi, Mom, Dad-" Kai greeted as he lifted his drink up and sipped from it. Joshua narrowed his gaze on his eldest son before asking if he got into his drinks "Yeah. I figured, why wait, you know. Because, I'll be dead in a handful or so of years." Joshua walked over before being stopped by his wife, who had smiled toward her son and asked if he had made dinner for the rest of the family. Kai blinked, looking confused at them " What family?" He then dared to ask them before going back to eating and ignoring them. Joshua had almost lost his temper with Kai completely before his wife had told him to calm down and suggested that Kai was probably still having problems since falling over the banister on the second floor stairwell.

Looking toward them then, he narrowed his eyes "Yeah. I fell, no one pushed me." Kai then muttered before slurping up some more noodles. Joshua walked in closer to the younger Parker and set some stuff on the table before commenting that that's what had happened. Reminding Kai of how clumsy the other was, even going so far as to remind him of his 'accidents' he would have as a boy " You mean the times you beat me for touching Jo, or one of you? Hm? Those times I was clumsy?" Kai asked before Joshua slammed a hand to the kitchen table and warned Kai, under his breath, very sternly that he was treading a line he should not cross. Kai blinked, then looked away " Sorry. I- You're right. I am still feeling a bit off." Kai glanced away then, the emboldened mood he had been feeling that evening melting away under Joshua's tone. Joshua then told him to take his dinner and go to his room. As Kai was going to do that he reached out to take his drink before Joshua pulled it away and told him no. Glaring for a moment, Kai and Joshua stare each other down before Kai relents and grabbed up his plate.

Once in his room he lightly complained about how he had to get over being worried about what Joshua would do to him if he stepped too far out of line. But he already knew what Joshua was capable of, having already experienced most of it first hand several times in his life by that point. But he had also, briefly anyway, recognized the mood swing. The anger that he had once been able to keep at bay was breaching the dam he had formed in his head, crashing over the sides, cracking it under it's weight. Though he could not remember why he had fallen from that banister, he had known that because of that fall, something had changed. His mind was somehow different, or at least more willing to let that anger through. Clearing his throat he placed the bowl on the bedside table and moved to sit on his bed. Realizing even more that he didn't care about the dam breaking, but what had really bothered him was pointing that knife at Joey. On some level he had recognized a small desire to hurt the other. However, he had resisted, then. Of course Joey would also tell his parents about it.

That is in fact what Joey had done, unaware of the consequences of this action that would come later on. Over the next couple of months Joshua had set up appointments for Kai to be evaluated. Several indicators were found for several things. Joshua seemed to have felt validated by this discovery as well as had taken it upon himself to see to it that with whatever Kai had been diagnosed with and the medications that they had decided on having him take was going to be enforced by the older Parker. Each day, at the designated times Joshua would barge in on Kai, no matter what he was doing, and make him take his medication. One day, Kai had brought some friends from the local school over, it was because they had needed to work on a project. Pointing into the living room, he grinned as one boy asked about his family " Oh. Uhm. They are busy. I think. So they won't be bothering us." Moving on then, he sighed a little bit, wishing that the other two had more room in their own homes so that he didn't have to bring them back to his house.

As one boy asked if his family was really that weird he paused, considering his answer "Nah. They aren't all that weird. They are...Just, very private." Kai defended lightly as he walked into his room " And this is my room-" Moving toward one side he pat a hand against the desk that was there " I'll keep our project right here." He informed, just liking feeling normal for the moment. He had always enjoyed staying as far away from his family home as he possibly could, simply because it had felt right, when he was around other people. They weren't afraid to touch him. Or simply be nice to him, he had liked that quite a lot, he found, just being treated like a person who mattered. Instead of an abomination. It didn't completely numb his burning need to have magic. But it filled an entirely different need he had entirely just to be wanted, to be liked. Even if by others he went to school with. He was pretty well liked in school, most kids finding him to be silly. The three boys had started work on the school project then. Kai had struggled a bit, having a broken arm. One of the boys pat his shoulder then telling him he could take it easy.

Kai looked over toward the other boy and nodded "Ah hah. Yeah, sorry, just wanted to be of help." Then he moved back a bit letting the other two do a lot of the heavier or more active lifting. Then one of the boy's had asked how his arm broke " Oh, you know how it is. Rough housing I guess." Just then the other boy had brought up the stitching and asked if that was also caused by the same thing "Mhmm." His eyebrows furrowing then, he started to remember something from that day, Josette yelling at him and shoving him back, yelling about how he was terrible before ripping a Nerf gun out of his hands and throwing it away. Taking a moment to then look at her self in the mirror before whining about him giving her a black eye. Kai blinked, his memory of that moment starting to die out as he remembered himself saying something along the lines of 'A black eye is the least of your problem because you are just plain ol' ugly'. Though he never got to finish saying that, and everything had gone black. Coming back to the current moment one of the boys frowned and asked if he were alright " Ah- Yeah. Fine. Just remembering something from a while back." Kai cleared his throat then and moved to help the two with their school project.

Around dinner time is when Joshua had come back home. Making his way up to Kai's room the other opened the bedroom door before asking Kai who had given him permission to have guests over " No one. Their places were too small." Joshua narrowed his eyes, but seemed to accept it. Moving in then he looked at the project before then looking toward Kai and asking if he had taken his pills that afternoon. Which Kai looked a bit shocked about, looking toward his friends before looking toward Joshua "No. I forgot." Kai had informed Joshua crossed his arms over his chest and then told Kai to take his pills, now, rather than later. Standing up then he moved toward the door before turning back toward his friends "Sorry about that, I'll be back, just wait right there." Leaving with Joshua, soon he was finishing taking his medication in front of the other before going back to his room. He could hear the two boys whispering then, about how one of their aunts was 'crazy' and also had to take pills. Frowning then Kai sighed before entering the room as the pair started talking about leaving. Seeing Kai they smiled at him. Before then saying it was late and that they probably needed to get back home.

Nodding then, Kai watched them as they started to head for the door "Alright. I'll keep this here-" He pointed toward the desk then "And we can work on it again tomorrow." The two nodded and told him goodbye before leaving. A few moments later, Joshua came back into the room and started to tease Kai about the fact that those boys would not be coming back " You don't know them." Kai muttered before the older Parker nodded and then glanced away, mentioning he knew what children were like. Once you were outed as the freak you were, they would turn on you. Kai swallowed "But you're the freaks?" As Joshua stepped into the room, Kai watched his father, shrinking a bit as the older man approached him, leaning down and getting his face in Kai's before grabbing the other's jaw with his right hand, forcing Kai to look at him and reminding his young son that he was, in fact, an abomination. No one would ever truly be his friend. Staring at Joshua, Kai blinked, a bit hurt. He then jerked his head away from his fathers grip, looking away as he thought about it. Joshua smiled down at his son, knowing that Kai might have thought that about himself, as well. Then he turned and left the room, leaving Kai to think about how worthless or unwanted he was.

#Kai #Kai Parker #SelfPara #KaiSelfPara #KaiChildhood #Childhood

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billyskullknits · 6 years ago

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Well, well, well. That looks like a load of socks.

I know it's traditional at the end of a year to look forward to a new beginning and set goals for the betterment of so on and so forth, but try remember the importance of looking back too.

Every project needs a close down; lessons learnt, mistakes made, and if worst comes to worst, removal of evidence. So with that in mind, let's look at last year's goal.

I set out to knit 12 pairs of socks, one for every month, and to blog about it for your entertainment. I did this to make sure I had regular crafting sessions (as they are so very helpful for my mental health), to improve my sock knitting technique (to help future socks designs), to feed my ravenous sock drawer (so cozy) and to help me destash my over-inflated sock yarn box (no regrets).

I didn't knit 12 pairs of socks - I knit 13. 13! And some other stuff too! By around April I wasn't even sure I'd manage one pair a month. I was behind schedule, sick of socks, and craving something craftable that wasn't 4-ply. By the end I even managed a bonus pair and finished a week early.

I managed at least one blog post a month, though this is a relatively low bar I'll admit. Job done, but do better next time.

I had an excuse for constant knitting. I've got my sock technique down pat and recorded for future reference, even if the pattern needs refinement before anyone else can understand it. My sock drawer is bright and colourful and bursting at the seams (but still not enough!). And my sock yarn stash is reasonable enough that I can keep my odd bods of 4-ply nested alongside. That seems like an all-round success, no?

Lessons learned:

My feet are bigger than I thought they were. Or maybe they got bigger, I don't know. Either way, adding an extra four stitches to my sock pattern may take a bit more time and yarn, but is worth it to have socks that are comfy rather than just snug.

Those pains in your hands? Not helped by your high-tension gauge. Calm down, relax your hands, and let the yarn fall where it will.

Related: if you are making a conscious effort to relax your tension, be warned that any old WIPs knit with your 'standard' tension will now be off-gauge. It seems obvious, I know, but it still surprised me somehow.

Knitting while walking around is fun, but can be dangerous. Don't knit while crossing roads or in other dangerous situations, and watch where you step on uneven ground.

Also, you will greatly miss knit-walking when winter comes. That or you will lose your fingers to frostbite.

Deadlines don't have to be awful. Sometimes introducing structure and restrictions to something very free-form can be really rewarding, because, hey, you did it! No one told you to do it, but you did it anyway. And now you have socks! Well done.

Knitting is something that non-knitters think they can have a polite conversation about, but no matter how interested they seem at first they will glaze over and lose focus when you start talking about your preferred gusset placement. It's not their fault - they just don't know how important it is.

Yes, most of sock knitting is perfect mindless TV knitting. Please remember that this does not apply to the toe, heel or cuff. When knitting during a wrestling PPV, leave the heel turns to the wrestlers.

Even when everything is terrible, and life is bleak and grey and you can't be bothered with existence anymore, there's something fundamentally hopeful about a half finished sock.

I have a sock yarn addiction. This is fine.

#knitting #knitblr #yarnblr #craftblr #knitted socks #socks 2018 #new year new socks

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not-poignant · 6 years ago

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Hullo! I've seen some of your cross-stitch pics on your instagram! I also love cross-stitch! What size-count fabric do you like best? Do you prefer kits fully put together, or buying patterns, floss, and fabric separately? What do you usually do with your finished products?

Hiya anon!

For size count, I think I prefer 14 count Aida. I tried an 18 count Aida once and wanted to die.

I use kits, because it’s basically meant to be a mindless distraction while watching TV, and I don’t want to have to think but I need something to do with my hands or I get bored. I’ve tried buying patterns etc. separately and I hated it so much I found a website that would compile the kit for me based on the pattern lmao and I still hated that and went back to kits. And because I have to compose and think about the colours I’m going to use and so on with my art, cross stitch is designed to get me really far away from that.

The finished products go into a cabinet. Sometimes they get given away as gifts. And I’ve framed one (it’s not put up anywhere though, that’s in my cupboard). I don’t really do them for the finished product. I do them for the journey.

#asks and answers #personal #i get asked a lot by people who know i'm an artist #if i design my own crossstitch images #and the answer is a hard no #i want it to be as separate from my writing/art creative process as possible #and it is #which is lovely #administrator Gwyn wants this in the queue #Anonymous

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hoodoo12 · 7 years ago

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Stitches

Got a request for a story tonight for some comfort and care from Zeta-7 (Doofus Rick) from my good friend, @rixxy8173571m3w1p3 hugs and kisses to you, dearest

SFW, but some blood and injury

⁂

It didn’t hurt. You didn’t feel anything at first, actually. You were more concerned with getting up off the ground after your little tumble from the low stepladder you’d been up on.

You’d let go of everything you’d been holding in an effort to catch yourself. You landed awkwardly on the floor with a thud, and pushed yourself up to assess the damage. Maybe you’d have some bruises? Then, with more surprise than pain, you realize the brand new razor blade you’d been planning on using to scrape paint from the door frame was in your left thigh.

It was almost comical, the way it embedded itself. It could have easily been a low-class, common denominator joke for an inane sitcom, but when dark colored blood began oozing around the thin piece of metal, it wasn’t funny anymore.

You shrieked and instinctively yanked it out.

No longer stoppered, blood poured from the wound.

You shrieked again and pushed a hand to it; the blood kept flowing, drenching your fingers and down your leg.

Heavy footsteps shake the house.

“What happened?!” Rick cries as he bursts into the room.

But you can’t even answer him. Nerve-endings have caught up with the times and your leg is on fire. Blood is still oozing everywhere; you must look like a horror movie slasher victim. You’re panicky, and feel light-headed, you’re crying, and so many things are going through your head, not the least of which is that Rick is going to think you so stupid for falling and wearing shorts while renovating and not being more careful and there’s so much blood, so much blood--

It doesn’t matter you don’t respond to Rick. He takes in the situation, sees that you’re bleeding everywhere, and immediately swoops in. As old and frail as he looks, he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you off the floor--no easy feat, you’re dead weight in your panic--and rushes you to the kitchen.

He sets you on the counter, mindless of the continued mess you’re creating by the act of bleeding, and grabs clean towels.

“Sweetheart, I need to see it for a second,” he says.

You intuit that “it” is the gash in your leg. That scares you and you protest through your tears,

“No-no-no it hurts please don’t Rick please--”

He takes the side of your face and forces you to look at him. “Just for a second, dearheart.”

And somehow, even though he is looking at you, he manages to unlock your hand from your leg and replace it with the towels. There is so much gore on your hand your stomach lurches.

“Keep pressure on it,” he orders, and puts your soiled hand on top of the towels.

You want to retch. You want to lay down on the ground. You want time travel to be real so you can go back and avoid this entire situation.

“Sweetheart, listen. Look at me. Look at me,” Rick repeats.

You try mightily to obey, but your eyes are drawn to your bloody leg like a magnet.

Rick puts his hand on your cheek again. “You need to concentrate on breathing, okay? In, out. In, out. With me. In, out. Okay? Keep breathing.”

With his help, you do. When you’ve gotten the hang of it again, he continues,

“You’re going to need stitches. I can stitch you up right here, lickety-split. Is that okay? Can I do that, or do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

Those are terrible choices. Rick sewing you up in his house, or the pain of moving again and the humiliation of having strangers do it? Your panic rises again. Rick sees it, makes you mimic his breaths again, and makes the decision for you.

“I will be back in one minute. Time me,” he says, and without waiting for you to answer hits the timer on his stove and darts off.

You watch the seconds count down, trying to ignore the pain in your thigh by breathing like he had, and he’s back in the kitchen with an armful of supplies with eight seconds left on the clock.

“Made it!” he jokes, setting everything he’s brought beside you.

You don’t want to look at whatever he’s collected, either; it’ll make you just as nauseous as everything else.

Rick stops the timer just before it chimes. Then he selects a bottle of something opalescent and thick and completely unfamiliar, and offers it to you.

“Drink this, sweetie. It’ll make you feel better.”

You want to protest, but you know he would never give you anything harmful. Bracing yourself, you hold your breath and take a big swallow. The liquid is cooling as it goes down your throat and feels thick, like a stomach protectant. The residual taste in your mouth is floral-ish.

Almost immediately you’re calmer.

Rick smiles up at you. “Good. No, don’t drink more of it, what you had was enough.”

He plucks the bottle out of your hand and sets it aside. Then he puts his palm over the hand you’re still using to press down on your wound.

“I’m going to fix you up. You probably won’t want to see.”

That’s an understatement, but you’re feeling more loose and disconnected by the moment and sedately agree. He organizes his supplies: some gauze with brown liquid soaked in them, instruments that look like forceps, scissors, a packet of suture. When he’s satisfied with everything, he pulls on gloves.

As much as he warned you, however, as he removes your hand and peels away the bloody towels from your leg, you watch with morbid but detached curiosity.

The laceration in your leg isn’t big. It doesn’t look like much at all, in fact. Like a scratch. But Rick coats his fingers with some of the liquid he had you swallow, and when he touches the wound, it sends shockwaves of pain through you. Even through the haze you’re in, you jerk and wail, and start crying again.

Your movement opens the wound. Now you can see that it looks innocuous, but it’s deep. Fresh blood wells up.

“Give it a second, sweetheart, just a second--” soothes Rick.

Whatever that liquid was, it not only calmed you on the inside, but it numbs the area as well. In a few minutes, you can’t feel your leg. It also stanched some of the flow of blood.

“Better?” he asks.

You hiccup a yes.

“Okay, good. I’m going take care of this now.”

He uses the gauze to clean the area. Then you watch him open the suture. The sight of the needle makes you swoon. You lean back against the cabinets.

Rick orders, “Look at the clock on the stove. Tell me how long it takes.”

You know he’s telling you this so you have something else to focus on, but the act of turning your head seems too difficult at the moment. Instead you keep your eyes locked on the top of his head. He’s intent on your leg, so you only see how his hair parts on the crown, falling in a distinctly non-Rick-like way from the top. He has no bald spot. Some strands of silver interspersed in the blue are caught by the kitchen lights. It’s mesmerizing, watching the subtle shades come and go as he moves his head while he works.

“There! Done!” Rick announces.

He told you to see how long it took to sew you up, but you have no idea of how long it may have been. Two minutes? An hour? You’ve lost all sense of time.

“Sssorry, Rick,” you slur.

He chuckles. “It’s okay, sweetie. I know you’re tired now. But you’re all fixed up! I’m going to wrap it in a bandage, but if you wanted to take a quick peek . . .”

You drop your eyes sleepily to the leg he’d been working on. You still need completely cleaned, but the wound is barely visible now, criss-crossed with iridescent sutures that glitter.

“It’sss sso pretty!” Your tongue is thick in your mouth.

“Yes, no need for Frankenstein’s monster stitches,” he agrees. “Not for something minor like this or for someone as pretty as you. Let’s pick up your leg and just let me wrap this around it--”

You couldn’t help him if you wanted to. The drug he gave you has taken almost full effect and you’re out of it, plus your leg is still dead. Rick doesn’t make mention of it though, he simply lifts your leg and bandages your thigh quickly.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he says, and lifts you down from the counter.

Like before, he carries you to the bedroom. Carefully, as you’re drifting into complete unconsciousness, washes the rest of the blood from your leg and hand, and dresses you more comfortably for sleeping.

Just before you’re asleep, it flits through your mind that Rick didn’t stutter or doubt himself once while he was caring for you. It was just comfort, and gentle hands, and competence.

Then you’re adrift in sleep.

#fanfic #fan fic #Rick/reader #SWF #injury #gift fic for a wonderful person

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