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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years ago

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who you are and who you’ve been

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 8,490

summary: Sometimes love takes a little longer to find you.

warnings: SMUT. Mention of past abusive relationship, drinking, swearing.

a/n: Thank you so much to @zeilenkrieg for commissioning this and being so patient while I wrote it!!

“Mama! Mama! You here?”

You sighed as you looked up from your coffee, seeing your daughter coming through the living room. She had on that pair of daisy dukes that she stole from your wardrobe—the ones you used to wear in the heat of summer, a white shirt tied to let the sun on your tummy. You used to scandalize your own mama with that outfit…

You had argued with her that she had worn the same kind of outfit back in the seventies, and that vintage was in. But she liked to wear hers with cowboy boots and you preferred it with a good pair of sneakers.

God, you missed being young… Your twenties had been absolutely wild, even if they had started out with that horrible pandemic in 2020.

You still washed your hands after touching almost anything. An instinct that never went away.

That year and the couple years before had been… insane. But at least it incited real change in the world. The people had learned from their mistakes, at least for now.

History did have a habit of repeating itself. Humans were fickle, forgetful creatures like that.

“Yes, honey bun?” You said as you stood up, moving to hug her.

At thirty-seven years old, she was the only good thing that ever came out of your marriage. That, and knowing how to wash blood out of clothing.

The only problem was that by the time you’d finally left him, you had no friends left. You were in your forties by then, with no family besides your daughter, and no friends left to speak of. You hadn’t even had Facebook at the time to keep in touch with old schoolmates from university. And by then, what was the point? They were all leading completely different lives and probably hadn’t spared you a thought in at least a decade.

“When’s the last time you left the house?” She asked, her hands on her hips in a stance that reminded you so much of yourself that it scared you.

Now that… that was hard to answer… You honestly didn’t think you’d be able to remember. You got practically everything delivered, you worked from home…

Shaking your thoughts away, you shot her a look. “I’m fine right where I am.”

“Your doctor called and said you haven’t been taking your medication.”

“Fuckin’ snitch,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the window, staring down at the now cold coffee.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “He said you haven’t picked up your refill in over two months.” She came over to stand next to you, staring out the window with you for a long time. “Mama, you’ve gotta take your medicine… You remember what happened last time…”

Ah, yes, the infamous incident.

Which was an incident in a long line of incidents.

There had been a… few times when you’d stopped taking your medication—either intentionally or simply because you had forgotten—and it had resulted in a stay in the psych ward at the local hospital. It had happened far too many times for your daughter to not be in contact with your doctor so she would be informed if you had stopped getting your refills.

You didn’t blame her, of course. But it did make you feel like a horrible mother. One who couldn’t even take care of herself to the point where your daughter had to.

“Yes, I remember last time,” you sighed, staring at a cardinal. “You know, my mama used to tell me that if you see a cardinal, a loved one who’s passed is visiting you…”

“Mama, I signed you up for a seniors’ social club.”

You blinked.

And then, you blinked again.

You turned to look at your daughter, disbelief written all over your face. “No the fuck you did not. I swear to all that is holy, Josephine Ann, if you signed me up for one of those… those… pre-death support groups, I’ll tan your hide!” You gasped as some of your coffee splashed onto your sweatshirt. “I brought you into this world, and I sure as hell can take you out of it!”

“You’ve been saying that since I was two,” She said, taking your arm and guiding you to sit down at the kitchen table. “And it’s not a pre-death support group. I feel like that’s offensive somewhere so make sure you don’t go running around the group saying that.” Josephine used a paper napkin to dab at the coffee on your sweatshirt, muttering about throwing it into the wash and getting you a new one.

This was what you meant by your daughter taking care of you.

“Josie, really, I can get my own sweatshirt.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta,” she said as she came back with a new one, helping you change.

Sometimes you felt like she thought you were a hundred years old.

“Honestly, mama… I just want you to be happy… You should have friends. You shouldn’t be cooped up in this house all day, all the time.”

“What do I need friends for when I’ve got you? And Danny?” You asked.

But you had been hit with the sudden reality that except for Josephine and her girlfriend, you were alone. Completely, and utterly, alone. Hell, they were the only people you had ever invited over to the tiny one bedroom you owned.

Repairmen didn’t count because they were there to do a job, not keep you company.

God, you had wanted more than this, once upon a time. You had once had dreams, of maybe being a writer and making the New York Times’ Bestsellers List, of a husband who adored you and brought you flowers every Friday, of lazy Sundays eating waffles on the couch with the love of your life.

But life didn’t end up the way you had dreamed it. There were no book signings or meetings with editors… there were no gardenias… and there was no smell of waffles and syrup.

And you’d made your peace with that.

Sort of.

Josephine’s arms wrapped around you as she rested her head against yours. Like a mirror of yourself, she was, from her face down to her toes.

Thank god. She didn’t deserve to have to look in the mirror and see reflections of her father.

“Will you at least try it?” She asked gently, her hand running up and down your arm, her freshly manicured nails tickling your skin. “It’s not like a pre-death support group, as you call it… It’s for seniors or people who are approaching seniority and are still active and want to go out and have fun, but maybe need some friends to do it with. Please?”

And how could you say no when she wanted something so badly?

“Alright,” you said after a moment. “I’ll go once. And if it’s horrible, I’m not going back. And I’m gonna tell Danny how you forced me to meet a bunch of strangers.”

She squealed excitedly, running off to your bedroom and going through your closet. “Okay, the first thing the group is doing is having a first meeting at a bar, and we’re gonna get you all done up.”

Oh, good. She was going all in.

“When’s the first meeting?” You asked as you sat on the bed, leaning back on your hands as you watched her.

“Tonight.”

Uh. What?

“TONIGHT?!” You shouted in shock as you jumped up. “What?! You didn’t think to ask me about this a few days ago?!”

She snorted, picking out a few tops that you hadn’t worn in what felt like decades. “I signed you up this morning, I didn’t know about it a few days ago.”

You watched in exasperation as she threw article after article of clothing onto the bed for you to try on. “I don’t think I need to wear four pairs of jeans to a bar,” you said, beginning to pick up a few of the pieces.

Josephine gave you a look as she continued. “Considering how long it’s been since you’ve been out, I think it’s fair that some of these might not fit anymore.”

Well, you had lost some weight… Not necessarily in a healthy way, but she was right.

In the end, she ended up shoving you into the bathroom and forced you to do a full shower—which meant body and hair.

You hadn’t even gone to such lengths when you were going on your first date with her father.

She spent hours on your hair and makeup, chattering away excitedly about the vacation her and Danny were planning. A South American cruise.

Josephine had never married, never had kids. Never wanted to after seeing what her daddy had put you through. It left a sour taste in her mouth, and even though it was legal now, her and her girlfriend hadn’t breathed a word of a wedding.

Though, you suppose they had a common law marriage at that point, if lesbians were included in it.

“Perfect,” she said as she got you to slip on an old jacket of yours that was a little too big. “Come on. I’ll drive you and pick you up.”

“Oh, honestly,” you snorted as you grabbed the purse Josephine had shoved all your things into. “You’d think I could take an Uber.”

The bar wasn’t what you had expected when she had first told you that’s where the meeting was going to be held. The last bars you’d been to had practically been nightclubs.

But this was… upscale. Sophisticated.

Now you understood just why she had put so much work into making you look presentable.

It didn’t look like anyone else was there yet, even though most of the patrons were around your age, so you took a seat at the bar, the group’s site pulled up on your phone.

“What can I get for you, miss?” The bartender asked as he set down a coaster in front of you.

A snort erupts from your throat as you look at him. “You always call women as old as me miss?”

“Oh, come on, you’re a catch,” he said, shooting you a playful wink. “My dad’s single, you know. If you were… looking.”

“Thank you, but I’m not,” you said gently, your cheeks flushed. “Can I get a Manhattan?”

The bartender nodded, gracefully backing off the subject of you possibly dating his father. And barely a minute and a half later, there’s a perfectly made Manhattan set on your coaster.

You’d barely taken a sip before someone came up beside you. “Do you have Macallan’s 18 Year Sherry Oak?” A man asked. At the bartenders confirmation, he hummed. “Can I get a double on the rocks?”

The bartender dropped a large ball of ice into a glass before pouring two shots of whiskey over it and handing it to the man.

“Macallan’s, huh?” You said softly, your heart pounding. Josephine had told you to make friends. That was the whole point of this, even if the man wasn’t part of the social club you’d been forced into. “You know your whiskeys.”

The tall man took a seat beside you, his eyes boring into the side of your face. You hadn’t dared look at him yet. “I’ve always preferred those who choose a Manhattan over a martini any day.”

“And why is that?” You asked, finally looking up at him.

And oh, you wished you hadn’t. He was… stunning. The very definition of male beauty. His salt and pepper hair reminded you of the photos of the men in the forties… The 1940s, that is. Blue eyes so striking that you lost your breath, and broad shoulders that you knew would haunt your dreams. He was wearing a glove on his left hand for some reason, but you didn’t linger on it too long.

But at least he was at least your age, if not a little older. You’d die if you’d just sort of flirted with a twenty-something asshole who just bought expensive whiskeys for the sake of buying expensive whiskeys to show that he had money to blow.

“Martini drinkers think they’ll get some kind of award for their choice of drink,” he said, “as though choosing a drink that generally tastes like shit is some kind of accomplishment. Unless you’re just taking a shot, a drink should taste good.” He looked you up and down, letting his pretty blues linger on your lips. There were faint crow feet at the corners of his eyes, but they just seemed to make him even more handsome. “And a Manhattan doesn’t need a fancy whiskey. It is steady and sure even with the cheapest five dollar bottle you can get from a gas station. Someone whose drink of choice is a Manhattan is sure of who they are and what they want.”

You hadn’t felt this hot under a man’s gaze in decades. “Really?” Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you took another sip of your drink to buy you a moment.

“Mmm…” He stole one of the two cherries from your drink, biting it off the stem. You were transfixed as he slipped the stem into his mouth, sticking his tongue out about thirty seconds later with a perfect cherry stem knot on display. “Really. I’m James. What’s your name?”

Butterflies filled your stomach as you gave him your name. God, you felt like you were sixteen again and being flirted with for the first time.

His eyes flicked down to your open phone that rested on the bar, the social club’s page still up. “You’re here for the meeting, too?”

“Um… Yes,” you said, ducking your head.

“But, doll…” He leaned towards you, a charming smile on his lips. “You don’t look a day over thirty-five. Are you sure you’re a senior?”

Blinking, your mouth hung open in a soft o. “Are you planning on flirting with every woman in the club like this?”

James looked around dramatically, his gloved hand resting over his heart. “A club?! Is that what you call this place?” He asked, mockingly serious. “Damn, what does that make all those dirty, gross places these young kids go to now? Brothels?”

For some reason, you felt comfortable enough to shove his shoulder, surprised a little at the feeling of metal under his jacket sleeve.

For the first time, he looked a bit… uncomfortable. He had flinched a bit, his bright eyes focused surely on his drink. “Um…”

“You’re the Winter Soldier. James Barnes,” you said curiously, your head tilting to the side as you looked at him. “I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm,” you drawled, taking the cherry left in your drink and biting it off in a way that you hoped was alluring. “Though, I gotta say, it is a bit awkward to meet the man I wrote two papers about in high school.”

Shit, his laugh was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Like Apollo or something...

James’s head was thrown back in laughter. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes squeezed shut. “Did you actually write two papers about me?” He asked as he tried to catch his breath. At your nod, he smirked, leaning in close again. “What did you write about? How devilishly handsome I am?”

You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “I mean, I can show you the papers and actually let you read them, but they’re at my place.”

Before he could pick his jaw up off the ground, there were other seniors in the group coming up to greet you. Your throat was dry as the Sahara as you turned to face them, plastering on a smile as you tried to ignore the heated gaze on your face and the way he licked his lips.

The meeting was… long. Boring.

Or at least, that’s how it felt when you had James’s dark, sultry eyes on you the entire goddamn time.

Mind fuzzy, you vaguely remembered agreeing to come to the next meeting, and even signing up for a hiking trip they were taking the next weekend.

As you headed outside, you felt Bucky’s hand slip into yours, his long, calloused fingers intertwining with yours. “So… Am I gonna get to come over and… read those papers?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

God, you could practically feel yourself bursting into flames. You weren’t gonna survive.

Thank god your daughter had forced you into a full shower.

But what about how dirty your house was sure to be?

“Um… Y-Yeah,” you said as you turned to look at him. “But, my daughter is gonna be driving me home… I don’t want her to know I’ve got someone coming over. She’s nosey. Real… Real nosey.”

“Of course, darlin,’” he chuckled. “Here, why don’t I give you my phone number, and you shoot me a text with your address when you’re ready for me to come over?”

Your head was swirling as you got into your daughter’s car, your phone burning a hole in your purse.

“How was it?” Josephine asked nervously once you got about halfway home. She couldn’t tell from the look on your face. “Did you like it?”

“Hm? Yeah.” Swallowing, you shot a text to James with your name, telling him you’d text him when it was all clear.

“Are you gonna go again?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She seemed both dissatisfied and pleased by your vague answers. At least you were getting out of the house.

Once you got home and said goodbye, it was a mad dash to ensure that your house was clean as could be. Josie had put in some work while you’d been gone, it seemed. She’d done the dishes and the laundry, as well as dusted.

Thank fuck.

You struggled for a solid twenty minutes to put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed, lighting two candles and placing them in a manner that you hoped seemed natural.

“Shit,” you cursed as you smelled under your arms.

Okay, quick body shower. It seemed all that flirting had made you a tiny bit sweaty.

You turned the water to scalding and scrubbed your body down, exfoliating and using your best scented body wash.

And to be quite frank, you’d never shaved your lady bits as quick as that.

As you texted him your address and that it was safe to come over, you pulled on your clothing from the bar (though, you did put on nicer, matching lingerie underneath.) By the time he’d gotten there, you’d downed two shots of tequila for a bit of liquid courage and had poured yourself a glass of wine.

“Hey, baby doll,” he said, a crooked grin on his face as you welcomed him inside. His glove had been abandoned, and black metal fingers lined with gold glittered in the light. “Woah… You know, I wasn’t sure how your place was gonna look, but this is very… you.”

“Oh, really?” You asked as you offered him a glass of wine, which he gratefully took. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled as he swirled the deep red liquid in its glass. “It’s cozy. Sweet.”

Your throat was dry as you watched his adam’s apple bob as he took a drink. “Um… so those papers…”

Bucky whispered your name, moving closer to you as he set the wine glass down on the counter. “Baby girl, I’m not really here for the papers, am I?” He asked as your back hit the island. “If I am… If I am, then just tell me, and I’ll stop this.” His slightly chapped lips ghosted against yours like the tease he was. “Am I here just for the papers?”

“No,” you breathed out, before pressing your lips against his in a firm kiss at last. His breath was minty and cool, with just a touch of the wine you’d been sharing, like he’d brushed his teeth before coming over just like you had.

Could it be possible he was just as nervous as you were?

But he was perfect? Why the hell would he be nervous?

Your thoughts were cut short as he reached down, his hands firmly grabbing your ass as he lifted you up and set you on the counter. “That’s a good girl,” he growled as he kissed down your neck, his hands working at your blouse. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you during that whole stupid fucking meeting. Just wanted to kiss you. Just wanted to… to touch you.” He pulled back, kissing you fiercely as his hands moved from your blouse to hold your face again. “You gonna let me touch you, angel?”

A whine escaped your throat as you nodded, desperately yanking at his shirt. Once it was off, you didn’t hesitate to run your hands over the broad planes of his chest. He wasn’t quite as toned as you remembered from when you were younger, when you used to (occasionally) stalk (lightly) his social media accounts. There’d been so many pictures of him on vacation with the other Avengers… all tanned and toned…

But you liked this better. There was a softness to him now, a gentleness.

You were so distracted by his physique that you didn’t notice he’d gotten your shirt and bra off until the cold air hit your chest. “Fuck,” you mumbled as his lips found your neck, trailing down to your breasts.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed, let alone the last time you’d had such… attention.

Especially when his hands worked your pants off and he stood between your legs, moaning as his fingers tickled your thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” he said as his lips wrapped around one nipple, suckling at it and teasing until it was diamond hard, and he moved on to the other.

Gotta be fair, after all.

“James…”

“Fuck, baby girl… Never been with a woman as beautiful as you,” he growled, kissing down your tummy. “You’re not making it out of here without orgasming at least twice,” he warned jokingly. He was half bent over in front of the island, watching in wonder as he slowly pulled your silk panties down your legs and revealed your aching core to him.

“I-If you’re not comfortable standing like that, w-we can move somewhere else,” you stammered, suddenly growing self conscious. What if he thought your pussy was weird? Granted, you’d overcome thinking that when you were in your early twenties, after learning that each one looked different.

But he was born in the forties.

But that meant he’d probably seen an exponential amount of pussies!

Oh, god, there was no way you’d have anywhere near as much experience as him. The only person you’d ever been with was your ex husband, and he wasn’t exactly the paradigm of lovers.

“Hey.”

You refocused with a shake of your head, your eyes meeting James’s. “Yes?”

“You’re in your head,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly ran his fingers along your sensitive folds. “There’s no need… It’s just you and me, okay? And you’re absolutely perfect.”

Your heart was melting inside your chest as you nodded, stealing a tentative kiss. “Okay… Just you and me.”

James nipped at your lower lip as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Come on. I don’t want our first time to be on a kitchen counter. Though I make no promises I won’t help christen every inch of this house after,” he said with a playful growl.

You whispered directions to your bedroom as he held you tight to his chest, his lips finding purchase on your neck. “And here I thought you said the super soldier serum was wearing off,” you joked.

The man snorted as he pushed you up against the hallway wall. “Trust me, doll, no lack of super soldier serum is gonna stop me from fucking you right,” he said, his voice husky and deep.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, two thick fingers were slipping inside of you to slowly tease your cunt, his lips ghosting over yours. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at the whimper that fell from your lips. “Y-Yes. Yes. Please, I need more, James…”

James smiled into the kisses he’d been giving you. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“That’s a tall order.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, shivering at the way his metal fingers dug into the plumpness of your ass. “You sure you can fill it?”

He doesn’t respond with words, growling as he kisses you fiercely, carrying you to the bedroom. You don’t have time to think before he’s crawling over you and kissing up your tummy to your lips. “I need to be inside you,” He whispered as he stroked his length.

“Please… Don’t wanna wait anymore,” you said. Vaguely, you’re aware of the twinge in your knees from all the physical activity, and you knew you’d be sore as hell in the morning.

Fucking worth it, though.

James didn’t hesitate to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. When he finally pushed in, unison moans fill the air.

“I… I haven’t done this in… so long,” you finally admitted as he slowly pushed in more, taking his time. Eyes locked, your mouth fell open in a soft ‘o’ as he bottomed out, his hips meeting yours. “Oh, fuck…”

“Then I better do a real good job fucking you right.”

You weren’t quite sure how long you two lasted, but you do know he manages to pull three orgasms out of you in the space of just a few hours. There’s snack and water breaks in between rounds, his cool metal hand running up and down your spine to cool you down as you two whisper in the dim light of your desk lamp.

You can’t remember a time that you’d felt so at peace.

A spark had been lit inside your chest as you two laid there in bed, legs intertwined. Both of you were quiet, his fingers moving to caress your cheek.

There were no words that needed to be said.

His sea blue eyes are sparkling in the dim light, and your hand runs over the sharp stubble that lines his jaw. It had certainly marked up your neck.

“I had intended on asking you on a date,” he said quietly as his hand found yours, bringing it to his mouth. Chapped lips kissed each of your knuckles like you were something precious, something to behold. “I didn’t think the five minutes or so before the meeting counted… But I’d still like to take you on that date, if you’ll let me.”

“That sounds nice,” you said, a grin twinging at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting up a bit as his fingers brushed against your forehead.

“Yeah.” A giggle escaped your lips as he playfully tackled you, starting yet another round as his hips rolled down against yours.

The next morning, you woke up alone. The sheets beside you were mussed, though the space James had been occupying was still a bit warm.

Jazz music floated down the hall, through the cracked door, and you could vaguely hear the clinking of pans.

It took you a minute to gather the will to get yourself out of bed and find your robe, but you finally did it. As your feet hit the ground and you pushed yourself to a stand, you winced.

You had been right about feeling it in your knees.

You forced yourself to walk smoothly down the hall, despite how much it hurt. Embarrassing yourself in front of James was the last fucking thing you wanted to do.

He was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and humming along with the old jazz song playing on the Bluetooth speaker. He had a pan full of pancake batter in front of him, a whole stack he’d already made on the side.

Standing in the doorway, you couldn’t help but grin as you watched him. He’s so handsome… and he seemed so at home in your kitchen. In your home.

Maybe he’d like to move in…

You shook your head, knowing that it’s already too much.

But the thought was nice.

Him in his pajamas, making coffee… Him in your shower… Him in your bed every night…

Yeah. It’s a really, really nice thought.

“Hi.”

James jumped, his eyes wide as he whirled round to face you. “Hi. I thought I had another thirty minutes before I had to go and wake you up,” he said. “I’m making pancakes. For you. For us.” His cheeks flushed, turning a bright red as he turned back to the pan to quickly flip the pancake. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your flour and shit…”

“Oh, no, I… I almost never cook,” you admitted as you moved over to stand next to him, watching as he made two more pancakes.

As he carried the huge plate to the kitchen island, he teasingly grabbed your ass and squeezed. “Maybe I’ll have to stay the night more often, if only so you get a homemade breakfast.”

It was sweet, and domestic, and somewhat terrifying.

You hadn’t had a man do anything for you like this since you were in your twenties, when your husband was still sweet and loving.

But even so, this was somehow better than anytime your husband made his famous burritos.

Maybe because James’s cooking actually tasted good.

Your first date was to a movie, a drive in. Something that’s designed to be vintage but really just looked cheesy as all hell.

But it’s perfect. Perfect and cheesy and romantic.

Your only complaint was that he didn’t kiss you at the door when he dropped you off. He pressed his lips to your cheek and whispered a goodnight, and that was it.

It took two more dates within the same week for him to kiss you again.

Bright and early on the next Saturday morning, he knocked on your door, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I figured I should make up for you having to be up so early with this,” he said as he came inside, kissing you quick before moving to put the flowers in a vase.

At this point, he knew your house almost as well as you did. It felt good, when you two moved around like you were part of a team.

“Have you gotten your coffee this morning?” You asked, already pouring two travel mugs full of the good stuff.

He came up behind you, kissing your shoulder. “I have, but you know I’ll never say no to more, doll.”

The rest of the group eyed you curiously as you got out of the same car, a few elbow nudges and whispers in the air.

“At least I know no old ass dickheads are gonna come hit on my girlfriend,” James growled in your ear, his calloused flesh hand squeezing your hip.

“Jamie…,” you whined, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. No one had ever claimed you in such a way that made you feel so desired and… and worthy.

James made you feel worthy.

Which is something you’d only ever really gotten from your daughter.

It sent a bolt of arousal through you, and you were tempted to drag him back to the car so you could bring him right back home and do something about it.

Also… Girlfriend? Were you his girlfriend now? Officially?

That just made you wanna find somewhere to fuck him even more.

But alas, you pushed the thought away as the lot of you boarded one of those white airport vans that took you out of the city to the closest state park.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out as you stared out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. The morning air was a bit chillier than it had been lately, signaling the coming onslaught of winter.

Maybe Bucky would wanna make hot cocoa together… go sledding… Would him, Josephine, and Danny would all come over for Christmas and New Years and—

Would he even want to meet Josephine?

Would Josie wanna meet him?

She had no idea that you’d found a—A boyfriend?

“Not as beautiful as you,” Bucky murmured against the shell of your ear as his vibranium fingers intertwined with yours and squeezed. His stubble tickled your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder, watching the passing scenery with you. “I’m really glad I met you, doll…”

“Me, too,” you said, grinning as you squeezed his hand back and leaned your head against his.

It was strange, falling so hard for someone so quick after everything you’d been through.

But you had a gut feeling. One that you had never had with your ex husband.

James was a good one. A really, really good one.

That reminded you.

When were you meant to tell him about all the shit you’d been through?

Despite the amount of time you had spent together already, you hadn’t found the courage for it.

Soon, you decided.

But first, you had to get through the damn hike.

Bucky was glued to your side the entire time, even though you were a lot worse at hiking than he was. He would hold your hand, guiding you anytime there was a fallen tree or a creek. His blue eyes were soft as he murmured encouragement, quietly praising your every move.

It was intoxicating.

So when you two fell behind from the group, watching them go around a curve and down a hill, you dragged James behind a large rock formation.

“Baby doll? Darling, what the hell are you doing?” He laughed as you pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.

“Can’t a girl be spontaneous?” You teased as you dropped to your knees, ignoring the way a twig was poking into your left knee. “Need to taste you.”

His eyes locked on you as you worked at his jeans, getting them down and off, his nails scratching at your scalp as he got a good grip on your head. “Fuck… Are you really this needy for me, angel? Fuck, you’re so god damn gorgeous… Look at you.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage as you finally freed his length, a grin on your lips as you wrapped your hand around him and slowly stroked him.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back as your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. “Fucking shit… Good girl… Suck me off real good, baby.”

The group probably would notice your absence, not that you particularly cared.

Not when you had your man so weak for you. And all you’d had to do was get on your knees.

His metal and flesh hands guided you to take more of him in, going at a slow pace so as not to hurt you. He was so big there was no way you’d get all of him down your throat but what you couldn’t take in your mouth, you pleasured with your hands.

Pleasuring your partner like this was addicting. You’d never felt the desire—no, the incessant need—to please your ex husband. All you could think about was getting Bucky off, making him feel so good that he couldn’t see or walk straight.

You choked around him as you took him as deep as possible, your eyes glassy. When you popped off, you stroked him as you moved down to carefully suck at his balls, fighting a grin as he gasped, his hips stuttering. Before he could orgasm, you took him back in your mouth, wanting to swallow him down.

“Fuck, fuck— Oh, shit… Baby— I’m gonna… I’m gonna—” Bucky broke off with a shout as he came, spilling down your throat. His large hands stroked your cheeks as you swallowed all of it, barring the little bit that had gotten on your lower lip. “You did so good, darling,” he cooed as he helped you stand, pressing you against the rock behind him as he kissed you. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, a faint smile on your lips as you helped him put himself back away. “You were perfect, James…”

When you finally caught up to the group, a few of the others shot you knowing looks.

But Bucky just had a satisfied smirk on his lips, his hand tightly intertwined with yours even as you flushed in embarrassment.

“Once we get home, it’s your turn,” he whispered in your ear as you all headed back for the van.

Your relationship with James was… wonderful.

It was easy in a way you’d never had before.

Within just two months, he was living at your house almost full time, to the point where you’d been thinking about asking him to move in.

It was like you two were magnets. Even when you both had work to do, you did it in the same room, slowly gravitating towards each other until you were sitting close, your foot running up his calf.

And he’d gotten you to start writing.

“It’s your dream, doll. You’re never too old to chase your dreams,” he said one night as you two laid in bed. His metal fingers were tracing shapes on your spine, a chill from the cracked window ruffling his sweaty hair. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why did you stop in the first place?”

Ah.

The conversation you’d been avoiding for so long.

Sitting up, you pressed your hands to your face as you tried to find the words to say. “Um… I was married before… I know you know, but, uh…” Your fingers fiddled together nervously. You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “My husband… He wasn’t… He wasn’t nice. At all.”

Bucky immediately sat up behind you, his vibranium hand resting flat on your back to reassure you that he was there, and to give you something to focus on while you spoke. He didn’t need to speak for you to know. He was there and he wasn’t running.

“I married him young… and I had Josephine young… He’d always been so… possessive, but I just considered it protective,” you continued, pulling strength from his touch to keep on going. You needed to tell him this. You needed him to understand. “Then after Josie was born, he started getting violent. He’d always been mean, but he’d never hit me until after I gave birth…”

James was tense behind you, slowly scooting over so he could wrap his arms around you, his legs resting on either side of yours as he held you. He needed you close. Needed to know you were safe in his arms and that man was long gone.

“Put me in the hospital a few times… He at least didn’t do it in front of Josie. That’s the one thing I asked of him that he listened to.” You couldn’t help but snort as you slowly relaxed back against him. “She always thought all the bruises and shit was just a side effect of how clumsy I am… But she came home one day during college, to surprise us… She walked in on him holding a frying pan above his head, about to swing again. She jumped in between us and told him if he ever touched me again, she’d kill him.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as his lips pressed to your bare shoulder. It was soothing, feeling his skin against yours. “She moved me out of that house and into her apartment, helped me get the divorce, get back on my feet…”

“Remind me to tell Josephine thank you,” he said quietly as he squeezed you close. “Thank you for telling me, doll… I… I can’t imagine how hard that was… But he’ll never touch you again. No one will ever touch you again if you don’t want it.”

“I know.”

He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “I love you. So much…”

A peace settled over you as you rested your head back against his, allowing yourself to truly fall into him, to relax. “And I love you…”

After that night, Bucky slept over at your place five to six nights a week, only going home to get more clothes and do his laundry really, even though you’d told him a million times he could do it at your place.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear one morning, pushing your hair away from your face. “Time to get up… I’ve got breakfast ready for you…”

Groaning, you tried to pull him down for more cuddle time, but he wasn’t having it. He always woke up before you, too many years a soldier coming into play. He’d go for a run and make breakfast before waking you up.

“Come on, doll,” he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as he got you to sit up, your vision blurry from sleep still. “Medicine,” he said, pressing your pills into your palm and putting a glass of water in your other.

Ever since he’d found out about your prescriptions and how you had a hard time remembering to take them, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure you did, every morning and night without fail.

“What’d you make this morning?” You asked sleepily after swallowing your pills, letting him pull you to your feet. His t-shirt clung to you as you followed him down the hall. Your hand was tucked into his as you rounded the corner to the kitchen.

What neither of you had heard was the sound of the front door opening.

“Mama?! What the hell?!” Josephine demanded, standing in the kitchen with Danny right behind her. “Who the fuck is this?! What is he doing here?!”

Oh.

Yeah.

You’d neglected to tell your daughter, afraid of how she might take it.

“Hello. I’m James. Or Bucky,” your boyfriend said as he held out his hand to you, clearly unashamed and standing his ground even though he was only wearing a pair of pajama pants.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Your daughter repeated angrily, ignoring his hand.

“Josie,” Danny began, trying to soothe her.

But your daughter was nothing but determined when she was in her protective mode.

Before you could open your mouth, Bucky supplied, “I’m her boyfriend.”

You felt a flush coming over you as she stared at the two of you, slack-jawed. “He is,” you said, wrapping both of your arms around his metal one. You were so nervous, you were shaking.

“When did this happen?!” She demanded, beginning to pace back and forth around the kitchen.

“Um… The first meeting at the bar… for the club,” you said. Seeing her so upset made your anxiety spike, and you knew James could feel it, could hear the way your heart rate increased exponentially.

Josephine whirled on you, her eyes—so much like yours—wide with disbelief. No. Betrayal. “You’ve been seeing someone for almost three months and you didn’t tell me?”

“I…” Tears pricked your eyes as you tightened your grip on Bucky’s arm. This was not the way you wanted them meeting to go. “I was scared… of how you’d react…”

At that moment, Bucky turned to meet your eyes, his forehead almost pressing against yours. “Darling, I feel like this is a conversation you two should have alone, yeah? So I’m gonna take—Danny, right? Yeah—Danny to the living room with some coffee so we can get to know each other, okay?”

After a nod, and a squeeze of his hand, he got two mugs of coffee and led your daughter’s girlfriend to the living room. You could see them sitting down from the corner of your eyes, but you were much too focused on Josephine.

“Mama, I—”

“I love him,” you said, before she could say anything more.

Her eyes were shining, locked on you as she waited for you to speak. In her gut, she knew this was something you needed to get out.

“I love him more than I’ve ever loved a man. More than I loved your father,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “And I know… I know you’re as protective as you are because you saw how he treated me. You saw how much I hid that he was hurting you, but Jamie isn’t like that.” Your fingers fiddled as you tried to keep yourself from pacing. “He’s kind and adoring and gentle and… and he loves me. More than I thought anyone could ever love me. And I know you feel like you need to take care of me and I am so grateful. And I still need you. Everyday. But Bucky… I love him. I love him and he loves me and we take care of each other.”

Josephine reached out, slowly taking your hands in hers. “He… He makes you happy? He takes care of you and you’re safe?” She asked, voice trembling as a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Yeah. He takes real good care of me,” you insisted with a weak laugh. “And I’ve never been so happy before, honey. I promise.”

“Okay…,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m still giving him the shovel talk.”

Bucky looked up as Josephine entered the living room, looking much calmer. He wasn’t sure what you’d said, but it had seemed to placate her for the time being.

“Can we talk outside?” She asked him, keeping her chin high.

God, she looked so much like you.

He nodded stiffly, getting to his feet and leaving his mug behind as he followed her to the front door and out onto the porch. The former super soldier watched as she paced back and forth, biting her thumb. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Josie stopped in her tracks, listening quietly.

“Your mama loves you something fierce.” Nervously rubbing his hands on his pajama pants, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous meeting a girl’s family.

Though, he supposed it was a bit different when it was meeting your girlfriend’s daughter.

“And I love her.”

Your daughter, your mini me, stared him directly in the eyes. “I’m sure she’s told you about my father. What he did.”

“She did.”

“So you know that if you put one fucking foot out of line, I’ll filet you?”

“I do.”

She eyed him for a long moment. “What are you in this for? What’s the long term?” She asked. “I’ve heard of elders just… settling for someone because they don’t wanna be alone in their twilight years. Is that what this is?”

Bucky tried really hard not to feel a little bit offended. He wasn’t that old. “I’ve been alive since 1917,” he said slowly. “I have no doubt you know who I am. But I’ve been alive a hundred and something years, and I’ve never met someone who makes me feel the way your mom does.” His heart clenched inside his chest as he thought of you, seeing your shy smile in the mornings, how you clung to him when you went out in public, the sound of your voice as you read an excerpt of your writing to him, so nervous about what he would think. “And I… I can say that everything I’ve been through… Everything I’ve ever been through was worth it, because I got to meet her. And I get to be hers for the years I have left.”

She looked absolutely speechless. “Good,” she said, coughing to clear her throat. “Good. I just… I can’t see her get hurt again. Not after everything.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan to,” he said, his mouth dry. “I… I actually have something to ask you about… Been waiting to meet you to talk to you about it…”

Inside, you paced the kitchen and living room, going back and forth and back and forth, sometimes moving to the window to try to hear what they were saying. But they were keeping it all very hushed.

“It’s gonna be fine, mama,” Danny said, standing up and moving to wrap her arms around you. “Josie’ll see how much you two love each other, and it’ll be fine. She’s just gotta have her protective moment. You know how she is.”

Sniffling, you hugged her tightly. “I shouldn’t have kept it from her for so long… I was just so nervous… They both… They both mean the world to me.” You paused, snorting. “I knew you’d approve of him. I wasn’t so worried about you.”

“Oh, please, the way that man looked at you?” She said, laughing as she kissed your forehead. “Mama, there’s no way in hell that man would ever hurt you. He looks at you like you’re his entire universe.”

Heart warm, you glanced towards the front door, wishing they’d just come inside already. “I’ve never felt something like this… But fuck, if the whole shit show that’s my life wasn’t worth it for him… I wouldn’t change a thing, as long as it means I get to end up with him.”

You broke out of her grasp as the front door opened and they came back inside, looking relaxed and even… happy? “Well? You aren’t gonna kill him?” You asked Josie as you moved to James, heart racing.

“Nah…,” she said, giving him what seemed like a secretive smile. “As far as dads go… He’d be pretty nice to have.”

“What?” You said, brows furrowing as you looked between the two of them.

Bucky chuckled, winking at Josephine as he led you to the stove where breakfast was still waiting, making you waddle as his arms wrapped around you from behind. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, baby doll. It’s all good.”

You still couldn’t help but feel like the two were planning something as he made your plate for you, cutting up your pancakes and filling up your coffee. “Why do I feel like you two are gonna end up ganging up on me?”

“Oh, come on, mama,” Josephine said with a smirk on her face. Her and Danny had made their own plates and joined you and Bucky in the living room. “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?”

“Yeah,” James said as he fed you a bite of pancake. “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?” He asked, before leaning in and stealing a kiss. “I love you.”

You’d never felt more relaxed, surrounded by the people you loved the most in the world. What you’d said to Josephine had been true.

“I love you more,” you said, leaning back in for another kiss.

You’d never been so happy.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader

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caesthetix · 4 years ago

Text

A LITTLE FEAR — Ep. Prime Real Estate

↪Jean Kirstein mini-series

↪content; canon universe, description of violence, season 4 spoiler, forbidden love, marleyan!reader, scouts!jean, chapter 139 spoiler

You stopped whatever you were doing in an instant, both hands freezing midair as a flock of birds suddenly landed beside you. That was strange, you never saw this type of bird flying around your house before. Those birds had silky white feathers and beady black eyes, some had their gaze fixated on you.

But then again, perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised that you never saw them before.

It was not like you have been living here for years, no. For the last three years, you were here as a new citizen in a world where the fear of titans finally gone. Everything was at peace for years as this newborn country strengthened its military — under the command of the Queen.

Yes, the Queen, Historia Reiss. Never once you ever thought you would be living here of all places in the world, tending flower beds and watering plants. A Marleyan like you, the mortal enemy of those Eldians somehow slipped inside the society and even lived inside the innermost part of the country.

You lived in prime real estate located in the countryside; a medium-sized house with huge land, different compared to those gigantic and majestic buildings in the downtown area. The atmosphere was unique and you preferred this kind of house instead of the luxurious, blinding one. For you, this is home, and you couldn't wait to share it with your lover.

"(Y/n)! Don't stay too long in the garden!"

A familiar shout rang through the open area, making you turn your head to face them. She stood there with her comfortable white dress, maroon-coloured apron draped in front of her figure to make sure that any specks of dirt didn't smear her dress while her brown hair sticking out from her tight ponytail.

"I will be there in a few minutes, Ma!"

You shouted back at the top of your lungs, knowing full well that her hearing was not as sharp as yours. She just shook her head in amusement at your answer since she could predict already that your few minutes could turn to an hour or even more. Just a habit of yours, though she wouldn't force you to stop since it took your mind off things.

Just as she did by cooking some omelette and comfort foods as she too — waiting for someone to come back.

She had a separate house near the Queen's residence, assigned there by her majesty herself. But ever since you knocked on her front door and introduced yourself to her, she decided that it would be better if she lived with you for a while, at least until her son came back. Until your love came back to your arms once again.

There were letters after letters being shared despite how out of reach he was from you. You lived every day in hope that his mission to make peace with the outside world resulted in success. Lots of prayers have been sung to whatever deity existed in this world, never once stopped for every day you woke up.

And today was just like any other day as you waited for him by occupying yourself with daily chores and a new hobby. You used to wake up to strategize the next move and train in the military, being a normal citizen was still a little bit bizarre for you.

Though you already told the Queen that if in case she needed assistance regarding the air force, you would be ready to be called.

Yet three years had passed ever since your arrival, and never once she called you to the military. You had a gut feeling that your lover might have something to do with it, so you could only hope he didn't try to pull any strings behind your back and become the reason why you were never once interrupted.

Well, it was not like you didn't want this. When you finally wake up without fear, without being afraid that you had to see another bloodshed, without being afraid to love whoever you wanted to love. This was the world that you have been dreaming of, so maybe, it's fine to just enjoy it as long as you can.

Your fingers used to be covered with blood, now only covered with dirt and soil. Sometimes you couldn't believe it yourself as you were afraid to go to sleep, not wanting to wake up and realise all of this was just a dream.

But it was not a dream.

It was all real — ever since that day.

Your whole body felt so numb as you stared into the distance, back leaning to the old building behind you, not understanding what actually unfurled in front of your eyes right now.

Everything was still replayed so vividly in your mind. His ash-brown strands dishevelled from the war he had been partaking of, chocolate orbs that filled with love and regret as he took another look at you, his voice — oh his deep, comforting voice that sung like a lullaby every time he spoke.

And then bright yellow light blinded your vision.

The impact of the explosion threw you off, back arching as your body hit a concrete wall. Your vision blurred, your head pounding from the impact. But you could still see the gigantic feet right in front of you — gigantic feet that belong to a titan, replacing where your lover once stood.

You saw it, the long, familiar strands of hair that you loved to caress, those eyes that now turned into the darkest shade of brown stared at you with an emotion that you couldn't fathom. Then he jerked his head to the other side, jumping off the cliff with the other titans like a puppet whose strings were pulled.

There goes your love, that is what you already believe. Everyone knew about how once someone turned into a mindless titan, there was no way for them to change back as a human except if they ate the nine titan inheritor. And you didn't put any hope over that, just slumping your body and surrendering yourself to the situation.

You didn't know since when you drifted off somewhere as black filled your vision. But in your mind, you see him standing in front of you as he reaches out his hand for you to take. In your dream, you saw him playing around the backyard with a little kid that looked so familiar with him. In perhaps a distant future, you welcomed him home after a day full of hard work.

Then you opened up your eyes, disappointed as it was the same as what you saw before. The blistering heat attacked whoever was unfortunate enough to be outside right now, dealing with the monstrous creature as the fate of the world was in their hands.

But it was silent now, the roar of those mindless titans, booming footsteps that rumbling the ground, two enormous titans who fought each other before — it all stopped and gone as the only thing that welcomed you was a quiet, somewhat peaceful atmosphere.

With your legs still wobbling from the impact before, you looked around as you wondered what happened now. Finding no one in sight, not even from the Marleyan Military made you raise your eyebrows in confusion. Was it all done? The war between Eren Yeager and the alliance of Paradis and Marley? What happened now and where are they?

There were so many questions popping in your head as you forced yourself to check out the land near Fort Salta, finding some of your troops pointing all of their guns to the Eldians that somehow — turned back into a human.

That was the only thing you needed before you ran to where they were, ignoring the pain that surged your body for every movement that you made. You were fine, this couldn't stop you from knowing the truth, this would never stop you from reaching out to the Eldian, to someone that introduced you to what it felt like to love someone.

Surely the Marleyan was just bluffing, you knew that all of the guns were already shot towards the sky before. But there was a possibility that they had another, and you couldn't bear to see another bloodshed, not when you felt like there was no need to continue this war if the main enemy was already gone.

"If we did still have the power of the titans, wouldn't we be using it to resist you?" Ah, was it true? That titan power was already gone for good from this world? "But the fact that we continue to be powerless even as you point your guns at us is the greatest possible proof of our humanity."

He made sense, even as you stopped a few steps behind the Marleyan Military, you could hear the sincerity from his words. Yet somehow, your race still couldn't accept the fact, not daring to lower their gun just yet. You couldn't really blame them for doing so, knowing how much terror that they have seen just for the last couple of hours.

So you stood forward, dragging your feet as you ignored the surprised gasp from your troops.

"Everyone, drop your guns to the ground." You still couldn't hear any movement as you said so, and you clicked your tongue over that. "Now!"

Then one by one, you heard how the metal weapon fell to the ground like a symbol of peace. There were around twenty troops behind you, the survivors of the explosion before, the only people who lived from Marleyan Military after such a horrendous event. And they obeyed your command, believing in you that you would make the right choice.

You turned to look at your troops, giving them a reassuring gaze one by one that from now on, everything would be alright. Some of them were crying, some of them fell to the ground as they screamed out, out of frustration or relief for being alive, you couldn't differentiate it anymore, maybe a bit of both.

Your job was done, for now, so you had to know what happened. You needed to know who was the man who stood in front of you now as his ocean blue eyes gazing at you with respect and gratitude. He gave you a firm nod, and you followed after as you straightened your posture.

"Then, who are you?"

"I am Armin Arlert, an Eldian from the island of Paradis. The man who killed Eren Yeager, the attack titan."

The way he said it was absolute. Certainty was there and somehow you wanted to just let your sore body fall to the ground as relief started to fill your heart. But not yet, you had to be the commander of the air force unit, probably the only higher-ups left in the military here.

"Greetings then, Armin Arlert." You started, giving him a Marleyan salute as he answered it by balling his right hand into a fist, resting it right in front of his heart after that. "I am the commander of the air force unit of Marleyan Military, my troops and I would do anything we could do to assist everyone here."

For the next few hours, everyone who was healthy enough was assigned to take care of those who had injuries or any other casualties. You as the commander, trying to call and inform the military base in the capital. Solace flooded over you once again when you received the news that more than a half part of Marley was still intact.

You immediately called for backup, informing them to tell the whole world what happened in Fort Salta. This needed to be distributed now, that they didn't have to worry anymore, that the world was finally free from titans. You told them all the little details about those who fought in the battle, you told them that it was thanks to the Eldians themselves that the rumbling stopped.

"It's..." You trailed off as the chief on the other line asked you the name of the war that shook the world just now. "It's the battle of heaven and earth."

Today marked the three years of the world's victory against titans. Eldians finally freed from the curse and lived a normal life like humanity in the rest of the world. Though, of course, doubt and fear still lingered in the heart of the people. That was why those soldiers who directly fought with the attack titan became the ambassador of peace, travelling around the world to tell their stories.

They were the ones who lived, the heroes who chose to fight humanity who always treated their race like an insect. They were those who chose humanity over their own life, the ones who cast their feelings aside and killed their best friend because that was the right thing to do.

And your lover was one of them, he was an Eldian, a soldier who was ready to sacrifice his life in war.

Jean Kirstein, the man that you met in a bar back then in Marley, the only person who could make you feel so bare as he painted you with affection.

The person who you would wait a thousand years if you had to, so long so you could be together.

You subconsciously touched your left fingers, tracing your coarse skin as you absentmindedly remembered the reunion that you had with him. Not the one where he shouted at you to stay back, not the one where it filled with painful tears as you saw him transformed into a titan in front of your eyes.

But it was the one that made you feel so full. After calling the capital and making sure the Eldian would be treated fairly, you finally could take a breather and sit just outside the tower in Fort Salta. The sun slowly turned into an orange hue that time, your body was all aching as the adrenaline from before started to wear off.

You didn't turn your face away from the horizon as you felt someone sat beside you on the ground, not saying anything for the next couple of minutes as you and the mysterious figure just basked yourself on the peaceful atmosphere, something that was never there with how war and violence always filled the ground.

The orange hue slowly reddened as the sun hid behind the mountain, letting the moon take over with thousands of stars adorned the night sky.

There were no words being spoken as two bodies decided to scoot closer to each other as if there were strings that bound them together. You dropped your head on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh as the realisation finally sank in.

"I am back, (Y/n)." His voice was still filled with disbelief. "Just like what I promised you." But it sounds the same as how it used to, lingering with something that you knew as love.

You lifted your head a little, wanting to take a look at him and scrutinizing his face. He was here, Jean Kirstein in a flesh. He was not a titan anymore, he was just an Eldian from the island of Paradis, a normal human, just like you.

There was a dingling sound as he fetched something from his pocket, your eyes never left his as you felt a warm metal slipped on your palm. He closed your hand after that, wanting you to know that he was real, that he finally could give back the silver key that he brought with him ever since in Marley.

You felt like you wanted to burst at the moment. You wanted to cry, screaming at him for fighting the attack titan despite being a mere soldier who didn't even inherit the nine titans, you wanted to ask how he felt right now and what actually happened, there was so much that you wanted to say, so many words that you wanted to tell him.

But there would be a time for that, you were certain that you would have a lot of time after all of these were done.

So you just curled your lips into a smile, orbs glistening with tears as it shone with adoration, palm gripping the key a little tighter with his hand on top of yours.

"Welcome back, Jean."

You patted the excess of the dirt in your hand on your black apron, finally done repotting some of the plants. When your eyes fleeted to the side, you tilted your head in confusion as the bird from before was still there, so loyal as it accompanied you for the last hour.

This one was different compared to the others. The birds that you saw before only had one solid colour, but this one that stayed with you had brown feathers on some of their features.

The bird just looked at you with wonder, tilting their head to the side as they jumped from the flower bed and landed beside you. Your lips immediately shaped into a smile, wondering why the bird decided to stay with you when the others left already.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

You cooed at the bird, careful not to move your body too abruptly, afraid that they would fly again. Of course, you didn't expect them to chirp, but maybe you could talk to them a little. And you could write it down in the letter that you sent for Jean later on.

"I don't know why you are here, but don't you think you should go back though?"

Those beady black orbs fell upon your face as if they understood your words. "You must have a family, right? Perhaps maybe a lover?" So you decided to keep on talking, throwing some random questions, conversing with them like an old friend. "Bet your lover is so beautiful like you, and they must be waiting for you, you know?"

"Like you wait for me?"

Silence. On the first second, the bird was in front of you. But now, they flapped their wings and flew, leaving you there with both pupils widened as a familiar voice rang through your ear. You didn't understand why they suddenly left, but maybe, maybe it was because of the fact that you were not alone anymore.

That maybe because they knew your lover came back.

And so they would do the same and flew to where their lover was.

"Jean?"

No, he was not supposed to be here. From the letters that you got last week, he was supposed to be in Marley right now with the others. He told you that through the words that he scribbled down on the old paper, and you remembered how he would come back next month.

But of course, your eyes wouldn't deceive you, of course, your ear could never catch the exact voice that belonged to him if he was not really here.

He stood around five feet apart from you with a cheeky smile that made you want to just slap it away from his beautiful face. His ash-brown locks slightly got longer, looking neat despite the wind that swayed some strands of his hair, and you wondered how many times he combed his hair to make it look like that.

Though you didn't care about it, you didn't care about how he was here right now when you were certain he should have been somewhere else. You didn't care that you stumbled on some of the gardening tools as you ran towards him. You didn't care if your apron could leave some dirt on his expensive suit.

What you cared right now as your feet brought you closer to him — was to feel his embrace once more.

You jumped right into his arms, chin resting on his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. Right now, you just wanted to shout and announce to the world that you wanted him for yourself, at least for just a few minutes, at least for a moment.

Everyone could call you selfish at this point you didn't care anymore. For all your life you never wanted anything but a world without fear. And now as you achieved it, the only matter that could complete it was to spend it all with the one that somehow had half of your heart anywhere he goes.

You have waited for him for far too long. You always waited for him afraid that he wouldn't come back to your apartment, you always waited for him with distress lingering at the back of your mind that he was not alive anymore when he was there on the other side of the sea.

But now as you felt the warmth within his touch, now as you felt his smile as his lips planted on the side of your face, you finally knew how it feels to live in a world without fear since from now on, you were free to love him.

He was too — free to love you as his real self, an Eldian, a war hero, Jean Kirstein from the island of Paradis.

"I am home."

And as the two bodies basked in the warmth of a loved one, hand intertwined that clashed a silver metal band next to each other, they both knew that from now on — they were going to wake up every single morning and live their dream.

In a world where there was no fear, spending it in prime real estate with a significant other.

Earning the right to live a happy life for hopefully, a long time.

"Welcome home, Jean."

↪Back to Wall Maria

↪Citizen; @yumaryko @may-machin @cuteissei

↪Send an ask if you want to be a citizen of Paradis (taglist)!

#Jean Kirschstein #jean kirschtien #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein fanfiction #aot imagines #aot x reader #AoT #snk #snk x reader #snk imagines

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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

Text

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

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

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

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

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

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

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

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

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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senorarelojes · 3 years ago

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Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'

@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!

Title: A Little Piece Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: General Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff

Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.

Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.

Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.

Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.

In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.

“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”

Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.

But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.

In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.

“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.

After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).

Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.

Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.

Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.

On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.

When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.

“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”

Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”

“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.

Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.

“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.

However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.

Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.

“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”

“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.

“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.

“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.

#dalan #pizzaverse #maiyashu #fanart

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beetlegoose01 · 4 years ago

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a confession from a love song

a short one shot about Linny because I love them so much <3

Summary: At her wits end, Ginny decides to tell Luna how she feels.

This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for all week. No more putting it off, no more distractions to prevent her from doing this. Yes, she was terrified. And unbelievably sweaty. But she had combed her flaming red hair, even braided it herself- though it took several times. She hadn't bothered with makeup. She didn't like it, and frankly, it wasn't very comfortable. Either way, she was ready.

Ginny was ready to ask Luna on a date.

A first for her. She had never asked anyone out before. She had been asked by several boys in her time at Hogwarts, but those didn't feel the same.. She hadn't felt a spark, a certain thrill and passion when walking hand in hand through Hogsmeade. She hadn't felt repulsed or turned away from them, she had simply felt indifferent. But she did get that burst of excitement and wonder when she met Nymphadora Tonks. The cool, female figure who always knew how to make her laugh. Or even any of the girls from Beauxbaton who visited, giggling and winking in her direction. And...well of course there was Luna.

Even the mere thought of the whimsical girl made her heart soar. The same exciting jolt whenever she took off into the sky when playing Quidditch. The kind that her other friends told her about when they were with their boyfriends.

"You'll find that special guy eventually." They had told her.

They weren't exactly right.

Still, part of her made her feel unsure. Wary. Confused about her own mind, plaguing doubts of her feelings.

"This is a bad idea." Ginny murmured, nibbling at her fingernails. "I can't do it."

Ron, who was lying flat on the sofa, taking up all the space and then some with his gangly legs, raised an eyebrow. "If you don't do it, you'll regret it. I know you, Gin. Go on, ask her before you backtrack. Again." He popped a lemon ice lolly in his mouth.

"I didn't backtrack. I just..." She thought for a moment. "I'm taking my time."

"Did you take your time with Harry?"

Ginny winced. "No? Well, sort of."

Ron snorted.

"The war put our teenage romance on hold."

"Then what's the difference?"

"I don't want to hurt her."

Ron softened, flicking her shoulder. "But you're hurting yourself. Just tell her. It'll get the weight off your shoulders."

"Okay, okay I will." She sat up, glanced back at her brother, who promptly gestured to the front door. She sighed, and walked through.

Ever since the Lovegood home was quite literally destroyed, Luna and her father were staying at the Burrow. Which, unfortunately for Ginny, did not help at all with her growing crush. With Fleur, she had just dealt with the fact that she was marrying Bill. Luna was different. Luna was her best friend. Someone she confided to- cared for. Loved? She didn't know yet.

She had passed the garden, treading over some irritable gnomes and headed towards the nearby woods. And exactly the girl she was looking for.

Her dirty blonde hair was cascading long and beautifully down her shoulders. She wore a midnight blue shirt and casual jeans, turnip earrings swinging down her ears. She was bent down, concentrating on something in the silver moon coloured river.

Ginny had been preparing a speech. A long winded explanation for why she was here, seeing Luna randomly. But nothing came out. Except for a breathless: "Hi,"

"Hello Ginny." She said dreamily. "Are you looking for Blibbering Humdingers too?"

"Blibbering Humdingers?" Ginny blinked, though not surprised or weirded out, more amused.

"Yes. They're very troublesome creatures, but I love to watch them play." Luna mused. "They bring good luck. Did you know?"

"I see." Ginny picked up a tiny pebble casually, ready to skim it across the water before Luna touched her arm.

"Don't. It'll frighten them away."

Her cheeks reddened the same colour as her hair, pocketing the pebble, since she didn't know what else to do with it. Luna didn't let go of her arm, and her blushing only increased. Ginny bit her lip, unsure what to say.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Luna gave her a pointed look. "If you don't want to tell me what's wrong, just say so, I won't force you. But, I don't appreciate being lied to."

"I'm not-"

"Something is wrong, I'm not the person you want to tell. That's okay." Luna smiled gently. She was always blunt. But not in a cruel way, just a matter of fact way. "I hope you tell that person soon."

Ginny sighed, picking at a strand of her hair thoughtfully. An action she hadn't done since she was a little girl. "I can't."

Luna looked at her quizzically.

"Well...you see." Ginny paused and stopped fiddling. "You're the person I want to talk to but I'm...scared of how you'll react."

"You're my friend, aren't you? Why would you be afraid?"

"Yes, you're my very good, best friend." Ginny assured her. "The problem is..."

Luna stared at her, icy blue eyes wandering, unreadable. She seemed curious, not judgemental.

"You know how I'm gay, right? I'm a lesbian." She clarified, preferring how that sounded.

Luna nodded.

"The problem, no, the truth is I enjoy your company a lot." Ginny swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "I like you a lot. As more than simply a best friend. For the longest time I pushed it off. I thought something was wrong with me. I didn't want to ruin what we have already." She blinked back dry tears.

Ginny waited for a reaction. Any reaction, half expecting Luna to be horrified or disgusted. But instead she looked...relieved?

"Really?" She whispered, eyes twinkling. "I had no idea you felt this way too." Her voice was calming, extremely genuine.

"I have...and wait...too?" Ginny's own hazel eyes widened in surprise. "You don't mean..."

Luna's cheeks turned a pale pink. She smiled, taking Ginny's hand. "I do."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged. "Same reason as you I suppose. I was afraid mostly."

"Me too."

"But I don't feel afraid around you. And I shouldn't be ashamed of who I am. Neither should you." She cupped her cheek, smiling softly.

Ginny's heart warmed, growing bashful but feeling honest in herself. "I care about you a lot, Lu."

Luna smiled. "Would you like to join me on a walk to find the Blibbering Humdingers?"

She nodded eagerly. "I would love to."

They walked hand in hand through the misty fog, admiring the beautiful serene scenery. Ginny gasped in delight as she saw a fawn trot after his mother, tripping over his skinny, awkward legs.

"It's so peaceful here. I come around just to think." Luna explained, squeezing Ginny's hand.

"What about?"

"Anything. Everything."

Ginny took a seat on the patch of dew dropped grass, Luna following shortly after.

Their eyes met, and both girls couldn't help but fall into a heap of giggles. Nervous energy long forgotten. Hazel eyes met grey ones, and their lips had touched before either had registered, neither girl knowing who had leaned in first.

Ginny had been kissed before, of course. Her frequent snogs with Dean Thomas were proof of that, though they were both inexperienced with kissing the opposite gender. Michael Corner was hopeless at kissing and had a habit of biting too hard. And Harry was ...well Harry.

Luna's lips were soft, slightly chapped. They both eased into each other, and it felt natural. When they pulled away, they looked breathless, but happy.

There it was. That jolt of excitement. Peaceful, blissful, happiness but still very warm and fuzzy.

"I should have asked before I..." She trailed off. "You know."

Luna poked her fingertips. "Can you do it again?"

Ginny grinned.

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imaginesandideas · 5 years ago

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always been you

an alternative story of Warren Worthington

pairing: Warren Worthington x reader

word count: 12.7k

content warning: depictions of wounds and injuries, mentions of violence, angst

author’s note: this is an introduction to my Professor!Warren AU series. The following part introduces Warren’s new life after the Apocalypse, his journey to self acceptance, opening up to the world and finding meaning. Little did he know that he’d find it all in one person. You.

He was stumbling, tripping over his own feet. It felt as if darkness could swallow him whole, and in a way it did exactly that, leaving mere marionette behind. Emptied of purpose, aims, dreams. Whenever he’d roam he couldn’t stay, not for too long. Being a mutant was enough of an issue in a world full of hatred and prejudice. Who’d trust a freak with broken blades coming out of his back, all bruised and bloody.

“Fuck.” Warren hissed leaning against a nearby tree.

His head was pounding, heaven knows why. Maybe it was the shitty weather, maybe alcohol, maybe all these nightmares he’s been having whenever he tried to close his eyes, maybe all of the above. Anyone else would stay away from the trees with all the lightnings gracing the sky, but really, what else could he possibly lose. If he died then, nobody would even look for him, bury him, hell, nobody would even miss him. His parents probably thought he’s been dead for years anyway so what’s the difference. He sniffled, gaze mindlessly shifting between wet grass of the field and forest. In these circumstances it seemed like an old habit. Either way he wouldn’t be even able to protect himself if someone was actually after him, but having control over his surroundings was giving him some sort of peace. Sounds funny after all he’s been through.

Peace - he wondered closing his eyes in a selfish attempt to calm down. Selfish because he shouldn’t be allowed rest for the rest of his life. That’s what his brain would tell him. Everyday, every minute. For all the damage he’s done, for all the blood he’s shed, all the pain he’s caused. If there’s still justice anywhere in this world then it’s right here, under this tree in the middle of the storm, with nowhere else to hide.

It’s been minutes until he eventually passed out, remaining blades of his wings serving as additional shield. It was a loud rumble of thunder nearby that woke him. It came flashing in front of his eyes with battlefield flashbacks and ache in his back. He inhaled sharply, hands grasping at the damp soil beneath him.

“It’s just rain. Just some fucking rain.” He chuckled to himself. His heart rate seemed to slow down at the thought. Watery droplets run down his forehead and cheeks, nearing the corners of his mouth. He could taste his own blood, as well as salt and dirt sliding off his skin. Of course he wasn’t expecting blooming flowers on the way, but it’s been weeks since he’s had a good look at himself in the mirror and taken actual shower rather than splash water onto his sore limbs. Long months of hauling from town to town has began to bother him some time ago, mainly because now, after Apocalypse was defeated, his path was gone. Some could say he’s lost his way, but that happened long before Germany, long before all of that gore and pain.

He could still recall his mother’s voice telling him to “find the right way” but reality where mutants are either killed or exploited struck him to the core soon after, and ever since then he just stopped looking. Why seeking the light when it doesn’t truly exist? So he started drowning in hoodlums, shady places and people who never really cared, never really stayed. Alcohol did. Only always evaporated too quickly.

So there he was, crawling like pathetic, incomplete creature in search of someone who could put him back together. Someone who’d glue his feathers back so he could fly up to the sun one last time before crashing into the ocean. Because that’s what he was made for, right?

The loud knocking at the front door alerted everyone in the mansion. The lights were out, only few teachers awake in the kitchen and some in their rooms, most likely preparing for the next day.

Naturally if someone dared to come knocking at this hour, it had to be something serious. Students who have woken up despite elders asking them to stay in their dorms and teachers gathered on standby. Something like this would happen so rarely that missing it would be like a crime. The thrill of uncertainty. Maybe there was some sort of danger creeping behind that door. Something to be afraid of, or something to be dwelling on during lunches or classes for the next few days, maybe even weeks. Something foreign, unknown.

Because never in the history of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters a young mutant whose sordid past was more than known to those residing at the mansion, had appeared at its door in the middle of the night with severe serious wounds, bloodied and dirty despite the pouring rain outside. Never, until it happened, that night.

He was staggering and mumbling something that sounded like an apology, when deeply shocked Hank McCoy and Peter Maximoff called in to help, carried unconscious mutant to the infirmary, away from curious and concerned looks.

“Go back to your dorms. There’s nothing to look at.” The most respected voice echoed soothingly in the hallways as four men passed another set of open and half-open doors. “Everything is under control, you can go back to sleep.”

Students moved out of their way at an instant, some willingly, some encouraged by the Professor and his powers of persuasion, to put it mildly.

The double door leading to the lab and infirmary closed with a thud.

“We should have just left him there! What the hell is he even doing here?! He was supposed to be dead!” Hank growled. There was no doubt that their guest was heavy. Even more so the wings attached to his back themselves. All that was shocking enough, and now they we’re forced to take care of the passed out mutant.

Professor caught up with the men, but the hallways seemed to go on forever with the unconscious guy hanging off their backs. Maximoff was silent the entire way, only occasionally grunted from exhaustion. McCoy however was clearly distraught, agitated even.

“He shouldn’t even be here!”

“Hank, please. I’m sure there’s a reason for him coming here right now.”

“And even more reasons to leave him at the gate.”

“Hank! For heaven’s sake, just let him explain everything once he’s more lucid.”

The mattress saged under the weight of winged mutant and both bearers moaned loudly stretching their limbs. The room was almost completely dark until Professor turned on the lamp on nightstand. Light shone down on the laying mutant and the look itself was a horror show. Though Xavier didn’t even flinch, Peter did.

“Is he even alive?”

Professor reached for the wrist of the mutant. His skin felt piercingly cold, but there was still a weak pulse.

“Barely. We need to warm him up.” He exclaimed looking at disheartened McCoy. The taller man sighed loudly.

“Okay, but I don’t take responsibility for him and whatever he’s up to.”

“I do. Now go and bring medical kit.” Hank halfheartedly nodded. Professor turned to Maximoff which immediately caught his attention. “We’ll also need some towels, blankets and clean clothes.”

“Supply closet?”

“Precisely.”

It all felt so natural, so casual. As if time did not exist and his whole existence has been this way forever. Freedom. All of sudden he was back in the air, flying as high as ever. He could practically feel mist of rain on his face as he was nearing the clouds. His wings were so lightweight now, like he wasn’t even flying, just floating. He really missed the feel of wind combing through his feathers, messing up hair, pushing at his chest.

But when did this all become so real? He couldn’t even recall the last few minutes, so where precisely did time go?

“Angel?” Eyes shot open and in a matter of seconds he was back on the ground. Trapped as he’d probably say, but the pounding in his head wouldn’t allow him to put the pieces together just yet. There had to be someone else to do it. “That’s how they call you right? You’re okay, don’t freak out! We’re here to help you.”

Muffled, yet in a way irritatingly buzzing voice was coming from his right side. The world was as blurry as reminiscence of past hours, or maybe days, he couldn’t really tell.

“Fuck. Where am I?”

“Umm, Xavier’s? School for Gifted Youngsters. Or X-Men headquarters. Whichever you prefer.”

As Warren was slowly regaining his vision, the source of the voice vanished only to come back later with a glass of splooshing water.

“Here.” Warren sat up and reached for the glass hesitantly. The guy looked familiar, there was definitely something about his hair and witty attitude that one could not miss. Too characteristic to overlook. “Professor will be here soon. He’s been waiting for you to wake up for days. We all did actually.”

Days. He’s been unconscious for days. And he couldn’t even remember how did he get there in the first place.

The noise of double door being rapidly pushed open made both their heads turn. Angel suddenly froze. Memories he thought he’d gotten rid of smashed him in the face, like a bucket of icy water. Three pairs of eyes landed on him immediately, one kinder than the other. But only one pair would haunt him for the rest of his life.

White as a chalkboard he finally realized his primary mistake. One he’ll have to deal with sooner than he’s ever expected. The past caught up with the present, and now it was heading right towards him.

A streak of light.

What brought him here that night? He couldn’t even recall after all those years. Maybe it was destiny, maybe blind luck. But all these years ago when he landed with a loud thud on Xavier’s polished marble floors, all wet and unconscious, it was probably the best night of his life so far. The most important one for sure.

Cause everything has changed since then. Yes, he had to face the inevitable and clash his past with hope, the future he thought he couldn’t afford. But Xavier has led him the way, he’s showed him the thin line of light and gave him a chance. And for the first time in his life Warren was determined to own it.

Before he fully came back to his old self and the mutant community, he had to go through painful process of retrieving his old wings. After Apocalypse was defeated by X-Men, and therefore Angel was no longer under the effect of his power, his wings began to return to their original form. Much to Warren’s contentment, once he’d realized where cooperation with the superior mutant led him to. The process however was slow and incredibly painful. He was a mess in every sense of the word, and with Xavier’s guidance and McCoy’s wearing patience he was finally able to heal.

Before that though, he kept hiding for some time, sleeping in abandoned barns and houses in the outskirts, occasionally stealing some money or food from unsuspecting such neighbor people, or kids who went too far from their regular after-school routes. But no safe house was safe forever. Sooner or later he had to change the surroundings and look for more secure hideout, while continuously getting through the renewed process of fledgling. He was almost like that young boy many years ago. Lost, embarrassed, forsaken, left out in his pain.

Once he came to the mansion he couldn’t even remember why would he do that in the first place. But with time, and help his memory started to finally put the pieces together.

It was the other one of Apocalypse’s ex-horseman Ororo, along with that blue mutant he remembered from cage fight back in Germany, and then, from the battlefield, who’ve found him and persuaded him to give Xavier a chance to put him back together.

“Look at where you are now. How long will it last? Months? Years?” Warren was sitting on a hideous couch he’d found on the street during one of his nightly escapades. The room was dingy, dank, just as the rest of the building, which most likely served as a factory back in the day. There were empty boxes and cans busted all over the place. It didn’t feel like home. More like a detention.

Warren wasn’t necessarily fond of encountering Nightcrawler again. His shoulders and wings were tense as he glared grudgingly at the other mutant, too focused on the bitter taste of revenge creeping behind his back to even listen.

“Warren?” Storm stepped forward, regaining his attention. “Give yourself a chance. He can help you.”

“Nobody can.”

“So help yourself. Do it now before it’s too late. Please.”

He didn’t go with them that day. Nor did he change his mind the next day. It took him few more weeks, few more dangerous circumstances to amend his attitude towards the possible prospect.

Maybe it was the fact that he was getting tired of running away. Maybe it were his sore wings that affected his decision. But all in all he’s packed up his petty possessions and left, leaving his past behind in a way. The night he arrived at Xavier’s doorstep, he was so weak they had to carry him to the infirmary. He stayed in some sort of coma for few days. He’s never slept better in his life.

Once he’s gotten acclimated in the mansion and around other mutants, he’d have these long conversations with Professor - about life, his future, what he wanted to do now that his old life was no longer present. Warren wasn’t used to talking. Not much, not at all. Especially not about touchy subjects.

It’s all been moving forward really slowly. He’s never really felt supported by anyone, neither his parents, nor other mutants he’d met on his way of becoming who he was. He had troubles controlling his feelings. The thought of letting go and finally moving forward was utterly terrifying, cause it meant that he had to lose the meticulously crafted mask he’s been keeping on for years. It also meant that he could finally follow his dreams, and maybe that scared him even more.

For half a year, the trauma of what happened kept coming back to him during his sleep, denying him any sort of rest. He stopped counting all the times he’s woken up in the middle of the night, breathless and covered in cold sweat. And since he could rarely sleep after his night panic attacks, he’d often end up sneaking out the mansion to fly around, sit on the roof and watch the moon till the sun began to rise. There were times when he wished he could buy himself enough alcohol to drown in it, but that was out of the question. After drinking he wouldn’t sleep at all, anxiety hitting the deepest spots within his heart. So he tried to avoid it. Ultimately, he decided to stick to the cigarettes, only occasionally reaching for a bottle in moments of withdrawal. Even if that meant side eye from teachers every now and then.

Like infection attacks immune system, Warren was forced to battle his demons. His head was often full of doubts, even to the point of planning a way to get out of his new whereabouts and starting life from nothing. Just like he did back home in Long Island.

Xavier on the other hand, out of everyone, saw the wit and potential buried underneath the rough mask Warren chose to wear to protect himself from people. And slowly Warren opened up just enough to absorb and explore the paths of his life he thought he’d burn the bridges to.

He refused to make friends because never really felt like he deserved them, especially among mutants aware of his history. Never feeling like he could be considered interesting, he chose to stay away from the group, only occasionally exchanging few words with Ororo, or the nosy and unfortunately ubiquitous Peter Maximoff. He was the first face Warren’s seen after regaining his consciousness after all. Others either didn’t trust him enough to share their time with him, or felt too intimidated to do so.

Cause it wasn’t very hard to be intimidated by rather handsome, bright-eyed blonde, with wings so big he could be considered an actual angel. He wore them high and with pride, ever since he got them back. The metal ones were too heavy for him to carry. Both physically and mentally. So he was feeling like a brand new person when the last piece of metal fell of his shoulders. It has given him new, indescribable power that he had yet to figure out what to do with.

Encouraged by the professor, he decided to continue his abruptly terminated education. Due to his unsettled background, he was inclined to join younger group, the one he could keep up with, without feeling ashamed by his gaps in basic knowledge. Unsurprisingly for Xavier, he was making a lot of progress, gradually regaining his interest in school topics and also his confidence in that matter.

It was his confidence that led him into thinking that science classes, were going to be suitable for him, since he enjoyed maths as a kid. Unbeknownst to him, Xavier’s right-hand’s lessons weren’t as carefree and painless as he thought. Once on the list, he kept coming to the Friday afternoon class, as if to prove himself that he did not commit a fatal misleading. Situated in a far-back row, he used it as a opportunity to get a closer look at the people he was attending the classes with, occasionally sketching them or other random things that caught his eye. Like McCoy’s gesticulating. Perfect for practicing figures in motion.

“Warren? Hello?” Hank called out from above Warren’s clearly occupied head. The curls on his head bouncing lightly to the rhythm of song in his earpods, the black wire thoughtfully hidden underneath his hoodie. Hank narrowed his brows. Of course he wasn’t even making notes.

“Worthington.” as if called names, Warren raised his head frowning to meet McCoy’s displeased expression and crossed arms. He never liked his name. Simply hearing it in a slightly different, more demanding tone ignited the fire in his veins. Memories of home coming up at him like daggers in reappearing in his wounds. “You’re not paying attention. Again.”

“Fuck.” Warren muttered quietly and pulled out the headphones. It was 5th time he was caught on not participating in the class. Embarrassed, he quickly gazed around the room to note that all eyes on were on him, some of them hostile, some just curious. After all he’s never really been active in the students’ group, both during and outside lectures. And he knew that watching someone else get punished was always entertaining.

And then, he caught a glimpse of what he have imagined smart eyes looked like. If he hadn’t been lost for words already, he totally was at that moment. Of course he knew them, he’d seen them many times before. But never on himself. A pair of the most beautiful eyes, framed by sleekly lifted lashes with kindness and attention beaming from underneath.

“Are you even here? Hello?” McCoy was utterly fed up at that point and Warren was snapped out of his thoughts for good.

“Yes, yes! I’m sorry. I just- I don’t even know. I should probably leave.”

“Yeah probably. And I should probably thank you for attending my classes. I bet it was a... tedious experience.” McCoy exclaimed walking backwards to his spot next to the desk. Warren let out an audible sigh and stood up to pick up his belongings. As he shoved his notebook and physics books (which were masquerading as his engagement in the topic), once again he lifted his gaze. But now the lesson was back on its previous track, and nobody dared to look in his direction. Pathetic, he thought of himself.

Throwing gym-like drawstring bag over his shoulder, he slowly headed to the door. He kept his head low, not willing to draw any more attention. The damage was done, and all he could do was make himself as unnoticeable as possible. Good thing the class wasn’t mandatory, but he could already see Xavier’s disappointed look. The doorknob squeaked and Warren bit his lip before nodding a short goodbye in McCoy’s direction. Going backwards, hand resting on the handle to pull the door to a close, he looked up from the floor. McCoy only shook his head with a huff and continued the monologue. Short glance over the people in the class, but nobody dared to give him the slightest bit of attention. Except you. The piercingly smart eyes.

The air got stuck in his throat again, only now he came back to his senses much sooner. That is, after you smiled sincerely at him while putting a strand of hair behind your ear. Such a gentle yet casual gesture. He felt his neck turn redbrick shade of red almost immediately, and he swore he heard a loud bob of his own adam’s apple. The door slammed closed and for the 3rd time in less than 5 minutes, doctor McCoy couldn’t help the frustrated roll of his eyes.

That day Angel decided, that maybe this tiny moment was worth the agony of quantum physics.

Weeks, months were slowly passing by in the safety of Xavier’s mansion. Not that Warren complained though, he’s missed not having to run, the silence. But it took him some time until he’s finally found a place for himself in this newfound home.

At some point Warren started spending more time in the library than in group classes, reading, going through old materials - some of them very far from topics students were meant to pass. At first, he kept coming back to avoid all the curious looks he’d get in the hallways or at the park. Only freaks spend their afternoons between the book shelves right? But in fact he preferred the peace and quiet the library always provided, and in fact, he always felt like the lectures were lacking in knowledge he desperately sought for.

That way, after he has finally loosened enough to befriend something else than books, he’s found his kind of company, consisting of school’s mightiest outcasts and truants, like Peter Maximoff himself. From brief, and rather superficial talks they shared, Warren found out that he only resided in the mansion every once in a while “killing time” as he’d joke. In a way, despite quick mutants’ naturally abrasive behaviour, Warren started to relax in his presence. Occasionally cracking a sharp joke or two, he even laughed, thus gaining more hospitable looks from others. In fact, having Maximoff and soon also Alex Summers under his wings, has provided him with a growing circle of charmed students. His tough boy facade was becoming more inviting with each passing day.

It was just another weekend, finally some time off both for the professors and the students. You were at the dining room, chatting with Ororo, laughing at some joke she just made.

On a day like that one everyone was likely to be spending time with less efficiency, mostly clogging time with casual talking or doing stuff you normally wouldn’t have the time to do on a schoolday. And so you were, head finally out of the books, eating lunch in the common kitchen before meeting with other girls in the park by the mansion. Ororo became your best companion so naturally, you didn’t even question her presence by your side during the day. You liked her wit and how different she was from you. How her extroverted attitude would penetrate your rather reserved shell.

You almost snorted through your nose and Warren, who’s just appeared in the doorway, couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his cheeks. Your smile was so soft and friendly. And your voice? Oh shit, he could envelope himself in it, and he would stop complaining about anything for the rest of his life.

You scrunched your nose at the friend in front of you and shoved another spoonful of your food up your mouth, completely unaware of his dreamy eyes following your every move.

„Warren what the hell?! How much longer are we supposed to wait?”

“Huh?”

“Water, idiot. You said you’re gonna bring us something to drink. Jesus!” Peter rolled his eyes helplessly and sprinted up to the fridge to get a chilled bottle of soda.

It was clear for a while that something was bugging Warren. There were times where he didn’t feel physically present, and boys would have to snap him out of that state by throwing pieces of paper at him during lectures, or punch him in the ribs on training classes. Somehow the most perceptive among his friends, yet it took Peter a minute, and 3 cans of rapidly drunken grape soda, to realize why Warren disappeared for much longer than he had is intended to. And why the hell was he blushing?

“No fucking way.” He half whispered, half yelled making Ororo and few other students turn in their direction for a second. That threw Warren back to reality. Peter wiped his lips with the back of his hand and placed another empty can on clear, shiny counter. Warren glared at him.

“If you wanted it fast, then you should have ran up here by yourself dickhead. I’m not some speedy-goddamn-gonzalez okay?”

“You’re so red! It’s adorable!” Warren all of sudden felt the warmth radiating off his cheeks, which only made him blush more, now that Peter have exposed him aloud. His eyes were slanting, trying to figure out if you’ve heard them or not. He noticed that Ororo was back at whatever topic you were previously discussing, and he sighed in relief. But his mind went blank again when his shifty eyes locked with yours, making him unable to move. He caught a tiny smile forming in the corners of your lips and Peter swore the boy could melt any second.

“Alright, Alex is still waiting out there. We gotta get going. Bye Ororo, bye _____!” Peter exclaimed waving to the girls, before pushing Warren out the room, and a building within 2 seconds, flipping few things with Warren’s wings in the process. But winged mutant was too enchanted to notice that.

Warren was still dizzy, his pupils blown wide and gaze absent.

“Hey, what’s with him again? And where is my drink?” Alex came up to them, all sweaty from the extra training he decided to do, brows forming in a frown. Peter was laughing breathlessly.

“Dude, if you’ve only seen that!”

Alex’s fingers in front of Warren’s face snapped him back to reality.

„What?”

„Where were you even? Because sure as hell not here.”

Peter snorted again, earning a look from now tensed Warren.

“Okay okay! Don’t look at me like that, jeez. He got... lost.” Maximoff explained, hands raising in surrender. Warren was back to being his grumpy, neurotic self and Peter wouldn’t want to risk him blowing up. “... in _____’s eyes.”

Warren was already lashing out, fists clenched but the silver-headed boy was obviously faster, leaving Warren yet again on the losing end.

“Goddammit.” He swore under his breath, lips soon pressed together, fully aware of the fact that he could no longer hear him.

Within next months, and despite his strenuous efforts to deny it, Warren fell head over heels. Your looks and intellect turned out to be barely cherries on top of your other traits. He couldn’t even count all the situations where he’d seen you helping out some other student with their homework or organizing science projects. He’s grown attached to seeing you in the library, surrounded by books he wouldn’t even dare to understand. He could stare at you for hours, while you’d just flip dozens of pages frowning, way too engrossed in the reading to notice his broad frame curled on the sofa. By the time of few months he’s spent there, he could list all the birthmarks and freckles on your face. He’s learned the way daylight adorned your face as you rapidly turn pages of different encyclopaedic papers. Or how you’d bit your lip while reading in a booth in the opposite corner. And how strands of hair would overshadow your vision just for a moment, before you’d gently tuck them behind your ear.

It’s been like this a while - just occasional small talks, him asking to borrow your philosophy books, even though you knew he’d never really read them. You rarely had classes together, but when you did, he couldn’t focus on the subject too much. He was far more committed to perfecting the sketch of your profile while you talked out some upcoming projects with other student in the front row. Old habits of sitting in the far back, dying hard.

From time to time, he’d gain enough confidence to sit in with you at the library. He felt more comfortable without any witnesses around, nobody to gossip. He’d have never forgiven himself if he ruined your reputation with his bare presence.

”Umm, hey _____.” you looked up from your history papers, a pen dangling dangerously from between your lips. You raised both eyebrows not really expecting anyone wanting something from you, especially after classes when everyone was anything but interested in scientific-related topics.

Nevertheless you recognised the guy instantly. His frizzy hair and feathers were illuminated by warmth of late evening sunlight coming through the window, enlightening his face like a halo. The angel boy.

”Hey.” you spoke up, sweet smile lighting up your face enough to make Warren’s head spin. And it almost did.

“I, well, uh. Sorry, you probably don’t remember me. We’re having literature, English and philosophy together and-“

”I remember. Who wouldn’t remember you.” another gentle smile and Warren’s heart sped up. You remembered. But why, did he do something stupid now? Fuck. Of course. It was the wings again. “You’re always sitting in the back, alone. Haven’t seen you talking to anyone much.” He stayed still as if shot in the back, pretty sure that Maximoff would probably do that if ever given a chance. Especially now. Right in front of you. Like a goddamn cupid or some other romanticised bullshit.

“Erm, well...” he rubbed the column of his neck. “I don’t like to draw attention.”

“I can imagine that.” Your gaze wandered gently over the bones of his wings. You could only imagine the pain he went through to get the feathers back. “Your wings look great though. Make you look reliable."

”I’ve never met a person who’d say that I look reliable.”

”Maybe you just did.” You bit your lip, blushing at your very own and unexpected wave of confidence. As you looked down he bit his lip grinning like a madman. So it wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t that bad. A fully loaded train of thoughts was going around his head. She’s smiling right? That’s good, maybe. No, no, don’t rush anything, yeah. Let’s keep it cool. Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, DON’T FUCK IT UP.

”Anyway.” he let out a small huff. His neck was getting more and more red, along with the temperature under his velvety woollen sweater. What now? “I just wanted to say hi, cause I see you around here quite often. See you around then yeah?” He was already backing away.

”Sure. And you can always sit by you know? I don’t bite.” He let out a nervous chuckle but straightened his posture nevertheless. What could go wrong now.

”But I might.” His eyes were hazy as he held a book in one hand walking backwards to the door, nearly tripping over corner of a carpet. You snorted unable to stifle a laugh. Both at his words and sight. He was completely red by then, only waving a quick goodbye and shutting the door closed behind him, something you’ve learned was a habit of his whenever he was being extremely flustered. And he was only ever so flustered around you.

One could say, for a fact, that Warren looked extremely intimidating. With that nonchalant look, a bit buff posture and frown written all over his face for most of the time. And you felt intimidated too. By his a tad careless persona, by the way he walked - with such confidence that you could only wish you could achieve it one day. He was embodiment of that gloomy kind of charm, the one that attracts people in a heartbeat. Golden heart hidden behind uptight facade that is yet to be discovered. But you couldn’t simply overlook that his entire attitude has changed. It softened, as if someone polished his rough edges.

That certain someone, though you weren’t really aware of it, was you. He’d never admit that, not at loud, not around you. Hell, he wouldn’t even dare to ask you out. He was tongue-tied, utterly terrified that you’d surely reject him.

“She’s out of my league man, so bloody cool and intelligent. There’s no way she’d let me even hold her books on the way out of the class.”

“I agree about the out-of-league thing. You WISH you were half as cool and intelligent.” Teased Peter, earning a punch in the rib cage. The boys were sat on the bench in the park surrounding the mansion. Alex was chewing on his lip, Warren had his arms crossed over the chest and Peter was just classic Peter, sprawled wide across the seat and occupying half of the bench. This time however they were accompanied by Alexs’ younger brother Scott who - thanks to Peter, wasn’t allowed to sit, instead forced to crouch down on the concrete of the alley.

Once the boys had realized what was the reason behind Warren’s sudden change of attitude, he was forced to reveal the truth. He wouldn’t be able to deal with it on his own after all. But Alex was slowly getting tired of hearing Warren’s constant whining.

“She suggested that she could use your company at the library right? You just overanalyze it too much.”

“I disagree!”

“Peter, please. We’re trying to get him out of his feathery shell, okay? I know you like to hassle him, but I swear it’s becoming pretty annoying.”

Peter groaned and laid down again. Warren had a worried expression on his face. It didn’t even bother him when his silver-haired friend was being nasty to him. It was a thing you’d either had to get used to, or ignore, but at the moment he just stopped noticing. He wanted to make you notice him. His best self, how he wanted to be for you. During past months he talked to you like, 5 times maybe. Partially because he couldn’t say much, your proximity depriving him of words that’d even make any sense. He got interested in many subjects he never found entertaining, just because you were attending them.

He’d sit in the second to last row, and observe how you’d answer to all the questions or discuss debated topic. He signed up for literature and classic theatre classes, but never actively participated. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to, he was just sure that he’d embarrass himself. And what a failure would that be to be ridiculed in front of you. A disaster. That’s how he was feeling about himself.

“You need to talk to the chick more. If you’ll keep your mouth shut it’s not gonna end up anywhere near your bed, I’m telling you.”

“Not everything revolves around shagging Summers! She’s... she’s. Ugh. She’s special mate.”

Warren leaned forward, resting his cheek on one of his balled hands.

“Get your wings off my view, will you?”

“Uh, sorry.” He said, already getting up, suddenly very aware of how his mutation was forbidding him from feeling fully comfortable at all times. Another one of his issues with getting to know you. What if you hated his wings just as much as he did. He wouldn’t be able to handle that.

“It’s fine, don’t be so touchy man. I didn’t tell you to piss off.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Aaand he’s apologizing again! Seriously, what the fuck man. Did someone replace you?” Peter exclaimed loudly sitting up, amazed expression on his face.

“Warren you really need to chill. Get that stick you’re keeping inside out, cause she’ll never, EVER talk to you.”

“Where did you loose your confidence even?”

Warren’s wings were hanging low off his shoulders which were also almost dangling now, making him look so much smaller, so powerless. He sighed.

“Is he always like this?” Scott finally spoke up pointing at Angel who was now standing next to him.

“No. Someone definitely replaced him. Her name is _____.”

“Oh shut up Maximoff! I’m over your damn bantering.” Warren suddenly tensed, ready to throw hands with his friend. “I’m out. Speak ill of her as much as you please while I’m gone, but I swear I’ll kick your bloody arse if I ever hear anything about her in my presence.” He exclaimed in a raised tone before backing out the spot.

“Come on! We’re trying to help you out!” But he flied up and out of their sight, just to save some time and his own patience.

Being himself without the constant feeling of not being enough creeping behind his back was incredibly hard, probably even harder than getting rid of his metal wings.

The feeling of abandonment was continuously present throughout his life, and maybe that’s why it was so tough for him to let go. Warren wasn’t and could never be as light hearted as Peter. He could act confidence in front of other students, hell, even in front of teachers. But you were always making him feel so vulnerable that it almost made him sick. Nobody would like a sappy, doe-eyed Worthington...

”Warren?” Upon hearing your voice he froze in his tracks. How long has he been up here on the roof? Minutes? An hour? And who told you he’d be here? “Are you okay?”

”Uhm, yeah, yeah!” He turned around still facing his sneakers. He didn’t dare to look up at you, as if ashamed of something he hasn’t even done yet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I was just... contemplating.”

“Well that’s nice.” You said shrugging. The roof was the most perfect spot for contemplating away from others. Sure, it was fun to hang around with other students, friends but everyone needs some time off. And despite all the visible changes in his behavior, you knew Warren well enough to realize that he needed his alone time more than others. „Can I sit next to you?”

„S-sure!” He blurted out suddenly very aware of your presence.

You stepped close to the edge and slowly crouched down bringing your knees close to your chest. Warren was sat with his knees dangling off the edge. He tried to seem as casual as ever, but there was something off in his attitude.

He was feeling so stupid with all this. How much he wanted you to notice him trying, how much he was afraid of you possibly rejecting him. How fucking much he cared about you, about your opinion. How you were the only person for whom he wanted to change.

You were the dream person in his life he never thought he deserved, yet there you were, one next to the other, awkwardly waiting for someone to finally speak up. You cleared your throat.

„If there’s any-”

„I wa- Fuck, _____ I’m sorry, I interrupted you.”

„No, no it’s fine! It’s my fault!”

„No, I just-”

„Warren, it’s fine. Please continue, I’d love to hear it.”

No you wouldn’t, he thought to himself.

„Well, I-” He started turning his face back to you. And all of a sudden he was a goner. None of that mattered because you were actually there. You, just you. You and your curious eyes, your offering smile. „I- damn it. I completely forgot what was on my mind, you know?”

No he didn’t. You were on his mind. As always.

„Seriously? Worthington we need to work on your short-term memory.” You teased chuckling.

You gazed at the park below. From up there it was far more alluring than back on the ground, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that’s something similar to what Warren was experiencing while flying. Everything was the same, yet in a way different, minor even. Maybe that’s why he fancied sitting on the roof so much. All problems seemed small and distant.

You glanced back at him but he’s turned away from you. He’s been distant lately. It’s not like you were best friends or anything, but you really enjoyed his company and something was definitely off. You decided to break the silence.

„Well, either way looks like I’ll need to say my thing first then.” You exclaim as casually as possible and sigh. „I know you’re not into working in groups that much, but… um, there’s this international contest and I just thought, you know, that we could apply together-"

„W-why would yo- me?”

„Yeah why not.” You chuckled and his face softened slowly. „You’re- you’re my friend, and I think we could only benefit from this. Of course if you don’t want to it’s totally fine!”

„No no! It sounds… cool!”

„It really does!” He gazed up at you and that glint in your eyes… As if your eyes sparkled with the most rare shade of joy mixed with excitement and, and- adoration? No, you were just keen on joining the project…right?

Warren scratched his neck nervously.

„Well, I guess you’ll have to get me acquainted with everything.” You just nodded and he decided to play along. „Cause you know, I’m kinda dumb. Bird brain and everything.”

Your body trembled with soft laugh.

„You’re not, silly. Birds are smart too. You’d know if you listened in biology class last month.” Hurriedly you moved to stand up, Warren’s eyes followed your every move. "Wait for me in the library after classes tomorrow? I'll explain everything to you, and maybe we'll start planning already?"

"Sure!"

You smiled again.

"Great."

In a way he was expecting you to laugh at him some more but your next words caught him off guard.

„You’re much smarter than you think Warren. Don't sell yourself short and you’ll get further than most of us here. For real.”

You finished the last sentence with the gentlest smile and winked before walking back to the ladder. Warren was in complete awe.

It took him a couple more seconds to pick the pieces together and then you were gone, behind the wall, possibly stepping down the hallway by then, but finally he’s realized that maybe, just maybe, you were right. And the fact itself of you believing in him? At that moment felt as if it was enough to keep him up in the sky for the rest of his life.

Angel gazed down at the park again. But he was smiling, brighter than ever before. Like the sunset that enfolds the day. Like the lamp lit in the corner of a dark room.

Like a promise. Of better days to come.

Sooner than he would have ever imagined...

„Stop it you idiot! You’re gonna make me fall!” You shrieked holding onto Warren’s arms.

„Never princess.”

His hold on you tightened and you lifted off. You couldn’t even look down you were so petrified. Both of the possibility of falling and the height. But being in Warren’s embrace felt nice, comforting. As if nothing could go wrong.

„You alright out there?” Warren asked nudging your side gently and you slowly looked up. His eyes seemed to match the shade of sky, so bright and clear, with rays of sunshine streaking across the blue. For a second you thought you’ve seen your own reflection in them, like in the tile of the mirror. His excitement was mirroring your own.

Suddenly he slowed down to a stop in midair with his wings spread wide and flapping to maintain altitude.

You were staring. And blushing.

„Y-yeah, I’m scared of looking down though.”

„Then don’t. Look at me.” He smiled slightly as his cheeks turned pink. His arms wrapped around you a bit tighter. „You’re safe with me.”

„I know.” You beamed. Though the small jump of his Adam’s apple didn’t go unnoticed to you.

„Shall we come down?”

„Yeah, I’d really like that actually. I think I prefer watching you from the ground.”

„Oh, so that’s how we’re talking now? Maybe dine me first.” Warren smirked and you were quick to look away. „I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Always so down to Earth huh?” He grinned and you scoffed a little offended.

„It’s only fair if you’ve got head in the clouds. I’m bringing balance to this duo.”

Over the past couple weeks you’ve gotten so close to each other that one could simply assume there’s something actually going on between you. Because in a way it was.

Ever since the rooftop conversation you became inseparable. It was still nice to hang out with other friends, but if Warren was to choose between your bantering in the park and attempting to play ping pong with Peter, it had to be you. Warren could listen you talk about poetry and explain whatever Xavier meant by colonial expansion for hours. It was easy to forget about all the other things with you. Of course the project itself was a good chance to get to know each other more. And so you’ve found out about Warren’s hidden talent for drawing, his favourite bands, and his passion for classicism, especially sculpture.

„Really? I mean, it makes sense but-”

„What do you mean <<makes sense>>?” Warren frowned and laughed dryly, as if someone just saw right through him.

It was another evening in the park. The idea was to study in an open air but obviously you failed and again ended up talking life, both of you stretched out on a blanket and your paperwork.

You only exhaled loudly.

„Uh, you know. You kind of look like one of those yourself.”

„The sculptures?”

„Don’t make me say it.” Warren shot you a glance.

„Come on, please! Tell me I look like a greek sculpture.” Warren teased and continued his exaggerated flexing. Of course he looked as if gods themselves carved him out of marble, but you were just going to feed his sweet vanity. „We both know the truth, just say it. Tell me I’m the Apollo to your Athena!” You could've sworn you almost bugged your eyes out.

„You crave validation so hard Worthington? Also, who told you I’m the Athena type?!”

„You’re the smart one. The smartest in fact.”

„Don’t pander to me now. It’s flattering but…” You responded lowering your voice. „… I always felt like that forest one.”

„Artemis?”

„Is she the one with the arch? And animals? Alone in the woods? Then yeah, that one.”

Warren exhaled and leaned back on the blanket. You could already feel the punch coming...

„Makes sense.”

„Wha-? Oh fuck you Warren! Playing my game against me now? Not fun.” But he only kept on laughing.

„It’s always fun if I’m doing it!” You groaned and punched him in the ribcage lightly. „You like it! I know you do! And now you won’t be able to stop thinking about it, and you won’t be able to fall asleep cause you’ll keep thinking what that winged weirdo meant, and then you’ll call me, wake up everyone in the mansion cause you’re so damn desperate to know.”

„I hate how well you know me.”

„Love you too.”

It still felt so odd to hear it from him. For both of you. It all still felt so fresh, so new and… unexpected. Cause after all you’ve heard about him you never thought you’d end up genuinely liking the guy. And then you became his closest friend, and you liked that too.

Warren was sweet and fun to be around. Once he’s opened up about his struggles and worries, once he’s learnt to trust you it became easier for him to loosen up. He felt safe in your presence. And he actually started noticing that slight change in his behaviour. How he came to the realization remained a mystery. Maybe it was just another day with you in the library, your quiet laugh at his pathetic joke, how he no longer cared if someone was sending him unpleasant looks when you were with him, your cute little notes you were leaving him in the books he borrowed from you and his doodles you were getting with the books in return.

Both notes and doodles on loose pieces of paper of course, you taught him to respect textbooks with all the knowledge they carry. Another thing you've taught him over time. Still, he wouldn’t have admitted that he’s gotten soft to anyone. Well, maybe you. Only you. It came so naturally, like a breath of fresh air and he took it, and he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough of you in his life.

So when you’ve finally wrapped up on your project he decided to do something to celebrate it, to thank you for everything. Out of all the students you were one of the only ones to make it before the deadline, and with all the time you’ve spent off-topic it was a huge success. Despite this you refused to organize a party, not yet, not before the results would come. And Warren didn’t complain, in fact he wanted to make it special.

“A book?! As if she hasn’t got enough of those already…”

“Come on Ororo, help a guy out! What kind of book might she need?”

Ororo let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall. They just left biology class during which Warren was so insistent on sitting with her that it was almost suspicious, until it wasn’t, cause his nagging mouth wouldn’t shut up about his idea to gift you with something.

“It’s not her birthday or anything, so what’s the rush?” Warren groaned in response, way too loud for his liking so he was quick to look around before he gave Ororo a proper response, this time quieter.

“I just wanna give her something okay?”

“Okay, okay! Chill! It’s gotta be a book?”

“I mean, she likes them, right. And I’m pretty sure she won’t mind having another one.” The reasoning was deeper than that though.

Warren wanted to give you a book, cause that was the thing that brought the two of you together. For all the books he’s borrowed, for all the books you’ve been reading together for your project, for the books you’ve recommended him and all the books you’ve given him and the ones he’s learnt to love thanks to you.

Ororo frowned thinking.

“What about mythology?”

“What?”

“Mythology Warren. She likes mythology doesn’t she? I’m pretty damn sure she was looking for something about mythology last month but she dropped the idea because of the project. You know, setting your priorities kinda thing.”

Ah yes! You did talk about correlations between ancient cultures and art one of those days. How come he missed that part.

“You’re a genius ‘Ro!” Warren whisper-yelled already backing out the hallway. “Just don’t say a word!”

Ororo mumbled something in return but Warren was too excited to listen. He was about to get you the best present in the whole universe. Or at least in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

How did Warren Kenneth Worthington persuade the librarian to order two copies of new edition of mythology encyclopedia instead of one was a mystery. But there he was, strolling down one of the alleyways in the park where you were supposed to meet before the party. The results came in today, but Professor insisted to present them during the celebration, just in case of someone failing. That way there’d be no winners, just everyone celebrating the journey. It was fair and in a way forced a prom-like occasion, only there was no actual dress code, just everyone dressing more elegantly and having fun.

It was 4 minutes past 7pm and Warren was starting to get nervous. It was silly, but all of a sudden he was feeling like all this wasn’t about the party anymore. He just wanted to see you, maybe finally ask you out after both of you’ve had a punch. Or two… But you would never be late, something must have happened. Maybe you went straight to the dance hall, maybe-

“Hi there Angel.” Warren turned around and there you were, walking up his way wearing that radiant smile of yours. “Looking dashing I see.”

Considering all the possible outcomes of this evening Warren has decided to wear something more fancy than his usual attire and in exchange he went for a tailored set - black shirt and suit pants, the only one he owned. He got them long time ago but somehow they still fitted him. He blamed his mutation for it, but it felt nice to know that despite all the changes in his life, both the exterior and inferior ones, there was still that part of him that was left unchanged. And he enjoyed that stability.

As for the outfit, he decided to keep the boots. Another constant he couldn’t let go of. Besides, he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, you’d probably think he was being a poser anyway. Better keep the loose facade, at least for the time being.

“Uh, you like it? Thought if we’re about to celebrate… something, I might as well dress up like it, y’know.” Your lips curled in a smile again.

“It’s nice. Very grown up mister Worthington.” Warren couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at your remark. But his whole face and neck was covered in a faint blush, the kind of blush that only accentuated his tiny freckles. You thought that it was cute, but Warren was glad you weren’t able to tell how fast his heartbeat has gotten.

Finally his attention shifted to you and fuck he was so doomed. It wasn’t like you haven’t dressed nicely before, in fact, you were one of very few people who managed to look great both in school uniform and casual attire. It’s just that your hair, your face, fuck, ALL of you... you just took his breath away.

“I- I mean, it’s nothing in comparison to you though.”

You exhaled with slight tension on the edge.

“It’s just clothes you know. And they’re not even mine.” You replied glancing down at your outfit. “I borrowed this from Jean, and those from Jubilee. Didn’t want for anyone to think I always dress up like a nerd.”

“I’m not anyone.”

You looked up at him and he was no longer blushing, the shade faded away into something more rich. It was like his lips have absorbed most of the color and you just couldn’t stop focusing your attention on them. Even his usually bright eyes have gotten darker, like his pupils have blown up making space for a perfect reflection of your face in them. Gloomy and tempting.

Warren suddenly cleared his throat and you backed away bolted upon realizing how close you two were standing.

“I, uh, I’ve got something for you. Just in case we didn’t win or something.” Oh, so that’s why he’s been keeping one hand behind his back the whole time. Wings were a perfect cover. What a lucky bastard.

“Warren, you didn’t need to you.”

“But I wanted to!”

“It’s not fair, I didn’t buy you anything.”

“But you did give me so much. Let me just thank you for it.” He said leaning forward just a bit before a neatly wrapped package appeared in front of your eyes. Warren continued. “Project aside, I really owe you so much and I don’t think I’d be able to do all these things without your help. Anyway, you know I’m not good at talking. Not when you can do it better, so please accept this as my gift. For the past, for what’s now.” And for the future, he thought, but it got stuck in his throat. That’d have sounded too sappy, over the top, pretendious.

“What about the future? I need an insurance in case of your antics blowing up again. Unless you don’t want to hang out anymore, now that we don’t have a scientific reason for it.”

“Oh fuck yes I want! I mean- Yeah! Of course.” Your laugh rang in his ears.

“I’m liking this enthusiasm.” You smirked as Warren handed you the package. It was quite heavy, but not stone kind of heavy. It had some lightness to it, yet imitated a brick-like form. Definitely not something you could expect.

Or could you?

“Is it a book?”

“Please say that you’re not Athena one more time and I’ll fucking explode.”

“It is a book!” You squealed excitedly and started rapidly unwrapping, careful not to tear the silver, shimmery paper. “And just because I guessed correctly I’m not Athena. If anything I’m Pythia.”

“Yeah yeah.” Smartass. Or Ororo is just another traitor.

Warren sighed, but despite all the efforts to stay serious he just couldn’t stop smiling. Seeing you so joyous, so radiant and all blooming was making his heart grow. Yeah he could just love you, just like that, if only you’d let him.

“You didn’t! You fucking maniac!”

Warren was suddenly pulled away from his thoughts by your loud groan. Fuck, not good.

“What the- For fucks sake! How much?!”

“H- How much what?”

“Money! Or, I don’t know, gold… fucking silverware! And most importantly - how did you manage to get the first edition of 'New Larousse encyclopedia of mythology'?!”

Warren sighed with relief.

“I, uh… it’s a secret?”

“Come on! It was released like a week ago!”

“Nuh-uh, I’m not tellin’. Do you like it at least?”

“Like it? Warren I fucking love it! I thought I’m never going to get one of my own, and now you just come up to me like it’s no big deal.”

And when you looked up at him he was wearing that dopey smile of his.

“Cause it really isn’t a big deal. I just thought that’d you’d like it and-“

You didn’t even let him finish as you jumped at him, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug. Warren has never actually felt his heart stop, but this single moment was pretty close to it. And he felt silly, he felt stupid. So fucking in love with you that he couldn't even express it, too afraid that he's ruin it. That you'll disappear, like another memory.

With shaky fingers he reached to caress your cheek and you looked up.

"There you are guys!" Out of thin air appeared Peter, his neatly styled hair only slightly ruined by the running. No hairspray could tame those waves of his. "Smooch later, Xavier's about to present the results."

Gently you pulled away, your cheeks were flush just a tiniest bit. Warren tried to keep his posture stiff, but your eyes kept meeting and you just couldn't stop smiling at that, which was making him smile too.

"Uhm, I guess we'll talk later then." Warren murmured and Peter rolled his eyes. He might have muttered something before speeding off back to the mansion.

"Yeah we better hurry up." You teased nudging his arm with your shoulder.

The walk back inside was rather awkward, but you couldn't quite decide why. The interruption sounded like a reasonable explanation, but thinking about what did Peter actually interrupt was even harder to grasp. Regardless, just before both of you entered the building you grabbed Warren by the arm and he stopped in his tracks confused.

“About earlier...Thank you War. Really. For everything."

And just like that your soft lips planted the softest kiss on the corner of his lips. So close he had half a mind to turn his head ever so slightly and make it proper, yet it felt wrong, like he wasn't himself ready for it yet. As if this meant so much more than what he's ever wanted. Cause it was coming from you. Genuine, like a whisper, a promise.

You pulled away, eyes sparkly as ever. Warren cleared his throat and reached out to rub his neck, the way he always did, but then for the first time he didn't. With cheeks flush pink he straightened his posture and reached for the doorknob inviting you in.

„My lady..."

"Sir." You bowed a little to play along. And fuck what anyone would say, he could wear that blush on his face for the rest of his life if it meant having you by his side, gentle and playful.

Only who could've guessed the future...

Upon entering the hall you notice that everyone has gathered near the podium, where Xavier was presenting the results. You and Warren looked at each other knowingly and approached the scene. You were visibly tense, both of you worked so hard and now that the prize was within your reach you were afraid of disappointment. Not even your own, gods no, you were afraid that Warren would be disappointed. That all this time was wasted, that he’d think that all this was just a waste of time. That he’s wasted his time for pointless project, for you.

“But before I ask the winners to join me on stage allow me to congratulate each and every participant. This incredible opportunity and your involvement means very much, especially for our community. And for us, your teachers, for me, you’re all winners. Give yourselves a round of applause.”

You gazed up at Warren and he was already smiling softly at you. Cause Xavier, for once, was absolutely right, and no matter the results it was worth it.

And as if he knew that you were doubting yourself he gently took your hand in his. You heard him inhale shakily, but you couldn’t tell if the anxiety of waiting was the true reason. Maybe you didn’t want to know, maybe you just wanted him to hold your hand, just like that, with his fingers tracing encouraging traces on the back of your hand. It’s going to be fine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Among the winning teams we have...”

You took a deep breath and felt Warren’s grip on your hand tighten ever so little.

“... Jean Grey and Jubilation Lee! Applause for the ladies!” You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face with each name. You knew how hard they worked so hearing your friends cheer after their well-deserved win was making you happy too. Somewhere in the crowd you spotted Scott and Warren exchanging knowing glances.

“And now, the last but absolutely not least deserving team…”

All the clapping and cheering were ringing in your ears. And you could hardly see the front with everyone blocking your vision with their hands and enthusiastic jumping. You were grateful for Warren’s wings protecting you from being squished from the sides. “ _____ and Warren! Come up on the stage!”

In a flash you were pulled back into the place. It seemed like milliseconds were stretched out to minutes. Warren’s googly eyes were at you shortly before his hold on your hand loosened. Though he didn’t even give you time to react because he was already pulling you into a hug while already twirling both of you, successfully dispersing the crowd.

Triumph. And yet, it felt so unexpected.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay princess?” You didn’t realize you stopped blinking until your vision got blurry and suddenly Warrens’s concerned frown was mere inches from yours.

“Y-yeah? Did we?”

“Win?” You caught that glimpse of excitement in his eyes, the sparkle that made Warren... Warren. And you didn’t even need words anymore, but they came and suddenly everything had a totally different meaning. “Yes silly! We won! We won baby!”

Your brain would race, it would run off to many different places, distant thoughts, memories and old experiences you weren’t able to describe in detail, except for those tiny scraps of words and images. Like frames of a film. Life’s moving so fast.

It’s only been a week since presenting of the results but the memory itself was still so vivid. But you could only see one face, the one in front of you, the one you were planning your travel with.

“When are we leaving again?”

You couldn’t help the involuntary roll of your eyes.

“2 weeks Warren. We’re leaving in 2 weeks. Now, can we get back to plans? We need a schedule if we want to meet during the weekends.”

Exaggerated sigh.

“Couldn’t you just pick the same uni?”

“You’re not just asking me to choose Kensington over Brighton.”

“What if I am?”

You shot him a glare but despite your efforts to play it off you didn’t miss the glint of sincerity in his eyes.

It was quite a challenge to keep your relationship the way it was after that evening in the park. And Warren was doing everything in his power to crack it. Break the established boundaries. Not that anyone has actually set them and obviously he didn’t mean to rush anything, he respected you far too much to do so.

“I didn’t even apply there, it would make no sense if I would do it now.”

He perked up.

“But you’re considering it!”

“Oh gods… you know what? I would, but just because of you. Kensington wasn’t even in my plans.” You said and glued your eyes back to the papers spread between your bodies on the bench. Luckily the day wasn’t too windy so you were able to use some of the afternoon sun and organize your leave in more pleasant conditions. “And… you’ll be my only friend out there…”

The inevitable. Leaving familiar community for the sake of brand new experience. For the sake of possible personal growth. It was hard enough for you, but for Warren?

Since joining the mutant underground he’s been doing everything and nothing in particular, all at once. He didn’t belong back home, among his family members, but he didn’t belong on the streets or cage-fighting either. Until then it’s all been downs and illusory ups. And whether he initially had rejected the idea or not, he’s found his place. And he was about to leave it for a while, leave America. He was wondering if it was just his mind playing with him all over again, or was it really the end of an era. He was about to leave the past behind completely. And you wouldn't be there with him, not within his reach.

“You know, I could always fly up to you. Like, Kensington during the day-“

“It’s 2 hours away. By car.”

“But I would stay the night! And we could spend the weekends by the sea. Studying!” Warren emphasized with a rise of index finger. You smiled involuntarily. Classic Worthington. But when did he become so positive.

“Where did the real Warren go? I’m pretty sure you’re a clone, only more upbeat.”

You gazed up at his face and he was smiling. Only sadder.

“Hopefully I’m not evil clone.” He spoke up searching for your hand. Gently he nudged it. “I’ve changed. I don’t want to be unhappy anymore. I kinda think I won’t be able to if I keep you around. You’re like… my lucky charm or something.”

Another smile. And you were blushing a tiniest bit.

“The credit goes entirely to you War.” You exclaimed but your eyes remained glued to the bench, afraid that if you looked into those eyes one more time you’d actually break. Swallowing hard you straightened your posture. “Either way we’ve chosen different spots, but hopefully we’ll manage to meet sometime.” You faked a smile and Warren just nodded. He knew you better than to blindly believe in your optimism but he ran out of words to say.

Things will work out. Or you’ll make them work out. Somehow, someday.

Weeks run by so fast. Even faster than days. You were packed up, slightly dizzy after farewell bash that Peter has managed to organize together with your mutual friends, and almost ready to go.

Given the character of the universities both of you’ve chosen and the grim reality of life as a mutant, you were meant to fly a special airline. Warren would often jokingly brag about how he could literally fly there on his own if only Xavier wasn’t so insistent on paying for your flight. You were far more pragmatic. Your abilities didn’t include flying or such long-distance teleportation, and even if they did you wouldn’t take that risk. Of course Warren was only playing but deep down you had that tightening feeling that something was about to blow up. And it was getting tighter and tighter with each passing day…

“You up?” You heard a muffled voice preceded by a knock from behind your door.

By then you were left with finishing off the cleaning up your dorm room. After all it was hard to tell when you’d be coming back. Or if you were coming back at all… Might as well leave it as 'tabula rasa' as possible.

Another knock and you rushed to the door. Warren was biting his bottom lip in an attempt to contain his excitement, but his pose was saying something different. The old combat boots on his impatient heels were visibly polished for the occasion. You smirked at his choice of jacket though. It was that jean one with faux fur inside that you'd suggested him to buy once. Probably not that questionable choice considering London and its weather, where you were supposed to be landing. And for once he wasn’t wearing black pants but instead hardly ripped, simple jeans.

You were looking him up and down and he noticed it. Warren liked to joke that you were actually checking him out when you looked at him like that. Who knows, maybe you did.

“Gotta make an impression.” He said loud enough to bring your attention back to his face. He spread his arms and wings as if to emphasize his words.

“Uhm, and what kind of impression you wanted to make here?” You voiced your concerns waving your hand around. Warren frowned.

“Uh… artistry? I tried okay! I do have some family there but it’s not like I know everything about European fashion inherently.”

You let out an audible snort. Sometimes you really thought that Warren could sense your fears and therefore would always show up with his inimitable humor and helplessly silly comments. Always there to cheer you up when you were sad. Like an actual angel.

“Anyway, I decided to check up on you, but looks like you’re ready to go.” Warren pointed at the set of luggage by the wall.

“Yyyeah.” You stated hesitantly gluing your eyes to the floor and he nudged your chin gently so you’d look up at him again.

“You sure? You know you can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“It’s just… I don’t know. A feeling.”

And he didn’t dig it up. Like he knew it was pointless, like he knew you wouldn’t be able to explain.

Like you were more than just friends.

So he just hugged you, just like you did back then in the park. Swallowed the urge to tell you how he really felt. Cause eventually he’d be able to tell you, and you needed his support. Safe with his arms engulfing you. And for that brief moment in your life your worries have melted away, somewhere where they couldn’t reach you.

After drawn-out hug session with your friends and receiving much needed words of support from the Professor and other teachers you were good to go. Well, maybe not good, but fine. Xavier insisted on driving you to the airport along with McCoy. You could tell that it had something to do with your inner concerns, but Warren seemed oblivious to it. All the way to the airport you two barely talked, but at some point Warren sneaked his hand around yours and you reciprocated by intertwining your fingers with his. Memories of the first time you held hands clouded your mind creating a wave of peace. Because with him everything seemed so easy, you felt as if nothing could crush you, not if he’s been through it and came back. You’ve come to meet the hell he’s been through via his words, the nightmares he’s allowed you to see. It made you appreciate your life more. Your life and him, his strength and will to fight back his demons.

His presence in your life seemed like that missing puzzle, and he very much felt the same way. But what if one day the image falls apart?

The closer to the airport you were getting, the worse you felt. You didn’t feel sick, no, it was merely physical. It just felt as if something within you, something invisible, was being torn apart. Softly you let go of Warren’s hand, afraid that he could sense something and ask questions. You had to be brave, it was just a trip, an internship, nothing permanent you kept repeating yourself, but it wasn’t just stress of the travel. Something was happening and you couldn’t control it. A distant sensation, yet so close to your own heart you could feel it tear open.

Once you got to the airport it became unbearable, so overwhelming you had to excuse yourself to the restroom. The tension was increasingly climbing up your back, tensing the muscles around your spine and neck. And the buzz ringing in your ears, like a stun that only kept on growing and blocking you from your surroundings.

You couldn’t even see the people throwing looks in your direction, you couldn’t even see them, only omnipresent pain invisible to the naked eye.

“_____, breathe.” Echo inside your ringing head. A soothing, distant voice. “I know, I know. Just breathe.”

Sharp inhale. Short exhale.

“Again, control your feelings. Breathe.”

Another sharp inhale, this time deeper. And exhale.

“Just like this, regain control. It’s fine. It will be fine.”

In long, out long. The buzzing seemed to fade into white noise, and with each breath it moved further and further away. Calm down, it’s fine. It will be fine.

The voice was getting closer to you, so close you could recognize it. As well as your surroundings. Cold tiles of restroom at the airport, empty stalls, three pairs eyes staring at you in shock. If only they could tell how shocked you were.

Soon enough another two figures rushed to you. You recognized one of the voices as Professor Xavier. The distant voice.

“It’s okay, breathe. You’re safe.” You blinked regaining your vision.

“Wh-what happened?”

“That, you’ll have to figure out on your own.”

“Where’s _____?”

When Xavier suddenly decided to leave them at the waiting area Warren was certain it had something to do with your disappearance. And they made him wait, like a fool, like he wasn’t dying inside unaware of what you must have gotten yourself into.

And so he was pacing around, concern all over his face. No words of wisdom coming from Jean could stop him from worrying. You weren’t there, something must have happened.

“She-“

“She won’t be coming.” McCoy chimed in right behind Charles, but the elder mutant only nodded in agreement.

It was already settled, there was nothing else to add. Neither for you nor for him. He was left with a bunch of vague explanations and affirmations that everything is fine, that you’re just not ready, not yet. But the words just kept booming inside his head like an echo.

“Wha-? What do you mean she won’t be coming?”

~~~~~

to be continued

#Warren Worthington #Warren Worthington III #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington the third #archangel #angel xmen #angel x reader #archangel x reader #xmen angel #xmen fic #x-men fanfiction #x-men fic #xmen fanfiction #xmen au #x-men au #x men apocalypse #x men au #full fic #fic update

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serendipitous-magic · 4 years ago

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Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen?

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city?

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc.

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be?

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be?

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books?

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you?

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for?

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

Oh yeah. I have trouble sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person?

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you?

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.)

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.)

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for?

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food?

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil?

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign?

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy?

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention.

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read?

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them?

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of?

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent?

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground?

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star?

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children?

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now?

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual.

41. Where do you feel the safest?

When I’m alone and unobserved.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji?

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word.

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw?

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched?

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning.

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

#about me #tag game #except as usual i'm not gonna tag people because I don't have to social energy to ask people to do things #sorry i know that's kind of cheating #if you wanna overshare just say I tagged you lol #personal #tmi

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fivebrights · 5 years ago

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Value Me (Ask thing) and I think you know which 2 disaster Djinn we all have in mind :^) - MQT

“Value Me”: a drabble about one character telling another how they feel about them.

The story of Zommoros’s exile comes out, and unsurprisingly it’s not quite the story Zommoros has told himself. Zommoros/Qadim, 1.7k words.

“Carrom!” announced Zommoros, pleased. He placed his hands over the scattered pieces on the board and swept them all towards the center. “It’s been quite some time since I played.”

“Couldn’t teach your rodents how?” Qadim settled on the rugs and cushions opposite, arms crossed.

Zommoros placed the red carrom queen in the middle of the board and shaped the white and black pieces around it. “I really must insist you call them professionals. That is, after all, what they are.”

A small white disk materialized and landed in front of Qadim; Zommoros turned another over between his thumb and index fingers. “They earned that distinction.”

“If you say so.” Qadim picked up the striker disk.

With his free hands Zommoros poured the wine. “I did show them a game or two some time ago. But,” he smiled, “they seemed more interested in picking up and sorting the pieces than learning the rules.”

Qadim huffed out a sound of sarcastic amusement, and accepted the half-full wine glass extended to him.

“To be fair,” said Zommoros, picking up his own glass, “they are quite similar in size and shape to the many runes and sigils that get thrown down here.” He tugged his scarf down and took a sip. “Who can blame them for force of habit?”

“What’s the wager this time, Zommoros?”

“Wager?” Zommoros set his glass down. “I hadn’t thought of one.”

“There’s always a wager.”

“That seems like a poor excuse for one,” Zommoros replied, but his smile was interested.

Qadim shrugged. “Not when there’s something you want.”

Two carrom pieces, one black and one white, flickered between Zommoros’s four hands. “And what do I want, Qadim?”

Zommoros closed two of his fists and held them out for Qadim. Qadim pointed to Zommoros’s left. “The creatures in my menagerie freed.”

Zommoros paused. “You’re not wrong.” He opened his palm: it held the black carrom piece. Both the black and white pieces were put back among the others in the middle of the board, and Zommoros put down his striker. “But I think you made it quite clear that was off the table.”

With a flick of Zommoros’s thumb and index finger, the striker scattered the black and white pieces across the board.

“Not when what I get if I win is you back inside my menagerie.”

“Qadim,” Zommoros said. His tone was almost chiding. He picked up his striker and lined it up a second time.

Qadim watched Zommoros scrutinize the positioning of the striker and the pieces that lay across the board. “It’s not a bad wager, Zommoros. You get something you want either way.”

The striker ricocheted a white piece off the side and sank it.

“I,” Zommoros began, flustered. He retrieved his striker once more and laid it on the board. “Maybe it’s time we talked about this.”

Qadim tapped the side of the board with his nails. “I’m listening.”

Another flick of Zommoros’s fingers. This time, the striker failed to find its mark. Zommoros picked up the striker and let it rest between his knuckles. He fidgeted with the stem of his wine glass.

“You’ve brought this up a few times now.”

Qadim unfolded his arms and placed his own striker on the board. “Only because you haven’t given me a direct answer.”

Flick. A bounce off the corner sank one of the black pieces.

Zommoros took another sip of wine. His brow was even more deeply furrowed than usual, and for a time he gazed out at his realm beyond the pillars of the gazebo.

Qadim had a clear shot and sank the next piece easily. “Once I have you there, aziz’am,” he said, and lined up his next shot, “you won’t think of leaving.” His gaze moved from the striker to Zommoros.

Zommoros’s breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”

Flick. Qadim scored another of the pieces. Zommoros’s heart stuttered when Qadim next aimed for the queen and knocked the piece in.

“I have seen your collection, Qadim. Kept in cages made of fire, miserable, unable to die,” Zommoros frowned. “How can I…”

Qadim eyed the next piece. “You are different. You are djinn.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with it.”

Qadim aimed. He released the striker. It ricocheted off the rim of the board and clipped the piece, but it wasn’t enough to knock it in. Qadim grumbled and fetched the queen, placing her back in the center of the board.

The queen now lay within a maze of the remaining pieces. Zommoros aimed to one side of her. “If anything, djinn have a particularly good reason to desire freedom.”

The carrom pieces scattered away from the queen. Zommoros scored another white piece, and used his next turn to knock the queen back into the embrace of the other pieces.

“I can’t see why you, as djinn, would want to infringe on that,” he finished.

Qadim leaned over the board, rubbing his chin as he scrutinized the obstructions to the queen.

Zommoros watched him. “Come to think of it,” he ventured, “you’ve never explained your sudden obsession with keeping other creatures.”

Qadim’s hand moved from his chin to tightly grip the side of the carrom board. He fixed Zommoros with a sudden stare. “Tell me, Zommoros: How much debt were you in before you left Elona?”

“I—” said Zommoros, caught off guard by the change of topic, “well, I knew it was more than I preferred–”

“Because,” Qadim’s voice was dark with ash, “Siamek and his little entourage came to me, saying they had enough of your debt to own you.”

Zommoros laughed, taken aback. “What? No. No, things were hardly that bad–”

“You just admitted you didn’t know how much debt you were in,” Qadim growled. He clenched his striker between his fingers but made no move to put it on the board.

“Yes, but surely–” Zommoros shook his head, “I know I was avoiding a large debt. More than what was reasonable. But even if Siamek’s claim had basis, djinn don’t do that to other djinn.”

Qadim laughed derisively. “These weren’t your friends, Zommoros. They were your debt collectors.”

Zommoros looked at him, dismayed. “How do you even know about all this?”

The carrom board began to blacken where Qadim gripped it. “Who do you think they went to when you started avoiding them?”

Zommoros’s gaze fell to the burnt wood. His eyes widened. “Qadim, please!”

Qadim released the board. With some despair, Zommoros leaned over and examined the charred edge. When he pulled back, his fingers lingered along the burn. Qadim crossed his arms once more and glowered at the board.

Finally, Zommoros raised his eyes to him. “What else did they say?”

Qadim placed his striker piece down, still tense. “They were tired of waiting for you to pay, what else? So they found an interested buyer.”

“Who?”

Qadim snorted. “I didn’t pay attention. An inconsequential noble.”

Silence. Qadim sank another piece. And then another.

“Well,” Zommoros tried lightly, “what’s the harm in what could’ve been? It goes without saying that I’m here and not somewhere like the Garden of Seborhin, serving nobles–”

“Only because I did something about it,” Qadim growled as he took careful aim. The way to the queen was clear. “Even after telling you, again and again, that I couldn’t keep bailing you out.”

“How is that my fault?” Zommoros said, his dismay returning, and Qadim drew back from his shot without taking it, irritated. “You weren’t supposed to be involved that time– I didn’t even know you were involved–”

Qadim’s hand came down hard enough to upset the carrom board. “Your actions forced me to be involved,” he snarled back. “They owned everything, Zommoros–they owned you! And you didn’t even say anything!”

“To be fair, you didn’t say anything to me, either.” Now Zommoros’s palms opened, pleadingly. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this while it was happening?”

“Because you would’ve insisted that there was another way out. There wasn’t,” Qadim said, waspishly. “It was either exile, or enslavement, or a bounty on your head.”

“But–”

“You needed to leave Elona.”

“But if you had just told me–”

“I am telling you now: You are djinn!” Another of Qadim’s fists came down; the carrom board jumped. “You are worth more than your debt, and you are worth more than a human’s plaything!”

Zommoros looked pained. “And I am worth more than a creature in a cage.”

Qadim’s hands withdrew. He simmered with frustration.

Zommoros shook his head. “I just can’t condone being kept, Qadim.”

“Even if you want it,” Qadim asked, flatly.

“Even if I want it.”

“Do you?”

Zommoros looked up at him.

“Want to be mine again,” Qadim clarified.

The little of Zommoros’s cheeks visible above his scarf deepened in color. He swallowed. “Of course,” he whispered. “But that’s a little different, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Qadim rested his elbow on the carrom board and the now-ruined game, his knuckles curling against his own cheek. “You used to enjoy being called mine.”

Zommoros’s cheeks darkened further. “Yes, well–” he cleared his throat and toyed with his scarf. “Is the menagerie truly the only way?”

Qadim picked up the red disk that represented the queen and turned it in his fingers. “The point is I won’t lose what’s mine again, aziz’am.” He placed the piece back on the board.

Zommoros reached out and dragged one of his golden nails across the shallow grooves of one of the other carrom pieces, pushing the disk around. “It’s a pleasant surprise, hearing that word from you again.”

Qadim tapped his nails on the carrom board, just inches from Zommoros’s own. “I haven’t had a reason to stop using it.” He stuck out his pinky, halting the movement of Zommoros’s carrom piece.

Zommoros gazed at the space where their fingers almost touched. Then, in a moment of impulsivity or bravery or both, his fingers darted across Qadim’s knuckles, a featherlight caress that burned pleasantly through Qadim’s veins. Just as quickly Zommoros withdrew to reach for his wine glass once more, although for the moment he simply rested his fingers against the base.

“There’s quite a bit to catch up on,” he said, and Qadim could tell that he was gazing at him in the reflection of the glass.

Qadim finally lifted his own wine glass for a drink. “The night is young,” he commented.

“And we still have that game of carrom,” Zommoros agreed, the quiet beginnings of a smile in his eyes as he looked back at Qadim. They would have to start the game over, but what did it matter when they both had finally neglected to keep score. “Shall we?”

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #fanfiction #djinn #tyriaslibrary #zommoros #qadim #mad-queen-thorn #prompt #posted #zommordim

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poppibranchlover · 5 years ago

Text

Nine Lives, One Fight - Part 11

The story: Deep in the forest of Troll Town, there lies a mysterious tiny purple mushroom that has a secret magical ability. King Peppy calls this mushroom forbidden for all Trolls to go near it. One day, while Branch is out in the woods doing his survival research studying, he encounters it and, not knowing it is a regular mushroom, decides to harvest it and bring it home. But in the next morning, its magic effects transform him into a small blue cat! After being sent to the animal pound, his girlfriend, Poppy, finds him and decides to adopt him, although not recognizing it is Branch. Desperate to finish his research project due for a special event invented by Poppy, Branch is forced to learn how to behave like a pet cat and must figure out what caused him to become one.

You already seen what had happened in Part 10. Now get ready for Part 11!:

Branch ran through the path of the large forest, lost and scared. He wanted to go home by himself without Poppy’s help, but with scary noises of predators growling and swaying tree branches filling throughout the woods, it was hard for him to do this on his own. He was just a small tiny kitten, and has no choice but to deal with the problem he got himself into.

While Branch was still running, a voice suddenly shouted “Hey! You dropped this!”

Branch quickly stopped in his tracks and listened. He sniffed the ground, trying to find what is dropped in front of him. He approached a bush and stopped sniffing suddenly as his wide cat eyes were staring directly at...

...two long rabbit ears! They were peeking through the bush, shivering. Branch titled his head to the side in confusion. “Is that...a tiny rabbit? Lost in the woods all by himself?”

He cautiously approached the bush. Maybe this cute little animal was looking for a home...just like him. The tiny snow-white creature looked up at Branch. It was so innocent that it didn’t even know it was in danger of being lost in the forest.

Branch bent down to the precious rabbit. The bunny stayed hidden deep in the leaves. It looked up, its nose twitching, as Branch said gently to it “Awwww. Hey there, little guy. I heard your owner kinda left you behind. Come on. Let me return you back to him!”

He carefully opened his mouth to grab one of the little rabbit’s ears, but before he can, the creature popped up from hiding and suddenly spoke directly to Branch with the same Troll-like voice he heard in the first place! “How do you think I went away from him, you fuzzo?!”

Branch’s eyes widened in horror and he couldn’t believe his ears! He jumped back, stuttering “W-wait a minute! Did you just talk?!”

“Oh yeah I am! What do ya think I’m talking about?” the bunny said, raising an eyebrow. It leaned over with a smirk and said “What’s up?”

Branch suddenly screamed and retreated to a nearby bush.

Then he peeked out from it and shivered with fear, trying to understand what he just witnessed.

“No way!” Branch exclaimed. “Y-you can t-talk to me?!”

The rabbit called out from the distance in its calm voice “Hey, kid. Don’t be scared of me. I’m surprised to find out that you can understand me! Isn’t this great?”

“No, not really!” Branch cried, still hiding in the bush. Was he going crazy? He has never heard bunnies speaking to him before, and now he ended up meeting one that can understand him! He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, thinking he was still dreaming.

Then he jumped out of the bush and walked towards the rabbit, attempting to know if it doesn’t talk to him anymore. It just stood there on that bush, nose twitching and staring at him.

Before Branch can sigh with relief, it suddenly spoke again “Are you gonna stop stressing about your feelings?”

As it said it, Branch shook his head and stomped his paw on the ground. “No! No, no, no, no, no!” he shouted. “This can’t be happening! Rabbits don’t talk to me like that! Now I can understand you?! How is that possible?!”

“Well, it’s probably nothing!” the rabbit said cheerfully. “I just can’t believe you are actually talking to a rabbit, aren’t you?!”

“No, don’t do the innocent,” Branch said nervously, pacing back and forth. “I must be crazy! What is going on? What a nightmare!”

“You can understand me!” said the bunny with a wide smile on its face. “It’s no nightmare, it’s...”

Simultaneously, Branch said “Horrible!” while the bunny happily squealed “Awesome!”

“Okay, seriously. This needs to be stopped,” Branch demanded. “I ask you a question. Why you can speak to me like that?”

The little bunny looked down. At first, Branch felt bad for a moment in front of this cute pouty rabbit face, but he had to get some answers.

“I...I prefer not to say who I really am,” it simply answered. “But I live in the forest all alone until I saw a helpless little cat like you running from a large scary dog!”

Branch did not believe his ears. He recognized that creature. It was the same bunny he had run into while he was being pursued by the big black dog yesterday!

“So...you know me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Of course! And I’m not alone in the woods anymore!” the rabbit said, laughing. “I never knew I needed a friend someday like you!”

“How did you know I am running from that huge dog yesterday?” asked Branch.

“It was easy. I was just hopping around when a fluff of blue fur tumbled straight into me, and just before I want to help, you run away and then that scary mutt was coming straight toward me. So I just hid and saw what is going on.”

“And that’s how you came here and meet me?”

“Yep!” the bunny said eagerly, wagging its little bushy tail. “Now that no predator is coming after you, you seem so lonely here. Are you looking for your owner too?”

“No!” Branch said, annoyed. “I’m trying to get home myself! I don’t want to get interested to being with my owner! But where is your owner?”

“He left me alone here because he hates my behavior of eating his food in the house,” the rabbit said sadly. “But here I am now!”

“Whoa,” said Branch. “That sounds so harsh. But you know what, I’ll tell him a word. Why am I talking to a rabbit and how do you understand what I’m saying?” He raised an eyebrow as he said this.

The rabbit scratched its fur with its back leg and replied “We always talk when Trolls are not around. Normally, nobody seems to hear us talk when we’re apart from them. When we’re near them, we usually communicate using animal language.”

Branch thought it was better for him to be with the other Trolls since he changed his habit, but after being turned into a cat, he has no other way how will the people know him. “Your explanation makes sense. But I am not sticking with my owner’s side for now. I gotta get home,” he told the bunny.

“What? Now?” it asked. “But we haven’t get to know each other yet! What’s your name, little cat? I want to know what cute name your owner pick?”

Cute name? Branch suddenly thought about Poppy nicknaming him “Mr. Tickle”, but if he did reveal this name to the rabbit, it might be too teasing for him. He sighed and blurted out “My name is Branch! I’m no cat! I’m a brave young survivalist!”

This caused the little rabbit to fall over and laugh. Branch frowned, utterly baffled. That creature was now thinking that his name sounds a lot funny!

“REALLY?!” the bunny howled through his laughter. “You called yourself a “cat survivalist”?! What a made-up!”

Branch has no idea what he is talking about. He insisted “Stop it! It’s not a “made-up” title! It’s a job I usually do in case of emergency!”

“Oh, I get it now! You’re a survivalist because you always do everything to survive in the forest!” said the rabbit, giggling.

“No. My job was to prepare for danger and keep my village safe. I hope you understand that. Please stop making fun of my title.”

The rabbit stopped giggling and smiled. “I’m sorry. It’s just I found how funny it is for cats to have jobs!”

“But most cats don’t do jobs!” Branch said firmly.

“But this one does have!” the rabbit said, playfully wagging his tail and wiggling his nose.

Branch stared at him. This creature looked so energetic like his girlfriend, Poppy, only that it was just a grey bunny, longing for a friend. Wanting to know more information about it, only one question burned his lips: “Who are you in reality? I want to know what does your owner name you!”

The little long-eared creature groaned. “Sorry, but I prefer not to reveal my own name.”

Branch sat, plunking his bottom down on the floor (as if it looked like his way of crossing his arms), with a stern look on his face. This little kid was already annoying him.

“If you want, you can give me a name as the queen does with you!” the bunny suggested, leaving a laugh escaping from his mouth.

Branch shot him a murderous look. Did this weird little creature just spy on him? He named the rabbit without any hesitation. “Hmmm…let me think about it. 'Wiggles'?”

“What?! That’s not supposed to be my name! Why?” the bunny asked, getting up on his four legs, obviously finding how completely stupid is that name.

“Because rabbits always wiggle their noses.” Branch pointed out.

“Urgh, fine!” Wiggles growled.

Meanwhile, Poppy and Biggie are almost finishing up their conversation regarding on presenting Branch to the Show-and-Tell festival.

“I truly understand,” Biggie was saying to Poppy. “But I have a question. How are worms and cats different from each other?”

“My father once said little worms have the genes of a cat. Compared to a normal cat, they might be a distant cousin!” explained Poppy.

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Dinkles and Mr. Tickle will make great friends!” Biggie replied. “Besides, they’re definitely cousins now!! What do you think?”

“Of course they’ll get along so well together!” Poppy said excitedly. “This is just so exciting! Right, Mr...” She smiled and looked down at where Branch is supposed to be before realizing that he is not there.

“Mr. Tickle?” she said, confused. “Where’s Mr. Tickle?” She began to whimper.

“Oh no! Where did your little cat go?” Biggie asked, gasping. “He was right here!”

“I know!” cried Poppy. “But how could my sweet little cat disappear?”

“Perhaps a magician took him out of nowhere and made him vanish!” Biggie suggested, imagining how terrifying it is for someone looking like he had just kidnapped a cute kitten.

“I’ll go look for him!” Poppy said, desperate for her pet. She ran around the village, calling out for Branch. She was worried sick. Why Branch had to run away from her so he can return to his beloved bunker home? Poppy also didn’t know the reason why he did it as she only knew he did ran away on purpose.

“Mr. Tickle? Mr. Tickle, where are you?” she called as she searched the village high and low for her lost pet. “Oh, please be okay! Don’t run off! You’ll be caught by Animal Control if you get lost again!”

Poppy stopped walking for a moment and quietly cried. She had promised the Animal Control that she can take care of Branch more properly and now that he disappeared, it was now the time to face the consequences being made.

While Poppy was lamenting, Smidge was preparing her Show-and-Tell project when she noticed her in the corner. She approached her and said proudly “Hey, Poppy! Glad you made it just in time to test out my Muscle Spirit treadmill!” But when she realized she looked very sad, she asked “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“Oh, Smidge! I need your help!” Poppy begged. “I lost my pet cat, Mr. Tickle! I was talking with Biggie and he suddenly disappeared!”

“A lost cat?” Smidge was stunned. “Oh my gah! Whatever you’re talkin’ about, lost animals always go to Animal Control!”

“I know,” said Poppy. “AC officer Garth told me I should keep on eye on him otherwise he’s back in his poor little cage where I first met him!”

Smidge held her hand, trying to make her feel better. But the sad pink Troll could not be comforted unless Branch is found.

“We have to find him, Smidge,” Poppy whispered. “He can’t be gone forever.”

“Don’t worry,” the tiny yellow Troll told her. “I hope we’ll be able to find this poor little cat! I could definitely hear him meowing in the woods right now.”

Poppy looked at Smidge with determination in her eyes, hopeful that Branch would be back at any moment.

In the forest, Branch was grumbling as he walked. Wiggles the bunny was following him and he could not get rid of him anymore.

His innocence is irritating him. He hopped with joy and skipped between some rocks on the ground, humming an interminable song.

Branch viciously hissed at him in an effort to drive him away. “HIIISSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”

Wiggles stopped hopping and clumsily stepped backwards. But he didn’t seemed scared of him at all.

“You could not shut your mouth and listen to the sounds of the forest?!” Branch snarled. “Maybe you’d like that!”

“Aw, I can’t help it!” Wiggles exclaimed. “I’m too happy for that.”

Happy. Happiness. One thing that only Branch, Wiggles and the other Trolls could participate because Branch had to ensure the protection of the village.

Not quite. Branch is still in the form of a kitten, and he wants to go to his bunker since he is finally away from the captivity of the animal pound or Poppy’s care. He turned to Wiggles, who was running behind to stay beside him; his paws were too short because of trying to catch up.

“Look, I don’t need any help from a cute little bunny like you,” Branch said sternly. “I have a lot of things to do like, you know, preparing for the worst to come at Troll Village.”

“Ohhhhh.....okay,” said Wiggles, rolling his eyes and understanding his statement. “I get it now! It’s what a survivalist really does, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Branch said. “It’s the one possible thing I have to expect unless the queen might be organizing another party.” He turned back to the path where he was walking and continued on his way.

The tiny rabbit looked at him with his wide blue eyes. “What kind of party is the Troll queen preparing?” he asked.

Branch grumbled. “Some kind of Show-and-Tell party that also included cute little animals like us! It’s just that I don’t want to be used as my owner’s main object for the party!” He was shuddering at the statement that Poppy is planning to use him for her Show-and-Tell event while she is talking with Biggie earlier.

“Oh, that’s fascinating!” Wiggles said with a giggle. He was trying to catch a squirrel but it scurried away while he was talking. “I will definitely like attending to this party!”

“Yeah, that’s why I had to make my own project for this special occasion.”

“What project?” Wiggles didn’t quite catch those words.

“I am planning a research project on nature to show to the Trolls for this party or else I’m a failure to the rest of the world!” Branch explained, getting clearly annoyed. “I just don’t have enough days to finish it in time!”

“Just calm down,” Wiggles told him calmly. “All you need is a little practice, man! Get a hold of yourself!”

Yes, but getting a hold of myself would cause me to scream with rage when I can’t get any ideas to complete it, Branch thought while Wiggles jumped around, trying to catch some fireflies. He groaned and was about to continue walking when Poppy’s voice called out in the distance. “Mr. Tickle?! Where are you, little kitty?”

“Who’s calling out in the distance, calling for a guy named Mr. Tickle?” Wiggles asked with meek curiosity.

“It must be Poppy,” said Branch, looking at the direction where her voice was heard. “She’s looking for me! She nicknamed me Mr. Tickle when she kept me as a pet!”

When he said this sentence, Wiggles snickered as his nose twitched. He is thinking something funny about Branch once again.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to make fun of me?” he demanded.

“I have a question,” Wiggles said. “Why your nickname is “Mr. Tickle” and not 'Branch the cat survivalist'?”

Branch rolled his eyes. “It’s that ridiculous nickname my owner would usually gave me, and I hated to be called like that.”

“Oh, cool!” Wiggles chuckled. “But can I call you ‘Branch’ in the meantime?”

“Yeah, you can call me that name if you want,” the blue Troll-cat replied. “I prefer some people who usually call my name when they need me.”

But now Poppy really needs him. Branch can hear Smidge saying “There’s your pet! Go to him!”

Wiggles wanted to go to Poppy as well, but Branch pushed him away. “Please go home,” he growled, worrying that the bunny was not supposed to accompany him to Poppy’s house. “Your owner will also worry for you.”

The little bunny shrugged and turned to greet him. “I guess you’re right. Oh, well! See you tomorrow, my new cat friend!” he said cheerfully before hopping out of sight, leaving Branch standing alone in the woods again.

“Friend?” he asked as he watched the rabbit disappearing into the dark. “We just met and I’m already his friend? Pfft…” He sighed, annoyed.

Once Wiggles is already gone, Poppy rushed towards Branch, exclaiming happily “I found you, Mr. Tickle! Come here, sweet kitty!”

She picked him up and embraced him with a big cuddly hug. Branch wheezed uncomfortably while Poppy was hugging him and giggling.

“Oh, Mr. Tickle!” Poppy said, relieved that she found her pet cat. “I’m so glad you’re okay! Don’t ever leave my side again! Let’s get you home all warm and cozy!”

Now that she found Branch, Poppy proudly walked out of the forest, taking him in her arms and making her way back to her pod.

To Be Continued...

Stay tuned for Part 12!

#dreamworks trolls #poppy and branch #poppy #branch #cat #cat branch #branch the cat #wiggles #wiggles the rabbit #biggie #smidge #cat branch story #nine lives one fight #fanfiction

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curekibouka · 5 years ago

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Memento (one-shot Pandora Hearts fanfic)

Summary: How should one advance onward, when one’s preferred reality was the past?

A/N: So, this is my first Pandora Hearts fanfic posted on tumblr (and it’s my worst one yet 🙂). I tried to convey something sad and something light-hearted at the same time and I don’t know how you guys would take it.

*This fic is also on FF.net and Quotev.

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

“Break?”

Ah. Right.

He was gone.

Forever.

Sharon sighed, it appears she had to do her hair herself today.

A week had passed already. And her habits still refused to be changed. He had always been the first person she’d greet in the morning, and the one she’d count on to arrange everything for her, and the one she’d bid goodnight to right before she slept.

15 years had been such a long time. Sharon couldn’t even begin to imagine what her life would have been like if she hadn’t found him that day.

But she reckoned that forever was a time longer than anything she could conceive of.

It had barely been a week, and she was already missing him so, so much that it felt as if her heart could shatter into a thousand fragments with the slightest touch.

How was she going to live with the knowledge that he was gone forever?

From time to time, the sensation of his head resting on her shoulder still remained. It plagued her to no ends.

His exhausted, raspy voice. His pale complexion. His skin losing its temperature. All of it…

…had felt so surreal.

They all knew Break was going to die one of these days. Besides, he had had just about a million near-death occasions due to his one-man show persona, this really shouldn’t come as a surprise.

But it didn’t feel right at all.

It didn’t feel right talking about him in past tense when she delivered the eulogy, he had always been the liveliest creature in the room.

It didn’t feel right seeing him being placed in a coffin and buried underground, left to rot and perish and decompose, alone.

It didn’t feel right placing little flowers there, those flowers belonged in his once beautiful long, silver hair, not on that dreary, grey tombstone.

It didn’t feel right not being able to watch over him as he rests while calling out his name, pleading him to wake up. That was what always happen when he had used too much of Mad Hatter’s power. It was always terrifying, but at least she’d see his weak breath and his slight movements, at least she’d be by his bedside, clutching his hand, praying.

She had been allowed to hope every time he had collapsed. But she had smelled the sweet aroma of candy when he had breathed his last on her shoulder, and that had crushed every glimmer of it.

Setting down her hairbrush, she felt a churn in her stomach. The truth had been so abrupt, so nonsensical, so uncomfortable, it made her feel sick how her life seemed to be unchanged still.

It was almost repulsive to her. How dare the Earth continue to orbit when he was gone?!

She clutched her head, messing up her hair again. She should not think this way — Break would not want her to think like this.

If Break were here, he’d…

“Sharon-sama?” Reim’s voice came with a few knocks on the door.

“Oh, come in,” she called out, forced to regain her composure.

How rare, Reim was in a casual suit instead of Pandora’s uniform. She tried to remember if today was some special occasion.

Reim saw her assessing his getup, he sighed, “Today is the tea party, Sharon-sama, have you forgotten?”

“Tea party…?” she murmured, and then practically jumped up when the memory hit her, “Oh dear! I did forget! Ahhhhh…! How careless of me! Why did Break not… remind… me……?” She slowed down on the last few words as Reim’s brows furrowed instantly.

“I…” she stuttered, faking an apologetic smile, “Please… pay it no mind, Reim-san. I have yet gotten used to daily life without a valet is all. It’s noth—“

“If you do not wish to go,” Reim said, “if it’s too painful to bear, I shall inform Gilbert-sama of your predicament so that he would not expect you.”

“No. No, I’m fine. Truly.” Honestly, she thought she didn’t really have a reason not to go. Almost everyone who would be there lost someone precious. Leo lost Elliot. The Baskerville lost at least half of their comrades and Fang. Ada lost her family. And even Gilbert, the one who insisted on organising this tea party Oz proposed, lost his master, and a dear friend, and someone who he had almost treated as his own uncle.

Gilbert probably learnt that if sorrow and grief were kept locked away in the darkest depths of a person’s heart, that person would never see the light and might do something foolish they’d end up regretting, mostly because of Vincent’s case. As such, he wanted to do something for everyone, he wanted everyone to get along and try to be happy, even for just a brief hour or so.

Sharon understood Gilbert’s intention, and she did not want his efforts to go to waste.

“I will go.”

Though she doubted his efforts would be of any help to her.

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

“Glad you both came, Sharon, Reim,” Gilbert welcomed the two of them as they stepped out of the coach.

“Good morning, Sharon-chan,” Sheryl was already there with Rufus.

“Good morning, grandmother. Good morning to you too, Duke Barma,” Sharon curtsied, and went along to greet other people she knew.

The Baskervilles were surprisingly friendly, it was actually nice to hang out with them and to know that they weren’t sworn enemies anymore. Lottie even complimented her dress, and she complimented her hair in return.

But it was no use. Her mind refused to let go of her precious Xerx-niisan for even a second.

She was constantly picturing him standing right beside her, glancing at the scrumptious-looking desserts in front of her over her shoulder. Or him sitting on a table and laughing at the most ridiculous thing ever. Or him bickering with Vincent with an apparent hint of bloodlust behind those sweet smiles of theirs.

Her surroundings felt eerily empty when he wasn’t in it.

A child’s voice pulled her back from her trance, “Hey, Eques… I mean, Sharon.”

She turned to see Lily tugging at her skirt to get her attention.

“Hello, Lily-san,” she immediately put on a smile, as any proper lady would to appear polite, “You look very cute today.”

“Thanks,” Lily looked at her feet like a child found guilty of shattering her mother’s favourite vase.

“Is something the matter?”

“Well, not exactly~~” Lily drawled, “I just really~~ wanted to apologise for what I said and did back… when the Hatter… died. It must’ve scared you, when you were in that state of mind.”

“I…”

“I’m sorry! Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything I can~~”

“It’s… it’s all water under the bridge now,” Sharon quickly said, half-genuine, half only wanting to drop the topic, “Besides, you and Bandersnatch protected us afterwards, no? I’d say we are even.”

“Eh?” Lily snapped her head up at once, eyes sparkling with joy, “So you’ll forgive me?”

“Of course.”

“Yay~~! Since you and Reim seem to be really close, I thought we might as well be friends too!” she flashed Sharon an innocent smile.

“Friends… that sounds… very nice,” taken aback by the little girl’s proposition, she stuttered, but at least she was genuine this time, “I would… love to be your friend too.”

“Yay~~~!” Lily jumped to hug her, “Oh, I almost forgot~~” She landed back on her feet and delved into a little pouch she was carrying, “I have to give something to you~~”

“To me?”

“Yup! Lottie found it back then~~” she whipped it out and placed it in Sharon’s hands, “Here!”

Sharon’s eyes shot open, gasping, “E… E… E…mi…ly…” Her hands trembled violently, dropping Emily on the ground, herself dropping to her knees along with the doll, tears spilling out uncontrollably, blended with screams.

Reim and Ada both rushed to her side, worried, trying their best to calm her down.

“Lily, what did you do?” Lottie and Leo interrogated the little girl.

“Eh…? I… I don’t know!” Lily was also freaking out, unable to comprehend Sharon’s extreme response.

“No… I…” Sharon defended her, “It was my… fault… When I… saw… Emily… I just…”

She picked up Emily again, held it close to her chest, and continued crying.

At that, Ada also couldn’t help but start weeping along.

“Ada-sama…” Vincent placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I… I am sorry… My mind… starts thinking… about Onii-chan and Uncle Oscar again…”

“No fair…” Lily pouted, “I wanna cry too…! You’re not… the only ones… who lost people you loved…!”

“Lily…” Lottie embraced the child tenderly.

“Fang~~~~~~~~!” Lily bawled, yanking on Lottie’s arms.

“Sharon-sama…” Reim knelt in front of Sharon, not that he knew what to do, he was about as scared as Break had been when Sharon cried.

“Sharon-chan…” Sheryl clearly yearned to take it upon herself to comfort her granddaughter, but Rufus didn’t move her wheelchair.

“The grief of the bereaved could only be fathomed by those who bear the same heartache, ‘tis best to allow them the liberty to manage the situation by themselves,” he said.

Sheryl was about to retort. In her eyes, the scene was full of depressed and confused children, unable to pull themselves together in the midst of woe.

But those very children proved her wrong.

Gilbert trod to Sharon wordlessly and placed a hand on her head.

“Master Gilbert?” Reim questioned.

Gilbert took Emily and strained his voice to sound like how Emily usually sounded, “ShARon, yOU cRyBABy! KeKEkEkE!”

He continued in his normal voice, “It’s a lame quip, I know. But I had the feeling that Break would’ve tried to cheer you up with some distasteful jokes of his if he were here.”

More tears trickled down Sharon’s cheeks when he said that, but she nodded with certainty.

Gilbert joined his brother and Ada next. “Ada-sama, if Oz were here,” he gave Ada a quick embrace, “he would surely allow you to weep on his chest like this.”

“And if Oscar-sama were here,” Vincent added, stroking Ada’s short hair and wiping her tears away tenderly with his thumb, “he would have done this.”

Gilbert turned his focus to Vincent.

“I’m fine, nii-san, Noise… Echo did well. I’m proud of her.”

“Leo… Master,” Gilbert continued.

“I already know what he’d do, Gilbert,” Leo gave a small smile and glanced at a book he brought, “He would’ve punched me playfully and quoted from Holy Knight volume 11, when Edwin taught the readers how to cope with such grief.”

Gilbert reciprocated the smile and moved on to Lily, the (physically) youngest of them all. Lottie seemed to be at her wits’ end as well, for Lily hadn’t had the chance to go on a rampage like this to mourn for Fang before.

“I… don’t know much about Fang, Lily, I’m sorry. But…” he scooped her up and placed her on his shoulders, “but I know how much you loved the piggyback rides he gave you.”

Lily bawled even louder and bashed him on the head, “Gil, you idiot~~~~! Your piggyback ride is NOWHERE NEAR AS GOOD AS FANG’S!!!!!! I want Fang’s piggyback rides! I WANT FANG TO BE HERE~~~~!!!!”

Lottie couldn’t help but let out a whimper at that too and Doug clasped her shoulder in comfort.

“And I’m sure that,” Gilbert declared to everyone, “if Stupid Rabbit… Alice were here, she would’ve offer to bite everyone’s cheeks.”

Some managed to laugh at that, which proved Gilbert’s attempt fairly successful.

“I cannot speak for everyone,” he returned Lily to her companions and continued to announce, “I understand that everyone deals with grief differently, and that it may be painful for some to remember the past where your loved ones were by your side, only to be pulled back to the present, where they are not. But for me…

“For me, as painful as it is to remember, these wonderful memories also brought me solace. I had cried like you all, I had screamed like you all, but when I cry and scream, they faces would always come to mind. They are not gone, they are and will always be living here in our hearts, forever.” He averted his eyes from everyone, “That is… what I think Oz would’ve said to cheer everyone up.”

“But… But I don’t want Fang to be in my mind~~~!” Lily bursted out, “I want him to be HERE!!!!!”

Surprisingly, it was Sharon who approached the little girl and hugged her tightly.

“Eques…?” Lily sobbed.

“I… understand you, Lily-san…” Sharon spoke with her still trembling voice, “Break… was like a caring elder brother to me too… just like… Fang-san was to you… And I… I do not think I can bear… with the knowledge… that he can only be… in my mind from now on… either…

“But remember… Fang-san must’ve… left the stage… while pursuing the path he had believed in,” she looked Lily in the eye, her cranberry-coloured one’s about as teary as Lily’s light blue ones, “If we… halted in our steps now… they would surely be… disappointed… would they not? For they… had created our paths… one way or another…”

The memory of the blade protruding from Fang’s back instead of her own, the image of his body crumbling to dust, the terror and the fury and the sorrow all recurred to her now. She leant into Sharon’s chest and shrieked madly.

“We must… advance… on their behalf,” Sharon wasn’t very sure whether she was saying this for herself or Lily anymore, “We must… carry their courage… and their will on our shoulders… and move forward…”

If Break were here, he’d surely have implored them to do so. He’d surely have ushered them on the path to that sunlit finale he never managed to reach.

A pair of arms wrapped around the both of them and caressed their heads softly. It was Reim, dutifully holding back his tears even now.

“That’s right,” Gilbert nodded in agreement to Sharon’s words. He spoke with the decorum befitting a proud (adopted) son of the Nightray House, “We stand here today, thanks to our loved ones who had instilled in us the strength to live. Let us commemorate their courage, perseverance and love; and let us remember their fears and mistakes, so that we learn from them.”

Lily looked up at Reim and Sharon, and forced a smile, “Thank… you… I’m happy… to have become friends… with you~~”

Gilbert raised his teacup, “Let us celebrate, today, the wondrous memories they had etched in our hearts, and the lives they had relayed onto us.”

“Happy unbirthday!” everyone cheered, on behalf of those who had cheered alongside them the last time.

And the morning sun shone upon the hopeful paths of those who had overcome the tears and would continue to advance on.

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

The End

#pandora hearts #pandora hearts fanfiction #lily baskerville #sharon rainsworth #reim lunettes #paindora hurts

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wafflewarriors · 5 years ago

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The Not-So-French Mistake

Chapter 7: Inner Demons

Castiel devoured his cheeseburger like Famine had strolled into town.

As for Sam, he was grinning into a biteful of food as he stabbed another with his fork, and then proceeded to jab a few sweet peppers in amusement. Pasta salads were a rare treat when on the road. Dean usually protested against his healthy habits, but it was no use. Sam preferred naturally sweetened foods over the artificial pounds of meat, grease, and cholesterol Dean usually supported.

He cast his eyes from his meal to his laptop screen for a moment, mapping out Bobby's present location. “His cell is at a warehouse about seven hours from here. It's a long drive. You sure you don't want to stake out at a motel for the night? I mean, we can't search for Bobby if we're sleep deprived.”

“No. Unless you feel it wiser. I'll be alright.” Cas assured and then gestured toward the burger in his hands. “Thank you for this, Sam. I appreciate it.” A frail string of cheese laced onto Castiel's lip as he spoke. He pulled the burger further away, letting the line of softened cheese thin out until it snapped, latching onto the bottom of his chin. Cas made a huff, frowning at his nose in regard to the loose strand of cheddar.

“It's nothing, Cas,” Sam dismissed contentedly, relieved that Castiel was satisfied. His angelic friend had been uncomfortable in the car, whiny snarls resonating from his stomach. Sam disliked watching him hunch into himself, a pinching expression similar to pain decorating his face.

Castiel set his burger down respectfully, adding emphasis to his seriousness. He softly disagreed, shaking his head. “No, Sam. It isn’t ‘nothing’.”

While the added finger-quotes were a tad hysterical in the sincerity of the moment, Sam listened without a crack of a smile breaking along his face. Cas was serious, so he was as well.

“I... understand I am difficult as a human. This was all very sudden, and I am unfortunately slow to adapt. Hunger is foreign… and these, inner emotions of turmoil and guilt… I was capable of feeling as an angel, but this…” he struggled to explain, “Sam, I constantly feel this… panic, and it’s all very compressing within my vessel.” He took a breath. “Every nerve reacts to my being, and they bring overwhelming sensations. How do you cope with such complicated feelings?” Castiel almost looked distraught.

Sam held a soft, understanding gaze. “Cas, you’re anything but difficult. Sure, you’re not used to being human, but you’re our friend. You’re no burden to us. We can teach you.”

Cas looked uncertain. “I am also unsure of the social customs among humans. I had once believed I understood, but there are so many rules. Hidden, unspoken rules which determine your functionality. And the lying… I cannot even begin with how to lie…”

Sam set his fork in his dish, rolling a lone pasta noodle in thought. “It's about the body language. Looking nervous or tense tends to give you away. Hesitating doesn't help. The genuine expressions are what tells a lie from a truth. Not that lying is all that great, but sometimes it's necessary for cases.”

Cas nodded, worn. “Thank you, Sam. You have been very kind to me,” he murmured.

“You're welcome, Cas. Anytime.”

By the time they had finished their meal, the sun was touching the horizon, ambers and ochres illuminating the landscape. The clouds reflected salmon pinks and dusty blues. While the noontime sun had set a nightmare upon the previous town, the sunset was gorgeous. Sam admired the sky as if it were a delicate acrylic painting. Geese flew in an uneven V above the stolen truck, faint honks ringing into the evening air.

Cas fell asleep on the drive, his head lolling onto the window, sometimes jolting forward and startling him awake until he was lulled to sleep once again by the engine's purr and the setting sun's warmth blanketing his skin. It was no Impala, but drive was smooth and the road was velvety.

Sam knew angels shouldn't sleep, and that he should be concerned over Castiel's recent humanity, but all he could manage was guilty contentment. Castiel was rarely so peaceful.

When Dean slept, he either looked like he was ready to stab you in the gut or he was stupidly drooling on a pillow with his morning hedgehog hair at attention. But… that was Dean.

Castiel woke drowsily to silver lines of clouds weaving into the horizon, having furrowed downward into the silhouettes of spindly trees. Looming shadows and blinding streetlamps flickered past as the night defeated the light. He knew that as the sky darkened, so did Sam's thoughts.

Sluggishly, he shifted his head toward Sam, still leaning against the door of the vehicle. “Sam?”

Sam startled a bit, as if snapping out of lost, intense thoughts. “Yeah, Cas?”

“Are you alright?” He needed the truth.

Sam stared at the road, letting the silence envelope the innocent question until he whispered, “No. No, I'm really not.”

Castiel nestled his head between his chair and the window. “I suspected such. You seemed troubled after we left Sydney.”

Sam shifted his hands along the steering wheel. “She just… she dug up a lot of memories that I'd buried, you know? She's struggling… like I was… with the, uh, with the demon blood.”

Castiel shot a soulful look at Sam, sympathy washing over his features.

Sam paused thoughtfully. “You know… I used to really believe that I was a freak. Everyone knew it. Even you knew it. I was titled ‘the boy with the demon blood’ before I could walk. But then, I thought: maybe I can make that part of me my strength. Maybe I can use it to save people. I trusted Ruby, I trusted my powers, and ended up unleashing the one thing I was trying to stop. The one thing that caused me the most pain. The most sacrifice. The one ghost, to this day, that still haunts me.”

“Sam…” Guilt bled into Castiel’s features. “Others led you on that path. It wasn’t your fault.”

“And it’s kind of funny. You’d think I’d be worried about vampires, or demons, or witches. Every monster that I face daily. I’ve lived my whole life hunting the creatures that lurk behind people's shadows. But no, it’s the creature lurking behind my shadow. It’s the devil that haunts my sleep. It’s Satan. Lucifer gives me nightmares.”

“Sam.” Cas pleaded.

“But, it’s not even the nightmares... I’m just… I’m afraid Sydney will fear herself like I did once, and she’ll just wind up inflicting more pain―more suffering. I’m afraid she’s going to unleash her own Satan, you know? I’m terrified that it’ll be something that we can’t fight with bullets or brawn.” Sam’s eyes never left the road, deep-threaded pain shimmering along the whites of his eyes. His fists clenched the steering wheel like a life-source. “I don’t want anyone to go through that, Cas. The guilt I felt…” his voice cracked shamefully. “I don’t want her thinking she’s a freak. I can see it in her eyes. It’s the exact same look I saw in the mirror during the apocalypse.” Tears pooled in his eyes, his lashes dampening, but nothing dropped. “Nobody should ever feel that. Because not only can you not trust the world, but you can’t trust yourself. And that's scary.”

Castiel silenced as Sam’s heavy final words sank in. The thought invaded Castiel’s heart like a worm―a parasite―shimmying into the crevices of his aching soul. Not that Castiel had a soul, only humans had such, but it felt like it. And past Castiel’s brave face and stony appearance, his grace wept for Sam Winchester. He wept for Sam's losses, for his sorrow, for his fear, for his centuries of pain and torture in the Cage. He wept for Sam Winchester because Sam Winchester deserved to be wept for.

Unfortunately, Sam did not see past the hardened facade of Castiel's vessel.

Hours past. Cas frequently volunteered to drive, but Sam insisted he was ‘okay’ and he was ‘fine’. However, after his confession, it was clear he was far from such a claim.

Sam finally shredded the burdened silence with a sigh. “How are you holding up, Cas?”

Cas seemed genuinely flustered. “Me?”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think we've heard enough of my baggage for one night. Anything been bothering you lately?”

Cas wondered if there wasn't something that bothered him lately, but he replied, “Other than my wings having been reduced to nothing but feather dusters, I am adjusting.” The angel was rather proud of that metaphor (even though he’s stolen it from Dean).

Sam let his brow lower in puzzlement. “How can you still have wings and not be able to fly?”

Castiel was thankful for the questions he could answer. “My grace allows me to bend distances. so I can fly into the next space within the matter of a microsecond. Much like the theory of black holes. Picture taking a string as a representation of two distances, and then folding the string until both ends meet. I allow two places to become one.”

“Interesting.”

Cas continued to explain it simply, “Sigils generally control the bending of space. Whether it be banishing an angel or preventing it from entering warded areas. They hold an aura we cannot break unless disassembled. It targets our platform, if you will.”

“Platform?”

“You could say it's a layer of existence. It is very… complex. Difficult to visualize.

“Our blades, for example, exist in many platforms. Our grace, however, lives on one. Since only a shadow of our grace remains on this platform, normal weapons will not penetrate it. Normal weapons will only harm the vessel, and our grace will work to stitch the wound immediately.” Cas tried to aid Sam in visualizing it in a way he could understand. “There are other platforms, but they are generally irrelevant. Picture them as layers to reality.

“Simply put, a blade can kill grace as long as it exists on the same platform. They cannot penetrate shadows of grace,” he took a heavy breath. “It gets much more complicated when you visualize alternate universes as layers going vertically. Sydney managed to jump those layers when she entered our reality.” He added, “Humans cannot jump horizontal platforms without dying. Such as heaven or hell.”

Sam made a left turn, headlights sweeping across the barren, deserted asphalt. Sam was unsure if grace could apply to physics, but Castiel's description definitely granted him a vague insight on how it worked. “So when your grace drains…”

With the turn, Cas was nudged further into the window as inertia gently pulled him right. “Our vessels rely on human behaviors. Eating, sleeping. Just as human souls do. The less grace, the more human we become. Currently, my grace is very compressed and useless, but present. I believe something within the town was limiting my grace to become completely unavailable to me. I believe now that we have left the town, it is beginning to unravel. I should be able to utilize my grace's abilities very soon.”

Sam looked relieved to hear that. After a minute of thought, he conjured another curious question. “Do platforms apply to dreams?”

Cas nodded into the window. “Yes. That is its own platform. A complicated one. It merges both conscious and unconscious thoughts, depending on your state. It's a platform your soul is in charge of. Hence why those who are soulless do not dream.”

“Demons?”

“Lucifer created them to live amongst their own platform. Your demon knife exists on theirs.” He paused. “I suppose angel blades do as well. The Colt was designed to target their platform, and all other monsters’. There are very few things the Colt can't kill.”

“Witchcraft?”

“Witches discovered they could control platforms with specific spells. They generally target humanity’s.”

They continued the one-sided game of questionnaire until the questions ran dry. Admittedly, they were both thankful for the distraction.

The sun had yet to rise. Pale mountains of clouds had piled along the skyline, their peaks just barely cutting into the sky. Murky darkness had faded into pale, noticeable splotches of cobalt and a modest tone of lime. It was roughly five in the morning, dawn not having broken yet.

Castiel yawned, removing himself from his somewhat suitable pillow for the everlasting night, the window. He stretched, joints cracking and popping as he extended his stiff muscles. “I can understand why most humans abhor mornings.”

Sam parked, squinting at the warehouse that stood three blocks from the hunter. He scanned the windows for movement, and upon finding none, he bundled his gear in preparation for a fight. He squared his shoulders..

“Let’s get Bobby back."

Tags: @queen-bubble, @rosaren2498

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tzalmavet · 5 years ago

Note

I am IN LOVE with your moomin oc's! They're so full of character and adorably quirky! If you would, could you please talk more about the psychology of Grokemama...? Why did she adopt her babies? Does she understand/recognize how different they are from other snorks/mumriks/whompers? How does she feel about them? And most of all... what are some of the happy memories they all share??! I'm so curious!

Ohhh gladly!

Grokemama, to put it in simple terms, is a walking disaster. She’s a massive, hollow shell of the groke she could have been if she’d ever had even one taste of companionship while growing up; the fragments of a personality that fell apart from lack of care before it could even take on a proper shape. Before she adopted her children, isolation, rejection, and silence were all she knew.

But to put it in less simple terms… I’ll describe under the cut.

Grokemama has always been alone.

If she’d ever had any company in her remote youth, it was torn away too early to leave any meaningful mark of health on her mind; and certainly left her too early for her to remember anyone ever caring about her. As far as she knows, and that everyone else could tell, she had no family to speak of.

As an infant/small child, she generally had two modes: SCREAM and WRITHE, and would often be in both at once. Unable to walk, they were really all that she could do.“WRITHE” was not only her sole mode of locomotion, but a coping mechanism that arose from lack of physical contact. Understimulated, she sank into stereotypy– rocking herself, flailing her arms, and making strange movements with her hands, all habits which she’d never grow out of.“SCREAM” was many things. She’d cry for help, wordlessly, hoping that someone would come and try to console her. But eventually she grew so unused to contact that she’d scream more when touched, overwhelmed by the attention and warmth she wanted. Stress made her cries turn shrill and raspy, and she soon became a strange and terrible thing to hear.Gradually, she learned that her voice and movements repelled the very people she was trying to seek comfort from, and shushed herself. She’d sometimes break down into her noisy, convulsive hysterics again, but these instances became less and less frequent as the years went on.

In every way, she could have just died. Her children were in a position not unlike hers once, and without her help they would have definitely perished. But grokes are a resilient folk, and Grokemama had an intense will to just exist when she was little (“living” is a strong word for the state she was in). She stole everything she needed in order to physically grow, either scaring off, ignoring, or beating up anyone who tried to stop her. Her mind is stunted and scarred from the isolation, but her body is still functioning.

Like many grokes, Grokemama was cold. Anyone can become frozen like a groke if they’re lonely enough, but grokes are especially prone to it. Every cold groke has a different temperature, and Grokemama managed to halt her freezing at about the temperature of an inanimate object.She prevented herself from becoming deathly cold like some grokes do by escaping into her mind and numbing herself to her feelings. Her heart couldn’t freeze if she couldn’t feel the emotional pain, but in a way it made her a different kind of cold. Her touch can be survived, which is how she was able to eventually pick up her children before they could make her warm, but she still screwed herself up pretty bad.

Grokemama spends most of her time in an at least partially dissociated state; numb, she’s safe from the cold, from her sorrow, from breaking down. She oscillates in and out of lucidity, filling the gaps where she might be overwhelmed by falling back on her stereotypy.… But once she found her children, that coping mechanism suddenly wasn’t very good for them. She’s frequently out of reach, unresponsive, in her own little world. She’s always got one foot inside the secure, foggy hole she’s carved for herself in her mind, and she’s loath to step out of it completely, lest she might fall into another hysterical fit.

Without a family, and with everyone else repelled by her, Grokemama had to figure out how to do everything by herself. Everything she knows is from trial, error, and instinct. For years and years, she was unable to walk upright, and moved primarily by dragging herself and flopping around, then crawling, then creeping, then leaning on things, until she could eventually stand up straight and walk around without tipping over (she’s actually much faster on all fours, still unable to run properly on two legs, but feels like she’s earned her upright stance).Grokemama understands talking about as well as any average person who’s struggling to learn a second language does, except without a first language to draw reference from. Since she was generally avoided as a small child, hardly ever spoken to, her sense of language is permanently impaired. She knows “good” and “bad”, “no” and “yes”, and some other words and phrases, but her grammar is primitive at best. Whenever she says a “proper” sentence, it’s almost always because she’s parroting it verbatim from someone else, sometimes even mimicking the tone and accent of whoever she heard it from. She tends to mumble on the rare occasions she speaks, filling in gaps where she thinks a word would go with word-like sounds or silent mouthings to keep the cadence of speech, making her even more difficult to communicate with.

Shortly after learning to walk, she hit puberty, her height shot up like a rocket, and she quickly became a Menace to Society (an adolescent groke with no socialization and no parental guidance is a threat to everyone they cross). Her feelings were stoked up again, she was beset by growing pains, and rapidly getting physically stronger, she became an unstoppable thief that beat senseless or killed anyone she perceived as an immediate threat.

As a full-grown adult, she’s a lot more “calm”. Her fits are rare, she’s got all her coping mechanisms down, and she prefers not to get into fights. She’s a very passive being. Things happen to and around her, and she doesn’t often react strongly, if at all. Even physical pain is something she can ignore without flinching. Her face is blank, most movements on it are purely practical or are twitches when it feels too stiff; her actual expressions outside of her hysterics are faint from lack of use.She can’t put her feelings into very many words, but she feels that she’s a repulsive being, that she sounds horrible, and that other creatures will shun her no matter how she acts. She’s apathetic about society, and has an intense disregard for other peoples’ lives (after all, what have they ever done for her?). She might be hateful or frustrated with people if she were more emotional, but she’s wound up just not caring enough to trouble herself for that.

Grokemama has difficulty confronting any feeling, negative or positive, without it completely overwhelming her and sending her into a fit. Sometimes her children have tried to pry into her past, but she can barely say five words about it before the topic sends her into a conniption or dissociative episode. Even though she trusts her children and isn’t really afraid to try and communicate with them, she still tries not to get too upset around them since it’s had such a strong effect on other people in the past. She doesn’t like being seen while emotional, and even if she can’t explain it, they can tell it’s something very painful for her.

She doesn’t know how to fully work through any intense feeling without freaking out. She doesn’t know how to be comforted when she’s upset. As far as Grokemama is concerned, her mental state is like a really nasty wound that one can’t bring themselves to look at or attempt to treat for fear of just making it worse.

+++

It’s hard to say all the exact reasons she adopted the Mumbler and Iris… I doubt she fully understands it herself, too. But at least in part, seeing them lying on the ground as infants, outside, alone and crying with no one coming to comfort them… that scratched at a part of her subconscious, reminding her of how she was at that age.She was like them, but nobody ever picked her up and raised her. Adopting them was a rare moment of empathy and compassion on her part. She gave them the type of life she’d always wanted.

+++

She doesn’t know how different her children are from other members of their kind because she’s too unfamiliar with other species’ customs. She can tell that they bear a resemblance to some of the beings she sees in the world, and she knows that they’re both different species from each other, but that’s about it. Snork, Mumrik, Whomper… all those are words she doesn’t quite know. She only knows that she herself is even a groke at all because so many people see her and go “oh shit it’s the Groke!” that she was able to catch on to it. No one tells her these things, and she doesn’t go around trying to figure them out.

She knows that Iris and the Mumbler are her children, and that no one else, no matter how similar they look and sound, are anything remotely close to family.

Most living beings to Grokemama are categorized something like somewhere between “obstacle” and “food”– the only exceptions are Iris and the Mumbler, who are “baby”. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself and her children. There’s no room in her heart for anyone else. She loves them as best she can, in her own way; but like everything else she does, love is something she had to teach herself.She likes how they make her warm, but she’s still not quite healed enough to stay warm if she’s away from them long enough. If their love was a medicine, it would be one she doesn’t really know how to take properly. They mean a whole lot to her, but she doesn’t always know how to express or process how that feels.

But unfortunately, to put it bluntly, she’s a negligent parent. There’s no way around that fact, it’s just how she was. However, she can’t understand this. To her, she’s given her children the whole world. They were fed, held, cleaned, they even learned how to speak and are now self-sufficient adults. She never insulted them or struck at them. And unlike her, they have a parental figure they can return to if they’re ever feeling scared and alone.

As troubled as her kids turned out, she would have done anything (anything) to grow up like they did. She lacks the capacity to comprehend why she’d be considered a less-than-ideal parent by them when she gave them infinitely more than she’d ever dreamed of having for herself as a child.

And now for the happy memories so this post doesn’t end so sadly!

Any time one of them managed to steal something especially tasty to share, like a box of treats or someone’s holiday dinner. They can all enjoy raw food just fine, but prefer prepared meals when they can get them.

Any time the Mumbler makes something out of flowers is pleasant. He enjoys decorating his mama and brother, and they like the attention from him. Weaving flowers around their wrists and tails, putting together flower crowns, or even just peacefully making endless flower chains. Sometimes they can even make Grokemama do a pleased little spin while she admires his work.

Grokemama was very pleased when she discovered that her children didn’t hate her voice. On the contrary, they were drawn to her sounds, and would even try to imitate them. This encouraged her to engage with them vocally, using what few words she knew, cooing and babbling to them, and they all became better at communicating together.

The time Iris taught Grokemama what the word “precious” meant, and the first thing she did once she’d grasped it was point at him and call him precious.

They enjoyed playing together. Iris and the Mumbler did most of it, playing games they’d learn from other children they met, or ones inspired by the creatures they’d see in the wild. Grokemama doesn’t fully understand playing since she never tried it while growing up, but when Mumbler was tiny she’d let him chase and play with her long tail like a cat with a string.

The Mumbler really liked cuddling up to Grokemama growing up, and especially thinks fondly of the times he’d hide in her dress during the freezing winters. She’d be warm enough that snowflakes could fall right on his nose and he wouldn’t feel chilly at all while touching her.

Everyone likes being cozy with Iris, since he has the softest fur. Mumbler would cuddle up to him when Grokemama wasn’t around, and Grokemama would enjoy idly petting him when she felt compelled to stim and he happened to be in her arms.

Grokemama made all of her childrens’ dresses until they moved away (despite her lack of education, I think that dressmaking comes naturally to grokes. Like every moomintroll needs a moominhouse, every groke needs a floor-length dress that everyone else will mistake for a part of their body). She’d make the Mumbler’s dress match his hair color, and tried to do the same for Iris, too. But Iris, being a snork, frequently changed colors, and so she’d make him a new dress every time she noticed he was a new color.She did this less often after a while since he kept outgrowing them so fast, but still gives him a new one every so often. Iris has come to respect this skill of hers as an adult, especially since she manages to make them fit so well without the use of measuring tape or being able to use scissors.

HOO that’s probably enough for now… sorry if this is a little much lol. 2k+ words here and not even all of it! Thanks a lot for the ask! I love talking about this stuff!

#watch out this gets... Messy #thank you so much for the ask!! I spent all day typing this up!!#Grokemama (moomins OC)#moomins OC #long post #answer #tiamatdragongod

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hellaoldfander86 · 6 years ago

Text

Meeting of the Minds

Word Count: 3119

Superhero AU, from a tumblr post.

Tags/Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Loceit, injury, hurt/comfort, poisoning, blood mention, injection, negative self talk

Note: This was an old prompt that I wrote this one-shot for, since it has been sitting in my Google Docs ever since, I decided to just post it.

Prompt inspired from this post.

Another story using this prompt, Princeity!

The “villain” dubbed Deceit by the local news outlets jotted down notes at his desk as a video of his last clash with his arch-nemesis, Logic played on the screen of his computer.

Nodding with satisfaction, he adds one last note and moves to the computer's mouse to close the program, but is interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom from the front gate to his estate.

Pressing the intercom button on the phone on his desk, he evenly responds, “Yes, what is it?” He didn't remember any guests or deliveries being scheduled, and was a bit curious, yet suspicious.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. But there is a man who says he needs to see you. He says his name is Logic.” The guards voice reports over the device.

The villain's eyes widen, and quickly responds, “Bring him up. I will meet you at the front door.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard replies, and the intercom falls silent.

Deceit exits his study, grabbing his signature cape and donning it with a practiced swirl as he strides to the front door to his large home. Stopping at a side table next to the large door to put on his mask, gloves and bowler hat that rested there, he glances at the mirror next to the table and adjusted the mask slightly so no sign of his “disfigurement” could be seen. He tugs on the cuffs of his gloves nervously, and opens the door.

Before him stands a disheveled, bloodied Logic, dark blue and black costume ripped in several places, one sleeve of his jacket barely attached by a thread book-ended by the two large gate guards.

Before Deceit can take a breath to demand an explanation, the injured man spoke in a faint, trembling voice. “They didn't do this, someone else did.” As the hero hangs his head in fatigue.

Deceit dismisses the guards with a wave of his hand, and uses a gloved hand under the chin of the injured man to coax him to look up at him. “ Why did you come here, instead of tending to your injuries at home?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Deceit stared in shock at the hero, standing uninvited in front of the villain's home, weak and trembling in the cold.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to keep fighting. Just... just k-kill me. Or lock me up. Or whatever you’ve been planning this whole time, I don’t care. But I can’t do this. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t... I can’t keep fighting you—“ Logic's breath hitches, as he fights back a sob.

Deciet’s heart melted at the sight, the shaking hero, pale and exhausted and on the verge of tears.

“Hush, little hero, who did this to you?” Logic flinched at the sound of Deceit’s smooth voice, their eyes going wide behind the mirrored visor as they were pulled into the villain’s arms. “Come in and have a cup of tea, I promise you’ll be safe here. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

Deceit steers the injured hero into his home, closing the door behind them, and ushers him towards his den, settling the hero in a plush chair near the fire, and rings for his butler, who arrives within moments of the summons.

“Thomas, get me the first aid kit and we will take tea here next to the fire.” Deceit instructs the butler as he takes off his gloves and hat along with his cape and hands them to the waiting man. “Yes, sir.” The butler says with a small bow and leaves the room.

Deceit grabs the thick, plush blanket draped over the back of his chair and wraps it around Logic's shoulders, then settles into the chair across from the battered hero and simply looks at the man before him.

Disheveled hair, a split lip, and the hero's mirrored visor mask is all he can see as Logic gathers the blanket around him. Scraped knuckles adorn the hands clutching the blanket, as the hero pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Thomas re-appears, setting a tray with a porcelain tea set down on the table next to Deceit, and slips the strap of a field med kit off his shoulder and hands it to his employer. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“This is quite satisfactory, Thomas. That will be all for now.” Deceit says as he sets the med kit down to pour the tea.

The butler bows, and Logic swears he saw the shimmer of scales on the man's neck in the firelight. “Yes, sir.” The butler swiftly turns, and before leaving, winks at the hero with a small smile before striding from the room.

“How do you take your tea, Logic? One lump or two, or do you prefer honey?” Deceit asks.

“One lump is adequate.” Logic softly responds as he reaches up to his visor mask, and to Deceits surprise, pulls it off, revealing two red-rimmed brown eyes. Dropping the visor to the floor, he reaches into his tattered jacket and produces a pair of glasses with thick black frames that survived unbroken somehow and slides them on his face. Deceit looks into Logic’s eyes as he hands the teacup to the battered hero and leans back into his chair with his own teacup as he realizes that he recognizes the broken man sitting before him.

“Logan Spaulding.” Deceit murmurs. “I know of you. You hold several doctorates and probably have a IQ higher than the entire mayor’s office combined. I have read all of your published papers. Why do you moonlight as the hero “Logic”? You can just sit in a lab, working for the betterment of mankind instead of hacking computer networks, making gadgets, catching cars and falling rubble with your telekinesis, and being the forensic lab for the other so-called heros this city has to offer. You waste your potential.”

Logan takes a sip of the tea and winces as his split lip objects to the movement. “I am surprised that you know who I am.”

Deceit chuckles. “We could have eventually been colleagues, or even possibly friends, if I hadn’t had my...accident.” He says as he motions toward his mask covered face. “I was the foremost authority on herpetology, with snakes as my focus. They are fascinating creatures. I also was well respected in the genetics and chemistry fields. I was so close to a genetic regeneration breakthrough before my work was stolen and my last experiment explosively sabotaged, injuring me and my lab assistant.”

“You are Drake Conroy. I should have been able to piece it together sooner.” Logan drinks the rest of his tea and sets the cup down on the small side table, wincing as his bruised body complains. “You signed everything you sent to your former employer with D.C., and on every device you used in your attempts to destroy their computers or labs. I noticed that everything you did was only against your former employer and their satellite labs and offices and no one else.”

Deceit downs his tea in one gulp and sets the cup down on the tray. “They need to be held accountable for their treasonous actions. They took my life’s work and tossed me aside like garbage. I have every right to be angry.” Deceit reaches down and grabs the med kit. “Let’s take a look at your injuries, shall we?”

Deceit starts with Logan’s face, taking stock of the minor abrasions, and the split lip, he moves down to the neck, watching Logan’s face for pain indications the entire time. As he raises Logic’s left arm, the hero winces and hisses in pain, and gets the same response when he checks the torso.”I think we should go to my lab. I can do a full body scan there so I will know the full extent of your injuries.”

“You have a body scanner? Wait, you stole it didn’t you?” Logan weakly says as Deceit helps him stand and carefully helps him walk to a nearby elevator.

“Of course, do you think that warehouse I destroyed last week held nothing of value? I got some wonderful brand new state-of-the-art lab equipment on my former employer’s dime. They were none the wiser. They probably think it was all destroyed, and already have received the insurance check.” Deceit chuckles as the hero looks at him with wide eyes. “I could afford to pay for it myself, of course. But it was just so satisfying to just steal it.”

The elevator door opens and Deceit carefully ushers him into a brightly lit and well-organized lab. A young assistant quickly approaches. “Dr. Conroy! Let me help you.”

“Careful of his left arm, Joan. We need to get him to the scanner.” Deceit instructs the assistant as they take Logan over to an examination table, the assistant carefully helping the hero with the task of sitting on the table, and gingerly helping Logan with taking off the tattered dark blue and black jacket, leaving the hero with only a blue undershirt, and helps Logan lay down on the table, grabbing a small pillow from a storage bin on the bottom of the table and quickly putting it under the hero's head as he laid down.

Deceit was powering up the scanner nearby, and as the system booted up, he positions the scanner in it’s starting position above Logan’s head. “Logan, this is Joan. They are my faithful lab assistant, and will be assisting me in your scan. Say hello, Joan.”

“Hello! It is good to meet you, Logan.” Joan says as they offer a hand for a handshake. Logan takes the offered hand and notices smooth green and yellow scales on the back, while giving the assistant a small smile. “A pleasure.”

Logan looks over at Deceit. “I have taken off my mask, why are you still wearing yours?”

Deceit flips some switches on the scanner and turns on the monitor that would display the scan findings. “I am a creature of habit, I’m afraid. If those idiots in the news outlets got a picture of my uncovered face, they would be even more adamant about the ridiculous name they have saddled me with.”

“They made up the name Deceit? Oh, wait. D.C. could easily be twisted by those idiot talking heads. My apologies.” Logan murmurs. “I would still like to see you, your secret is safe with me, I am at your mercy, remember.”

“Yes, you are. So be it.” Deceit grabs the bottom of his mask and pulls it off, showing the injured hero his guarded secret. The left side of his face was covered in yellow and green scales, with his left eye snake-like and yellow. “Behold, the lengths that Sanders Labs would go to steal my life’s work. I think they thought the explosion would kill me, but there was only flying glass and my genetic regeneration serum, Inland Taipei genetic material from another experiment and several other compounds in the destroyed glass beakers that infiltrated the cuts and burns on the left side of my body and eye that caused this. I was saved by the inept positioning of the explosive device. Joan only received burns on their arm and hand helping me out of the burning lab, but the experimental compounds soaking my clothes also got into their burns. They can cover their arm, and live a relatively normal life. My face is a more prominent feature. I rarely leave the house now.”

“Now I know why you preferred to work at night.” Logan whispers. Raising his right hand to touch the smooth scales on Deceits face. Deceit lets it happen without flinching, feels the touch, feather light, then is gone.

“Let us scan you now, shall we?” Deceit says after clearing his throat and pushes a series of buttons, then slowly moves the scanner over Logan’s body, glancing at the monitor occasionally.

“No permanent head trauma, neck looks good, rotator cuff on left arm is torn, right arm is okay, bruised ribs...oh, no.” Deceit stares at the monitor, then whispers to Joan, and the assistant scurries over to a workstation and retrieves a new needle and blood sample vials from the supplies there. “Stay still, they need to take some blood samples.”

Joan deftly and painlessly collects the samples, and quickly strolls over to a complicated machine and inserts a vial, and the machine immediately begins analyzing the blood. A few minutes later, a readout is printed, and handed to Deceit, who reads it and winces, glancing over at Logan with panic in their eyes.

“What did you find? What is going on?” Logan says with wide eyes as Deceit looks at him.

“Who did you fight that brought you to my doorstep, Logan. Don’t leave anything out.” Deceit sternly states, all business as he holds the readout in his hand.

Logic blinks and takes as deep a breath that he could manage with his bruised ribs. “I had to defuse a rather complicated bomb at the diamond exchange, so I had to do it in person since Prince or Morality claimed that they didn’t want to do it, when this mysterious individual jumped me with two others and proceeded to beat the hell out of me. I am not used to physical altercations, so it was a rather easy fight to win. I was taken completely unaware, I couldn't even use my telekinesis. Then I felt something sting me as I lay barely conscious on the ground. When I came to, I made the decision to put myself at your mercy since I had inadvertently read your mind and pulled your address from your thoughts after one of our exchanges last week, and we seem to have mutual respect for one another.” Logan quickly says, slightly panicked.

“You have been poisoned by boomslang venom.” Deceit says. “The people who beat you up wanted you to die an unpleasant death, it seems. It may even have been a hit.”

“The venom is hemotoxic, which destroys red blood cells and disrupts the clotting process. I will die of tissue and organ degeneration and internal bleeding.” Logan says with tears of panic welling in his eyes. “I don’t want to die, not like this.”

“Boomslangs are native to sub-Saharan Africa, meaning there is no anti-venom readily available here, and I won’t be getting a specimen until next week, so I wouldn't be able to make anti-venom until it is too late for you. I told you that they will not hurt you anymore when you appeared on my doorstep, I intend to help you by any means necessary. Luckily, boomslang venom works slowly, and you came here for help. You will not die. Not in my lab.” Deceit states with anger flashing in his yellow eye. He directs Joan to start an I.V. as he walks over to a small storage cabinet.

“I was recently able to steal back my research, and that is how I am going to save you. I know you noticed Thomas's neck. He had burned his hand rather badly one day, as in so bad, he would have lost fingers if he went to a conventional hospital. He came to me, and I was able to heal him. The only side-effect is the scales you undoubtedly saw.”

“You see, my genetic work included the study of the ability of some lizards to regenerate their tails after they have detached them to keep a predator busy as they make their getaway. I was working to apply that regenerative affect to humans during my last experiment. Strangely enough, the explosion combined the correct materials, but I do not know which were the correct ones, and which are just there to apply unwanted side effects. I am forced to combine everything that was on the table, including snake genetic material. I am working to narrow it down, but I have just started, and I only just recently received the correct equipment to do so. The only thing that I have concluded is that the type of snake genetics do not matter, but it will not work correctly without them at the moment.”

“As a kind of odd hobby, I made serums based on all the heroes of this fair city, using samples from snakes that fit their “signature colors”. This is yours. It has Blue Racer and Black Phase white-lipped python samples in it, along with the regenerative and healing serum we will add just before we administer it, because that needs to be freshly made. I do have a little Boomslang genetics in my samples to add to help nullify the venom as well. Are you willing to let me administer this serum to save your life, regardless of any side-effects? This is still very experimental.” Deceit asks, holding the bottle so Logan could see it.

Logan looks at the bottle in Deceits hand, weighing the pros and cons. Pros: he would not die a horrible death. Cons: he could possibly have snake scales on his body. The “not dying a horrible death” part outweighed the cons by a few tons. “Do it.”

Deceit nods and simply says “Restraints, please, Joan.” And Joan appears at Logan’s side, attaching padded wrist and ankle restraints to the table, and proceeding to restrain the hero to the table.

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself even more that you already are.” Deceit says as he works at a nearby counter. “It is simply for your safety. We don’t want you to thrash about and cause more trauma to yourself.” Deceit walks over to the restrained hero, and injects a large syringe full of the prepared serum into the top port of the I.V. bag attached to Logan’s arm and adjusts the flow to go faster. “It will begin soon. I will give you a sedative.” He then prepares another syringe, and injects it at the port nearest Logan’s arm. The heroes eyes flutter closed, as the sedative takes effect.

Joan cuts off the remains of the heroes shirt, and they notice the bruises on the pale torso. “Who do you think did this to him?” Joan asks with a whisper as they take Logan’s glasses off the sedated hero and attach heart monitor electrodes to the pale chest, and begin to hear the steady beeping of the heroes strong heart.

“I do not know, my friend. But when he awakes, we will find out together.” Deceit replies, while watching the bruises begin to fade as the serum takes effect, and a small patch of iridescent shimmering dark blue scales slowly appear under Logan’s right eye.

@5am-the-foxing-hour, @dailypattondoodle, @dangernoodleprotectionsquad, @fandersfic-loceit

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#sympathetic deceit #loceit #logan sanders #deceit sanders #fanfiction sanders sides #tsfanfic #heros and villans #superhero au

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