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shintin · 2 years ago

Text

The Hickey on Your Neck

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Only seconds before closing your eyes do you realize that the dreams you had forgotten among the lust and thrust of your lover were the life you were destined to lead.

Or a story about how You and Vash fucked from dawn to dusk on his birthday.

Word count: +17.5 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Trigun au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, established relationship, soft/dom Vash the Stampede, too much fluff and kissing, scar worship, plant patterns display, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering (with prosthetic arm), unprotected sex (c’mon! We want his seeds), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, two smut scenes (one romantic, other hardcore), aftercare, emotional trauma, violence, blood and gore, post-Trigun Stampede but no manga spoilers.

Notes: I'd never written a Trigun fic before, but with this Vash brain rot, I'm sure it won't be the last. I originally intended to name this fic "Sleepless Nightmare" after TOMBI song, but somehow changed my mind. You'll see why. "Elay" in my mother tongue means the Moon of a Tribe. A nick name Vash will use for reader.

By the way, you can also read the Disclaimers and Writer's Note at the end.

Song Recommendation: The Hickey on Your Neck Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3 and Wattpad. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK. This is my DISCORD account, in case you want to contact me.

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07:30 pm – July 21st

A hole had been left in your heart. Throwing yourself backward, you tripped over your feet. Your head slammed into the floor as your arms did little to break your fall. It was a pain you'd never known, a pain you never thought you could feel, never would have even imagined. From the inside out, you were lit on fire by a bullet that went off in your chest.

All of a sudden, everything slowed down.

So this, you thought, was what dying felt like.

You blinked, and it seemed to take forever. The images before you were unfocused, with colors, bodies, and lights swaying in unison and stilted movements blurring. Your ears couldn't hear clearly. All the sounds were garbled, warped, and too high or low.

Who … she?

I asked for a tall, blond man with … eyes, and the folks pointed at her.

How come … shot her …?

She said … had never met such a man.

… idiot! What if she's with the gunman?

Whatever. … doesn't draw a gun anymore; rumor has it.

What a moron! The man may not kill, but … wiped out … whole city!

What … … we should … then?

If … … his girl, … … screwed up!

… the bounty! … get lost before the news …!

It was like all the words were banging into each other, colliding again, spinning around you. Your name seemed to be being called, but you couldn't hear it. Everything was muffled, slippery, and off-balance, like it was there, just out of reach, but you couldn't find it.

Heavy footsteps stomped, stomped, and stomped the ground, and a familiar face appeared before you. The shape, the golden and green colors drew your attention, and you tried raising your hand to feel his warmth once more and assure him that everything was okay, but it was too hard, and suddenly you couldn't breathe. Your throat felt like it was being slashed, holes punching into your lungs, and the more you blinked, the less clearly you could see. The tightest breaths, tiny little gasps, were soon all you could manage. Pain, pain, and more pain followed the dizziness and lightheaded feeling. It was terrible, never seeming to end.

Your sight suddenly went dim. Blindness overtook you.

Blood dripped from you rather than being seen as you blinked, blinked, and blinked in a desperate attempt to regain your vision, but all you saw was a cloud of white. A short frantic gasp and the pounding of your eardrums were all heard. Some warm sensation spread throughout your body as the fresh blood pooled under you.

You knew your life was about to evaporate, and it only made you think about how short you lived with him and how he would blame himself for your loss. Leaving your tears to fall, you whispered, "I-I'm sorry, Vash."

05:45 am - July 21st

A sharp intake of breath caused your eyes to fly open. Your skin froze in a cold sweat as your brain waded in waves of distress. Inhaling as much as possible was the only thing you could do. Your chest heaved, and your heart raced. You looked around, feeling the stillness within the madness, blinking hard against the white ceiling.

Your hands reached your throat and chest. No blood. No holes. You could feel your pulse. That must be the sound of your heart, at least, you hoped.

There was a strange feeling in your gut, like your instincts were stumbling through mud, and your bones were filled with stones. Your eyes shifted to the other side of the bed, and you sighed in relief. The reality sleeping next to you brought a moment of clarity. You sat up on your elbows, head spinning as you glanced at the nightstand.

The glass was empty.

You slowly pushed the sheets aside and felt more awake with your bare feet touching the cold floor. Picking up the glass, you tiptoed toward the murky kitchen.

You reached for the pitcher on the table, but the water never made it to your lips; instead, your trembling hands grabbed the faded and scratched edges of the cabinet as if letting go of this old piece of plywood would plunge you into the blackhole of your nightmare.

A muffled whimper escaped from the bottom of your throat, and you whispered, it was just a dream. Yet, your white knuckles became wet as tears streamed down your face, blurring the cracked tiles before you.

You shouldn't have cried. You should have been stronger. Not just for yourself, but...

Incoherent thoughts still occurred to you as you pressed your palm to your lips—a fruitless attempt to stop any further crying from coming out.

It was just a dream. Everything was fine.

Your glistening eyes were fixed on the glass of water as you took a sip and pushed the venom-like lump down your throat. Nobody was going to lose anyone. This fear was deeply buried under the sands of your heart. Why did it have to appear today of all days?

A chill ran down your esophagus. Your hand shook involuntarily, and a few drops of water slid from the corner of your mouth to your chin and neck and then ran to your perked nipples.

Looking down at your body, you wiped the drops away before feeling cold. After all, this planet didn't earn its name, "Noman's Land" for nothing. The weather could get pretty chilly and cruel in this desert when those two suns weren't out. Moreover, let's not forget how many people were denied heat due to a lack of resources. Ugh! So, it's not like you didn't know you should've worn something, but God damn it! You woke up feeling a great deal of fear. Fuck! Still, you weren't eager to catch a cold. At least, not today. As you were about to return to bed, you suddenly stopped. Random images filled your mind.

Tears staining emerald green eyes, red flowers blooming on blood, and heart-wrenching screams fading in the night, all in an empty room filled with balloons and mud.

The next gulp of water tasted salty, leaving you feeling numb. Tears must have flowed down your cheeks. You lowered your glass and let your thoughts drift away.

There was a flash of your limp body in your mind, accompanied by a sharp twinge in your gut, a screaming sensation in your body, as if your lungs craved for air.

You wicked away the images, expunging thoughts of pain and death from your mind. The churning in your stomach began to slow, but your skin took on a damp, clammy sensation in its wake. You struggled to recount the things you had eaten last night. It must be it. No doubt, you had eaten poorly.

It was just a dream. What the hell was wrong with you? Crying over a dream? What were you, five? No, not today! Not today! Not today! Get your shits together!

After a moment of hesitation, you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, ran your palm across your forehead and nose, and stopped it on your mouth before glancing at the bed.

Your pale face bloomed with a faint smile as you saw the sight—a miracle in this barren wilderness.

The curtains of the half-open window fluttered lazily with the morning breeze, letting the suns' rays play upon his scarred shoulder blades now and then, and run their greedy fingers through the golden waves of his hair, an enraged sea of sunflowers bounded by rough rocky beaches on the side. Oh! His undercut was glorious from where you watched.

He was sleeping with his eyelids slowly moving. The corners of his lips were curved upwards. Today seemed to be one of those rare days when he was free of the burdens of his past. Was he dreaming? What was his dream about? Love? Peace? Foods? Probably sweets!

You tried to avoid the woods squeaking beneath your feet as you walked back. Putting the glass of water next to the orange-tinted shades, you slowly climbed back under the warm sheets without shifting the mattress too much.

Once your head touched the pillow, cinnamon, and caramel again filled your nostrils. The man ate so many donuts that you feared he would become one. When you pictured it, your smile reached your eyes, and you giggled silently.

Like on the days you woke up early, you rolled over to face him and let your eyes roam over his abs muscles and those beautiful V lines guiding you to his secret paradise. Other than the massive gash across his chest, he had several cuts on his arms, wounds on his shoulders, and scars all over his back and legs. This man was a walking history, marked with painful memories, and luckily, your lips had perfectly mastered the story behind every blemish, slit, and stitch on his body.

It wasn't that simple, though.

When you first met him, he was a broken man covered in an old cloak, his eyes filled with agony. He was consumed by remorse, but nonetheless, he was still full of life and willing to try and glue back all his broken parts. Indeed, it was a challenge for him, and somehow, it didn't come easy to you either. Your heart ached when you removed each piece of clothing from his body. You cursed those who hurt him. It took you time and love to learn how to cherish those wounds instead of looking at them with pity. And little by little, your eyes learned to see a delicate kind of beauty in them, as if, every once in a while, you could see the sunlight shining through the cracks of his heart, lighting up your world in a most wonderful way.

Perhaps that's why after years of running, running, and running, he stopped for once and decided to rest. Something about you must have felt like home. And how lucky you were to have this?

06:30 am - July 21st

You couldn't look away from him, your mind unable to comprehend the perfection of this happiness. He was so ethereal you could hardly fathom that he was yours, wanted and loved you. You couldn't even hear yourself think over the rush of blood in your ears. The sight of him sleeping beside you, relaxed and vulnerable, was causing wild, desperate thoughts to race through your head. God! The fantasies you'd had about him. The places your mind had gone.

You sighed and brushed your face to the pillow, hoping he would roll over to you in his sleep so you could get back into his arms and the legs draped around you. Your eyelids peered at the glistening prosthetic arm in the soft light of the down. Could he feel your warmth whenever you kissed those fingers? How come you had never asked? There were many things you hadn't asked him yet.

Maybe you should start tomorrow? Hm? It's not like the world was ending today.

"You're going to come back over here, or you want to leave me cold and lonely?" he murmured, the raggedness in his voice confirming that he had been sleeping. Your gaze shifted upwards to meet his eyes, only to realize they were still shut, but his lips were painted with a playful grin.

Something inside you melted. It moved by his words, his smile, and his voice.

"I thought you were asleep." You scooted closer, and he wrapped his arms around you, cautious not to accidentally hurt you when he slipped his left arm beneath your neck. "I didn't want to wake you up." Your forehead pressed against his chest, and you felt the coldness of the iron mesh against your skin. His chin rested on your head, and his toes caressed your legs. The prickles of scars and fine hairs of his limbs tickled yours, and you felt blessed.

Funny how your nightmare faded the moment you felt his warmth like he burned a hole right through your head and pulled all your thoughts out. Well, other than that, it seemed like this morning, everything about him was exactly what you needed. His voice was calm and caring, his arms protective, and his presence comforting. You didn't want him to let go of you.

"Even if you had woken me up," he said, his artificial fingers sinking into your hair, and he continued, "I wouldn't have minded." A light kiss on the crown of your head followed his honest words. Even though this man kissed you every day and night, you could feel a silent giggle seeping into your body, causing your face to blush bright red.

Vash yawned soundlessly as he pulled you closer, his eyes still closed. The two of you were so close, too close, but never close enough for him. You had come to realize that your body heat did more for him than any blanket could. It was always in his eyes, aching with a desperate yearning he could only meet with you and your touch.

A joyful happiness settled between you as his hands drew shapes and patterns alongside your spine like those bright ones sometimes you could see on his body. Your lips curved into a smile as you watched him. His hair thick and blonde. The lines of his body sharp and robust. Damn! He had everything about him beautifully crafted. His nose. His chin. His ears and eyebrows. The eyelashes any girl would kill for and those turquoise-green eyes you longed to see. He had a gorgeous mouth.

You lingered too long there, your eyes betraying your mind.

Vash smiled. "What are you doing?" He fiddled with your hair, wrapping a lock around his finger.

In response, you sighed. Clearly, you would never discover how to avoid getting caught red-handed every time. "Just enjoying the view," you said, still staring at his mouth. You reached and touched two fingers to his bottom lip only to feel a rush of memories.

Long nights. Early morning. His mouth on you. Everywhere. Over and over again.

07:15 am - July 21st

He laughed sheepishly at your response.

You brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. His hair had grown a little long. You stroked his cheeks and drew his head back toward you, pressing your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his prosthetic arm while his other embraced you tightly. You could feel him smiling against your lips.

He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy. You should have been afraid and wanted to hide it, as he was the most wanted man on the planet, but love had made you bold and brave.

You pulled back and studied his kiss-inspiring lips. Your whole body was filled with a warmth you wanted to share with him because it was pure, and so was he. There was no way for you to find the right words to describe how you felt.

The morning light was shining through the windows at the perfect angle and time. His muscles were taut, bathed in gold.

"Can you lie back, Vash?" you asked, pushing his shoulder back toward the bed. Finally fluttering his eyes open, he lifted his head in your direction.

Oh.

God.

His eyes.

He blinked dark lashes, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty, unlike anything you'd seen before. The way a person could convey so much with a glance caught you off guard. He had an extraordinary amount of pain paired with even more extraordinary passion.

His face spread into a wide smile the moment he saw you. These smiles, they changed him, and moments like this killed you a little.

He had the kind of face that made you forget where you were, who you were, and what you might say or do. You held his face in your hands as you laid his head down on the pillow. A half-lidded gaze sat on his face as he leaned to your touch, and you kissed him. Slowly, this time. His eyes fell closed. His mouth responded to yours.

Your fingers moved to his neck, then to his hair, and your mouth followed them. Soft lips caressed his earlobes and nipped the tiny single hoop, hot breaths hitting his skin, surprising a giggle out of him.

His hands reached up to pull you closer, but you stopped him. "No," you whispered. "Don't move." Without a second thought, he dropped his hands.

"Lie back and keep your eyes closed," you muttered, and strangely, he didn't object. His obedience led to you kissing him everywhere. His cheeks. His eyelids. His chin. The tip of his nose and the space between his eyebrows. All across his forehead and along his jawline. Every inch of his face. Soft, small kisses that said more than you ever could. You wanted him to know how you felt. You wanted him to feel it in the way only he could, the way he could sense the depth of your emotions. You wanted him to know and never forget.

And you wanted to take your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he gasped. You peeked up at his features only to meet a crooked grin on his face. The moment was worth savoring. It seemed like Mr. Vash was enjoying himself, so your tongue continued to adore his arm's sculpted hills and valleys, the perfect shape of his torso.

You breathed in the scent of his skin and took in the taste of him as your hands ran down his abs, kissing your way across and down the line of his torso. You kissed around his navel, and the trails of fine hair underneath caressed your lips. He kept reaching for you, trying to touch you until you told him to stop.

"Please," he said, taking a deep breath. "I want to feel—"

Even though he couldn't see you, you raised your brows with a head tilt and gentled back his arms. "Not yet. Not now."

He let out a breath in protest and crossed his arms behind his neck until your hands went further down and his eyes flew open. Blinking at him, you found out you were still fascinated by his eyes—such a stunning shade of green. "Close your eyes, Vash," you had to tell him.

A big gulp of air filled up his Adam apple. "No." He hardly spoke.

"Close your eyes!"

With his sharp gaze following your every move, he shook his head and leaned on his elbows.

"Fine." You rolled your eyes, and your hand grabbed the base of his hardness.

As soon as your nails brushed the skin of his length, he sat up and stared at you. He was breathing so fast you could hear and see his chest moving.

With a smile, you looked him in the eyes and leaned your head down. Your mouth took in the tip, and your tongue traced circles as Vash gasped. The sight of your bent head made him bite his lip. No doubt every fiber of his being demanded you to take him fully in your mouth, but he wanted you to call the shots. Allowing you to control the pace pushed him to the edge. He enjoyed the thrill of knowing he was at your mercy.

Soft hairs of his thighs against your ears, your nose skimmed his sensitive areas, and your lips kissed all over those favorite parts. The smooth skin of your fingers rolled around was warm and delicate, so fragile you were afraid you might tear it with your teeth. You felt his hardness throb against your cheek, pleading with you not to neglect him. Your thumb rubbed the pre-cum off the pink tip as you raised your head.

You looked up at him, his hair gleaming like golden flames, his cheeks drenched with sweat, and his lower lip stuck between his teeth, and you realized that his eyes looked at you with a look of something like trepidation, as if he was nervous. His face was still flushed red, and he had an expression somewhere between unworthiness and pleasure. With every stroke, his breath grew heavier. Obviously, he wanted more but was trying to contain his desire. Did he feel he was getting something he didn't deserve again?

There was no way you could let him be alone with these thoughts. So, before his dazzled eyes, you licked your thumb and watched how blood drained from his head and rushed straight to his torso. In surrender, he fell back; his eyes squeezed shut. You closed your mouth to half his length, and he turned his face to the pillow, stifling a moan. A tremor ran through his body, and his hands gripped the sheets tightly. Your hands ran down his legs, grabbing them just above his knees and inching them apart so you could trail kisses down the insides of his thighs.

He looked like he was in so much pain. So much pain.

You licked the pain away.

Twirling your fingers around the length, you took the crown in your mouth. Only enough to tease. Too little to satisfy. Your lips gently pressed against it, and when Vash was ready to scream, you accepted his whole length in your mouth.

Your lips were sealed tight as you hummed and increased the speed of your ministration. He threaded his fingers through your hair and molded his hands into your head, not to push you further down but to tilt your face up.

His forehead and neck were dripping sweat. The lines of emotion on his face were so deep you wondered how you must look to him. His throat bobbed, and you felt yourself drown in his eyes, enigmatic yet expressive, like sea foam, tempestuous but very calm. His fingers trailed over your salivate-covered lips, and you noticed that the sadness in his eyes had receded.

The world was suddenly brighter, bigger, and more beautiful.

07:40 am - July 21st

Taking hold of you by the arm pits, Vash pulled you in until your chest touched his. Next, you were rolled over so that your back touched the mattress, and he crawled onto you. Now his arms were propped up on either side of your head so he would not crush you under his weight. Looking into his eyes, you were pinned in place. His urgency ignited your bones. The polished planes of his face glowed with rivulets of sweat. His hardness was poking desperately against your thigh.

"I want to … …, …," he whispered. Intoxicated, you couldn't digest anything except his body hovering over you.

"… ?" His body pressed closer, and you realized you were paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in your lungs.

His eyes were heavy now in a way that worried you, but his gaze was still so tender, focused, and full of emotions you could hardly bring yourself to say anything. As your words faded, they became an unspoken whisper. Your lips glued together.

Screams.

Death.

Screams.

Your heart suddenly raced. What if these moments were destined to expire?

The sound of a clock striking midnight. A pumpkin carriage. The possibility of losing him.

You didn't want your arms to be deprived of his warmth. His touch. His lips, God, his lips, his mouth on your neck, his body wrapped around yours. The nightmare had caused this all, you knew, but the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into you.

Blinking fast, you swallowed back the fear building in your throat. God! He was speaking with you, but you couldn't hear him.

You were worried, really worried something was going to happen to him. What if bounty hunters found him? Could his brother hurt him? No. No. No. Even though you were only a human, you would never allow such a thing to happen. You just couldn't. You...

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, so soft. His arms were stronger than all the bones in your body. He pulled your figure close. You heard the beats of his heart humming deeply within his chest, and the steel of his arm encircled your whole body, releasing tension from your limbs. The icicles in your body were melted by his heat. Something about this frame made you want to freeze it forever. "You okay, Firefly? Wanna stop?"

The words he said sent waves of emotion coursing through you. He could read you like an open palm. You weren't lost before you met him, but you were never found until he laid eyes on you. Your tears stung as they fell backward down your throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, Vash," you said before closing your eyes.

He searched your face, unsure what to do, hesitating, until you felt his lips on your shoulder, tender and scorching, so gentle you could almost believe it was the kiss of breeze and not a man.

Again.

This time, it was on your collarbones and felt like an ache that needed to be soothed. You didn't want to do anything to stop his mouth from touching your body.

He pulled back.

Desire.

Crave.

Need.

Again.

Your eyes refused to open.

His finger grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, the curves, the seams, and the dips. You felt him so much closer, his body heat filling the air around you, along with his smell and something sweet, until nothing was left. Your senses were so engulfed in his scent you didn't even realize your back was arching toward him as you breathed him in until you found out his fingers were no longer on your lips because his hand had gotten around your body.

"So, where do you want me to kiss you?" Vash whispered, his chest heaving, his words almost gasping. A wave of blistering heat moved through you, sealed shut your mouth. You didn't specify precisely where you wanted him to kiss you, and he didn't seem to have any difficulty selecting the spot.

He whispered your name as he kissed the corner of your eyebrow. "Here?" His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, and your body squirmed slightly. "Or here?" He pressed a kiss against your neck, right beneath your ear, and you tipped your head to let him in, biting down the urge to beg him to take more, to take faster, as he murmured, "tell me."

Clasping your warm fingers with his cold metallic ones, he hovered over you to kiss your throat. You were the oxygen he desperately needed to breathe. His body was almost on top of yours, one hand in your hair while the other held yours delicately yet firmly. His lips crushed yours in no time.

A kiss like this was like swimming in honey rivers, like being dipped in gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss and not realizing you were drowning because you were too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing mattered anymore—neither your nightmare, this room, or the whole fucking planet.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This moment. These lips. This strong body pressed against yours, and these firm hands that always found a way you bring you closer. Oh, My Gosh! You wanted so much more of him. You wanted all of him.

Your eyes opened up.

Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, dancing over his broad shoulders, pressing into his dimples, and squeezing his hips.

Your hand grabbed a fistful of his hair when he broke for air with a groan, but you pushed him back, kissing his neck, arm, collarbones, and chest. It was amazing. Being with him, touching him, holding him like this. The rush of adrenaline was so intense and euphoric that you felt invincible.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking. Your skin was scorched everywhere he hadn't touched you.

He kissed your top lip.

He licked your bottom lip.

He kissed just under your chin, the tip of your nose, the length of your forehead, both temples and cheeks across your jawline. Then your neck, behind your ears, the space between your breasts. He nibbled your nipples and left trails of kisses all the way down your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly his chest was hovering above your hips.

Grasping your calves, he spread your legs apart just enough for his head to fit between. Your thighs were lifted, and you couldn't see him anymore. His only visible features were the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that sight was lost, with your head falling backward and muffled moans leaving your mouth.

Vash ran his hands down and up around your bare upper thighs and ribs, and he held your hips to make you stand still. Your eyes lit up like small firecrackers every time his hair teased your groins until his lips kissed you there, and fireworks exploded in the back of your head.

As his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue played around to make you scream aloud. His mouth brushed against your skin in places you couldn't see but felt deeply. Oh my! You were out of your body, touching stars, when you realized he was working his way up your body, leaving two fingers of that prosthetic arm behind.

"It might feel a bit cold," he said as his nose glided the skin of your stomach, leaving random kisses around your breasts and collarbones just to ease your tension. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" His hair was a mess, the wetness on his lips all familiar.

A nod came from you in response. He almost seemed to be smiling as his fingers slipped inside your slit, and your nails dug into the fabric. Moaning, you felt his warm hand brushing your hair backward as the other moved up and down inside your walls.

Your mouth was parted in a silent moan, and his small pecks covered you all around. There were tears in your eyes, baby hairs sticking to your sweaty forehead.

As his thumb and two fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You grabbed his free arm, and he pulled himself up, onto you, on top of you. As if reading your thoughts, he kissed you hard. How strange, yet sweet, all you could taste was you, yourself, on his tongue. You moaned at the taste, and he opened his mouth more for you, allowing you to brush your tongue against his teeth.

The stinging coldness of his fingers was long gone. You had forgotten everything. There was something you shouldn't have forgotten, but you couldn't even remember why, what you were forgetting. Amid his length caressing your side and those digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

You could die from this, you decided. From wanting him, from the pleasure of being with him.

You must be smiling because he was looking at you and smiling too. His forehead was pressed against yours. His skin was flushed with heat. His hand had kept your head still. Your hands gripped his nick, sliding into the hollow behind it. You placed your palms just above his nape, and your fingertips gently began to squeeze and massage his undercut.

"Va-sh."

For a moment, you thought life poured out of you, or maybe your vision fractured as release barreled into you, and you grasped his name over and over again till your body calmed under his weight.

08:10 am- July 21st

Your eyes landed on his glistening wet metallic fingers, and you were dripping, burning, melting with anticipation. He was still on top of you when you thought you heard him speak, his mouth close to your ear.

"I love you," he whispered and kissed your brow. It never occurred to you that he could be like this, so human, so real, but it was there. It was right there. Raw, written across his face. You were about to mutter all the words and worries you held in your chest, but suddenly he stood up and stared blankly at the other side of the room.

You followed his gaze to the pane of glass separating you from the reality outside. You awaited his lips to part. You waited to listen to him speak. His eyes weren't revealing anything about what he was thinking, what was going on.

Something about the realization struck fear into your heart. In the span of a single instant, darkness surrounded your vision. Images appeared in the blur of your sight again.

The petals of red Geraniums floating in the sky, a boy running through blood-stained sands, the time speeding up and slowing down in fits and starts, streaks of green and red staining your dilated eyes, stars exploding, lights flashing, sparking, and then it's all darkness and Vash's screams.

You shook your head.

The images disappeared, but the heartaches and fears lingered, and you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. Your lungs begged for air, but you looked around for Vash instead.

It seemed he wanted to scream, but you knew the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Those thoughts would expand in his head, explosive and angry, pressing against the ridges of his mind, and then he would hide them behind a smile. As he always did.

"Vash?" you called, just before witnessing how a car's radio sound from the street ripped open his past, pulled out what was left of his heart, and dropped it on the floor.

"… been two years since that fateful July 21st. A crowd has gathered at what used to be the third city of July to pay their respects. Even after two years, the pain of losing their loved ones has yet to heal. The suspect said to have murdered 90 percent of the city, also known as the Humanoid Typhoon, still remains at large. Vash the Stampede is on the run. If I were the demon who turned the whole city into a gaping crater overnight, I'd hide my face too. There is no forgetting the sorrow of loved ones taken from us. The Alliance of Cities has raised the dead or alive bounty on Vash the Stampede to $$60 billion, the highest in the history of…"

The loud words bounced around in the haze of your head, fogging your senses, misting your eyes, and clouding your concentration. In your bones, there was just ice. Your entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped you in the face, punched you in the jaw, and dumped you into sand oceans. You grasped the nightstand to keep yourself steady. The orange shades fell on the floor, leaving a big crack on display.

Vash was shaking his head over and over and over and over. He was looking at his hands like he would see some blood on them, as if waiting for the part where someone would tell him this wasn't real and he didn't actually kill those 200,000 innocent people.

Oh, my beloved.

The pain was so plain on his face; it was killing you. Your gaze was drawn to the balled fists at his sides, the furrows in his brow, and the tension in his jaw. Minutes ago, this man was free, but now he was a prisoner of his own crime. In your heart, you wished you could release him from the claws of self-reproach.

Having seen his terror too often, you knew it well.

Sometimes, even when he was asleep, his tormented mind would grip his heart, and such emptiness and sadness would fill him that you felt he was suffocating, as if his sleepless nightmares never had an end.

You didn't know him before,

but

you

thought

had

lost

bit

himself

the

day

July

incident.

As time passed, you assumed he had finally learned not to dwell on what had happened. You imagined he avoided it like a cripple learning not to put weight on his injured leg.

However, deep down, you knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble. You always dreaded this day. This silence. It was not just an ordinary silence caused by the lack of things that moved or made noise, but a deep and tired silence that sometimes covered him like an invisible cloak—like the one ruling between your shared walls right now.

Stacks of sorrow had grown inside him, settling on his bones and snapping him in half. A cable twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

How naive of him to think he could slip into the role of a regular being and live a normal life in love and peace.

Vash.

Vash the stampede with a dream.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification. He began to think others were right when they said things like him were better off destroyed.

Shaking his head, he coughed against the torture in his lungs, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission, leaving him sitting on the bed's edge like a sack full of nothingness. The old gunman looked as if he might collapse, barely breathing, his life-force being torn asunder.

You felt like your throat was closing up. You knew the infamous humanoid typhoon was everything broken and glued back together, and now knives bore holes into his cracked bones, filled with grief that could take his breath away.

Your face was drained of color, your ears ringing with your heart pounding. His desperate screams from your nightmare echoed in your head as if on repeat. His agony was acute. His terror palpable. Tears sprung to your eyes. It was painful to look at him, being so close and far away from him.

"Local news. You know how dumb they are," you said, trying to hide your petrified and nerve-wracking thoughts from his reach. What if he never experienced peace? What if there was no sanctuary, and the pain was always a whisper away, no matter where he went?

Pressing your nails to your palm, you continued, "None of that incident was your fault. You know that too. You hear me?"

His eyes widened a little. No one had ever cared about him for this long. No one had kept him ever this closely to read his thoughts word by word. No one had ever treated him like a human being. Then again, he thought you didn't know about all of his sins. In a century and a half, he hadn't been able to forgive himself; how could you? It made him wonder how long you could endure him before running for your life.

His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. He clenched his fists and pushed back down the misery that had stuck with him. Even though he didn't want this, you'd probably be better off without him.

"Vash?" You swallowed and dug your fingers into the sheets desperately, a tear trickling down your cheek. It kept hitting you in the face, in the skull, in the spine, this knowledge of just how much you loved him.

His lips looked like they were barely able to form words. He could only take these harsh gasps and wonder why his body hadn't given up.

On all fours, you approached him and sat on your knees on the edge of the bed with a slight distance between you and him. You knew he wouldn't object, but you didn't want to intrude on his privacy. Thus, you remained silent so that he wouldn't be left by himself, and he would know you wouldn't leave him alone.

09:15 am – July 21st

Time passed, and you checked on him occasionally to see if he wanted to talk until he raised his head slightly.

"I'm a demon," he said the sentence so quietly. So, so quietly. He ran a hand across his face, both hands through his hair, looking like he wanted to scream, to break something, like he was truly about to lose his mind. "The world sees me as a threat. An unfixable monster. An abomination. They want me dead." His voice sounded sorrowful, almost like he had already accepted these labels.

Thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. "I don't think you're a demon. Also, I don't think you're some sick, twisted monster. I don't think you're a heartless killer, and I don't think you deserve to die. You're not a humanoid typhoon. No, you're not any of the things people have said about you," you told him, words tripping and stumbling out of you.

His mouth fell closed, struggling with some kind of emotion, struggling to find composure. Suddenly he gasped. "No." One broken word. Barely even a sound. He was shaking his head, looking away from you. He turned to face the window. "No. No, no—"

"Vash—"

"No," he said. His voice was so soft and so scared you could scarcely hear it. "No, you don't know what you're saying—"

"You're not a monster!" you said. "And I love you exactly as you are. I don't even want you to fix yourself; I don't think you need to be fixed. People here love you as you are. Your name is the only thing that scares them," you told him.

You knew people had the right to fear him. You knew. Humanoid Typhoon certainly wasn't made of sugar, spice, and everything nice, but rather from hurricanes, lightning, and all things that scared. Seeing dusty storms and raging winds, people thought he was scary. They feared he would harm them. In truth, he was only his own disaster, destroying himself for others. He was Vash. Your Vash. Vash the Stampede, and you loved him with all his fears and frights, dreams and nightmares, sins and scars.

You smiled and continued, "If they learn your name and start hunting you, we'll run away! We'll run, run, and keep running as far as we have to! And when things calm down, we'll settle by their side again. You won't kill. You'll never kill anyone again, and one day, people will begin seeing you as I do."

Maybe tears filled his eyes. Possibly his breath was trapped in his chest. Perhaps his heart warmed a little. No one knew, not even the author. He had his head down, his chest rising and falling.

You sat behind him. A map of pain had covered his entire back. Thick, thin, uneven, and terrible, scars like roads leading nowhere. There were bolts and ragged slices, marks of torture he was not protected from.

Kindness must be difficult when all you'd received was hatred. Being able to see goodness in the world must be so hard when your only experience had been terror. You wanted to say something to him. Something profound, complete, and memorable, but there was nothing suitable. This planet was a broken bone that didn't set right, and Vash wanted to glue it back together. Alone, all by himself.

You two differed in this respect. Fearless and unafraid were two different things. He was fearless. He dared to outshine the sun, stare down a bullet, kiss death and walk away with his back unguarded. He would hold the whole world in his palms despite its bone-crushing weight, despite its sharp edges crusted with blood, if only he could stop it from falling apart. But you? You were fearful. Sometimes you couldn't breathe around the clot of fear lodged in your throat. The only way to lessen its weight on your tongue was to scream until no words came out, while the only way to chase away its shadows was never to close your eyes at night. You were unafraid of one thing, though —he could tear down the world and bury you alive under the weight of his guilt, yet you would follow him without hesitation.

Your eyes rested upon woven strands of sunlight, alighting softly upon his scarred skin. These honeyed arcing rays gave him a light glimmer that revealed his plant patterns, pulsing slowly and dimly. Something about the scene was so divine, and you felt the dawn rise from your heart every morning and reach the sky.

You hugged him from behind by bridging the gap between your bodies and leaned your cheek against his sun-kissed back. Your hands gently caressed his stomach and chest as your lips left kisses on his love reminiscences—one by one.

You could hear him breathing in and out. Unevenly. Yet he was silent. Hands clenched, knuckles white. Of course, he wanted you with a desperate need he had never known. But his regret, sins, and crimes were so overwhelming they consumed him. He thought, how could you be so kind to a thing like him?

Unaware of the voices in his mind, you dropped a kiss on his spine. You kissed the curve of his shoulder. His shoulder blades. Five kisses down his spine, each softer than the other one. For every little moment of pain he had ever felt in his life, you wanted to make it all go away. You kissed his neck, trying to ignore the tension in his muscles, the ache spreading inside you, urging you to end his suffering.

Your words were heavy with sincerity when you said, "I don't care what everyone else thinks about you." You leaned your forehead to his shoulder, your breaths gently caressing his back. "Because you're the only good thing left in this world."

As his eyes widened, he breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "What are you saying?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "How can you tell such a thing this after all this?" His hand pointed to the window, to the news on the radio.

Standing on your knees, you kissed the hand caught between his gold locks. The same hand he always tried to cover its scar with a glove. Because the idiot thought his scars would be repulsive. The idiot. Your favorite idiot.

You didn't sit back. Keeping your head there, your nose buried in his hair, and your chest pressed to his back—this smell. You had never seen a sea, but you had heard about them. And you believed if there was ever to be a sea in this hell hole, he would smell like a sunny beach. Sweet, enveloping, and warm.

"That is—" your voice broke when you spoke. "That's what the family is for, Vash."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. He dropped his hand on his knee and sat still in place by the weight of your words. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with both sadness and happiness.

A family.

All this time, he thought you were with him all along because you didn't have a grasp on his sins, but now, he could see that you already knew everything. And despite all of this, you were still willing to forgive him and give him something he always wanted but never had without even requiring him to earn it or redeem himself.

You touched his arm and traced the tender skin with your fingertips. Scars everywhere. You kissed the back of his elbow. "I'm sorry for everything humans have done to you," you told him, and he took a shallow breath. "Forgive us." Another kiss. "Forgive me."

A delicate warmth filled Vash's heart and melted it into drops of warm honey that soothed the scars in his soul. He turned his head and stared at you with open, vulnerable eyes, a tight jaw, and tensed muscles. No one had ever apologized to him. According to his experience, he was usually the monster, the wicked one. The onus always was on him to make amends.

It stunned him how strange it felt. Up until now, he never thought he deserved forgiveness, let alone someone asking for it.

Running a tired hand across his face, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. A joy filled his heart, causing him to feel heavy with something he wasn't even sure he could describe.

Gratitude, perhaps.

The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful. But for now, he didn't want to think about it. He simply just wanted to enjoy your proximity.

Your hand reached up to stroke the luminous curved shapes on his cheek, tracing them to the softness of the mole beneath his left eye. The look in those aquamarines breaking your heart. You couldn't bear to see his face covered in sorrow and guilt.

"You're a good man, my Vash," you said, your words soft, your hand gentle as you tilted his chin up toward your mouth. He was blinking fast, yet not denying. You whispered words on his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "Rem would've been proud of you," you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him once, tenderly.

He found himself at a loss for words, opting to convey his emotions through touch instead as he melded his lips with yours. He sighed into your mouth, and you kissed him even more deeply, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. You could taste the salt on your tongue. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made your flesh burn. You were uncertain whose they were as you continued to try and cling to him.

10:00 am – July 21st

The sheets slowly slipped and fell to the floor as Vash pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight, hardly able to breathe. When he exhaled and looked at you again, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things you had never seen before. His whole body seemed to be relaxed in relief. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a single, fraying thread. You.

And you promised yourself, at this moment, that you would hold him forever, just like this, until all the pain, the torture, and the suffering was gone, until he'd given a chance to live the kind of life where no one could ever hurt him this deeply ever again.

He touched your cheek. Soft, as if he wasn't sure if you were real. His four fingers caressed the side of your face gently before they slipped behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

You did so much with these lips, you thought. Touched, kissed, and pressed them against tender parts of his skin. You made promises, and the words they formed, the shapes and sounds they curved around, all for him.

Vash moved closer by just an inch. His free metallic hand cupped the other side of your face. He was holding you like you were made of crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands, he couldn't believe you were real.

Gone was the man with guns and bullets. These hands treasuring you had never held a weapon. They were perfect and kind, never touched by death. He took your hands and pressed your palms to his face. Tears must have welled up in your eyes when you closed them.

You whispered his name, and he breathed harder than you.

Could this be a dream?

You shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and he held you like no one had before. He wanted you. Seeing him cling to you as he might never let go did something to you, something heady, knowing that he might wish you, or need you, like this, made you want to protect him even though he didn't need your protection.

Gently, he stroked your hair and pressed his lips to your forehead. Gradually, his arms became the arms around your waist; his lips became the lips pressed against yours, his body the warmth you felt.

You weren't even breathing, but you were alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. The palms of his hands were rubbing the small of your back as he lifted you into his lap. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, allowing him to kiss your neck, throat, and nipples.

You broke apart with his small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at him like a bonehead, your brain still too numb to figure out exactly how you two got here.

Tilting his head to a side, he pressed his lips against yours again, seeking you with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. His hands were threaded in your hair, his lips so soft, so urgent against yours, like fire and cinnamon exploding in your mouth.

Vash nibbled your bottom lip in a flash and pulled back just a little bit. Your body was flooded with heat and desire so intense you could hardly think when he parted his lips from you to sigh in your mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove you crazy.

Putting one hand under your neck, placing his mouth on your breast, and running his fingers down your back, he pressed your body closer, only to find something hard pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

While he avoided your gaze, he smiled sheepishly and tentatively touched your thighs with his hands. Because of what had happened, you knew he would probably feel embarrassed to ask for it, but that didn't mean you wouldn't give it to him. He deserved the whole world if you had the chance to provide for him. His markings were glowing softly when you squeezed him closer to yourself, holding him tighter.

Biting his lip and stifling his groan, his smart-ass hands slid up your legs and into your thighs. Soon, his lips reached your chest. Your body ached everywhere, tasting colors and sounds you didn't even know existed. His forehead was pressed against your chin, and your hands gripped his shoulders. He was hot, gentle, and somehow in a hurry.

You were beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way you were feeling right now. Nothing mattered anymore. You were left with only this moment: his mouth on your body, his hands on your skin, and his lust deep in his eyes, making you absolutely insane.

Your wetness was no longer a secret when he surrounded you everywhere. As he watched you, you reached down and adjusted his length against your slippery entrance over a few strokes. His pulse could be felt in your palm and soon inside of you.

Using both soft and hard hands, he gently grasped your hips and pulled you down toward him. As he entered, you gasped, every time surprised at his size, clinging desperately to his neck as he hitched your legs around his waist, his prosthetic arm settling beneath your thigh. You loved the feeling of him stretching you. You loved having him this close to you. You loved the way he manhandled you. You loved his hand around your neck and the little squeeze of his fingers around your nape.

His grip tightened when he sensed you were ready for him, and he started moving you up and down. You cried out and leaned your cheek to his nose, dying and somehow being brought back to life in the same moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He lifted your thighs, and you bit back the moan stuck in your throat. His mouth wouldn't let go of your skin, kissing you with an intensity that made you wonder why you hadn't died, caught on fire, or woken up from this dream yet. Then he returned his hands to your face and kissed you once, twice.

The room's silence was filled with your heavy breathing, your chest against Vash's. Your pulses hammered against each other. You felt his arms around you become unbearably tight as he yanked you up and down with even more force than before, hitting you in a place he seemed to know too well.

As his teeth caught your bottom lip momentarily, you pushed your nails to his shoulder, running your fingers through his hair to pull him into your mouth. He tasted so sweet. So hot and sweet. You kept trying to say his name, but you couldn't even breathe, much less say a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down, traveling quietly down your cheeks, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, against your tongue and saliva. As if he had found Adam's ale between million mirages of the desert, he stared at you, his eyes like fire in the water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile, uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lingering flavor of pleasure laced in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your head spun into oblivion.

Vash loved you…

His temple was leaned against yours when you took his earlobe between your teeth, stripped him to his bones, and ruined him from the inside out. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You were his. You, the one who knew if you left him alone at that moment, would fall into the depths of his own hell; if he'd slipped through your fingers, he would be gone, and no one could bring him back. You did not erase all his pain or offer to solve all his problems. You didn't fix everything that was broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. What mattered the most was that you stayed.

He loved you.

He loved you so much.

Grasping your soft hips, he buried his face against your shoulder and sped up. You were his undoing, taking him apart and putting him back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. He gritted his teeth as his orgasm came barreling at him. His hands glided on your back when you shuddered, your inner walls squeezing him so hard he couldn't prevent his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice—and then everything around you both disappeared until it was all just colors and light, the sun shines and oceans, apple trees, and blossoms.

Your eyes were still closed, and you felt his hands laced with yours, just to remind you that you had him here and that he was with you. Your partner in everything. His chest heaving, he buried his face in your neck, sweat covering his temples. Kissing him there, you inhaled the scent of his hair.

"You're my family too," you heard him whisper, his words etched into your soul as his lips moved against your skin. And you wished, more than ever, that you could capture moments like this and relive them forever.

12:50 pm – July 21st

You woke up with a smile, your skin still hot from the memory of your vile. You were cleaned with a wet towel, placed in bed with a kiss, and promptly fell asleep. Thankfully, no nightmares this time.

What time was it? You didn't know.

As you stretched your legs under the sheets, you realized your back was against Vash, his prosthetic arm resting on your pillow, the other tucked around your waist. Knowing he had held you this close warmed the pit of your stomach and made you feel so safe that you didn't ever want to move, but you had a thousand things to do today, but you never, ever wanted to move.

Truth be told, you loved these moments the most. The quiet contentment. Being enveloped by his naked body. You never felt closer to him than you did like this when there was nothing between you.

Today was a big day delayed by your nightmare and the sound of that stupid radio! There was no way you were going to let anything overshadow his birthday anymore. Even for a few hours, he deserved this celebration, this little distraction. He deserved to be happy, eat, and laugh.

You sighed, hating to wake him up since he seemed pretty tired. Slowly, you turned around in his arms. A smile tugged at your mouth as you watched him, amazed at how his presence could bring you such peace. He shifted again, burrowing deeper into the pillows, and you realized he must be exhausted.

Watching the movement of his throat, you breathed him in, running your hands along the deep, strong lines of muscle in his arm. His entire being felt raw. Powerful. Being a plant had something wild and terrifying about it; somehow, this knowledge only made you love him more. You traced the contours of his shoulder blades, then his spine. He stirred, but only briefly, and buried his face in your hair.

"Don't go," he whispered softly, pressing his nose to your scalp alongside his lips.

You tilted your head, gently kissing the column of his throat. "Vash," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Taking a deep breath, he said, "good."

You smiled. "Oh, but we should probably get out of bed. I promised Rosalina I'll help—"

A disapproving sound escaped his throat as he shook his head, deftly helping you turn around. He hugged you close again, your back pressed against his chest. Soft and husky, his voice was full of desire when he said, "C'mon, let me enjoy this. Feeling good."

"You don't want a cake?" you blurted out, but it certainly caught his attention.

You could feel he raised his head, stiffened and confused. "How come Rosalina's making me a cake?"

Did you hear correctly? Had he forgotten about his birthday? Did this day become neglected to the point where it was forgotten?

Turning around, you saw he was sitting, his body frozen and his heart probably pounding furiously. Getting him to attend his birthday would take more effort than you expected. Because he asked how you could possibly plan a party for him, why anyone would throw him a party, what if he didn't even like birthday parties, and so on. Still, you didn't fall short. Since the day he told you about Rem making them a cake for their birthday, you kept track of his birthday. The July incident wasn't going to overshadow his birthday. It was your vow to replace that memory with better ones. That forever and ever, you'd strive to drown out the darkness that had ruined his life.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow. When he swallowed, you noticed the gentle movement in his throat and moved your hand to his ear, your pinkie touching his earring, then tracing down his jawline. You didn't receive a rejection, but you didn't receive a yes, either. Why wasn't he saying anything? He had you on your worried until he clasped his hands over his face.

Your hand brushed against his undercut as you gently kissed his temple and tried to pry his hands away from his face. "Vash?" you said, your words hardly a whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The reply took him a few seconds to come out, but when he finally did, he nodded. It was only once, but it was enough. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm okay."

The feeling of relaxation washed over you as you exhaled. "If you don't want a—"

He held and squeezed your hand as he looked at you, his eyes round when he said, a little nervously, "what have I done," he whispered, his voice trembling, "to deserve you?"

Did you die of joy? Because he took your face in his hands and kissed you so passionately, it blew your mind. Your heart began to beat violently, and you didn't recognize yourself. You didn't recognize your hands, your bones, your heart. You felt new. "Thank you," he whispered. "For loving me and everything."

"It's very, very easy to love you, Vash," your lips might have said, but the words never left your lips. You didn't know what to do, so you reeled him in, kissed him, and lost yourself in his taste and feel, in the fantasy of what you might have. What you might be.

But wait! Didn't you know fate was a jealous, vicious mistress that never ever slept?

You blinked.

You blinked again, but this time for too long. You saw a flash of blood spewing inside your open mouth. Nausea returned with a swiftness that scared you. A breath was drawn, your fingers fluttering as you desperately tried pressing them against your stomach. Pain filled your eyes as you kept them open. Clenching your fists, you attempted to control spiraling thoughts.

However, nothing helped. Nothing helped. Nothing, you thought. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

Where was Vash? Where were you?

Throughout your open eyes, terror oozed from your heart. You heard someone calling your name. A hand brushed lightly along your spine as you shivered suddenly at the unexpected sensation.

" …," the voice said, "do you … ?"

The warmth moved in only to meet the coldness of your skin. You felt it all. Again and again, a touch of his finger did pull you out of your nightmare.

A rustle of sheets caught your attention, and Vash pulled you onto his lap. Straddling him, your legs stretched across the rumpled fabric. Wrapping his arm around you, he spread his hand along your back.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Turning carefully in the cradle of his arms, you pressed your forehead to his bare chest, your eyelashes fluttering against his rough gash.

"You okay?" he asked, his metallic fingers combing through your hair in a soothing act.

"Yes," you replied, forcing air into your lungs. You were breathing hard, head spinning as you held on to him. "Yes."

"Is something wrong, Elay?" He probably had lowered his head because his breath was touching your shoulder.

"Nothing," you claimed. Your heart was beating fast, too fast. You didn't know why you were lying. You should have just told him, but you didn't know why you weren't.

Wait.

Actually, you knew.

You were waiting.

You were waiting to see if this shit would pass. It had to, because today was a special day. Because you were already exhausted, and the radio's sound was repeating in your ears. Because you didn't want to add another burden to his shoulders with your silly nightmare. Even more, it wasn't real. Just a figment of your imagination, and saying it out loud would make it sound more real than it really was.

Vash asked no further questions. He was more of an "if you love someone, let them keep their secrets to themselves " guy. He pulled you close, and you melted into him, grateful for his warmth and steady hold. You took a deep, shuddering breath and let it all go, exhaling against him. A faint aroma of caramel lingered in your nostrils as you breathed in his skin's rich, heady scent. The minutes passed silently as you both listened to each other breathe.

01:45 pm – July 21st

It took a while, but your heart rate steadied.

You could feel it.

Here.

This.

Your bones against his bones. This was your home.

"What're you thinking?" His lips touched your neck, a graze that sparked, hot and cold, right down to your toes.

"Been thinking about you." You raised your head and looked at him. He was smiling, the unfaltering sun glinting in his eyes. You could see his fear, hopes, and love for you like a mirror to his soul in those mountain lake-colored spheres. Then there was something else as well—something like bliss. It was a faint glow, but it was there and made you so happy. You had blessed the blessing. He deserved happiness after everything he had been through. After all the horrors he had suffered alone.

"Me?"

As you closed the gap between you two again, you nodded against his chest. Nothing was said, but you could hear his heart racing until he exhaled. It was a heavy, uneven sound, as if he might have been holding his breath for too long.

Gently, you ran your hand along his back. "How long has it been since you celebrated your birthday?" you whispered.

"Hm?" He buried his face in your hair, and his nose glided over your scalp in what appeared to be caressing movements.

It didn't take a genius to figure out when he was ducking a question. You wiggled a little to loosen his grip and looked up. Your fingers ran through the soft, silky strands. The sight of him mesmerized you. His eyes were wide and bright. His lips soft and pale. He was perfect, bare, and beautiful, holding you in his arms. Sighing, you closed your eyes. "Let me ask it this way then," you said, "How many birthdays have you missed so far?"

Nothing came out of his mouth for what seemed like an eternity. You felt him finally move. In a gentle caress, his prosthetic fingers touched your face. "150 birthdays," he whispered, his voice uneven.

Your spine tingled involuntarily. 150 years of solitude. Loneliness. Alone with himself. On this giant planet. Where was his home? Where were his friends? His lovers?

You knew he was so much better at being alone as if being alone came more naturally. He led a life of deliberate seclusion, and when occasional loneliness crept in, he knew how to sink in and absorb its particular comforts or work his way out. After all, there were always bars and saloons and strangers around.

You knew he wanted to carry the weight of life all alone, even the burden of those he once loved. It wasn't fair, though. You had to be allowed to help him carry it all. A frown formed on your face, and you inhaled, "Happy birthday #1! Happy birthday #2! Happy birthday #3!..."

His metallic forefinger stopped your lips. Slowly, you looked up to meet his eyes. His expression was sad, sweet, and filled with love. You felt something thawed inside of you as you stared at him.

"You don't have to do this," he said as he separated his finger from your lips to brush away stray strands of hair from your face. A part of you wished his finger could stay there longer.

"Shut up and let yourself celebrate! We've got at least 150 birthdays to catch up on!"

He kissed your eye, and you felt his smile on your eyelid. His lips started moving tardily when he said, "I don't—"

"Shhhh! Since you interrupted me, I'm starting over!" you snapped and continued, "Happy birthday #1! Happy birthday #2! …"

The smile on his face grew bigger and bigger, as if he was filled with so much joy that he hardly recognized himself. You couldn't recall the last time he smiled this much. It was the most pure, unburdened bliss you had ever experienced.

He held you the entire time you felicitated all his forgotten birthdays. You could see it in how he looked at you. You could feel his fears disappearing and his emotions becoming something else. Now, his touch was hot and electric against your skin. Your heart was beating faster and harder, and he didn't have to say anything. You could feel the temperature change between you.

"You," he said, staring at your mouth. He touched his nose to yours, and something inside you jolted to life. You heard your breath caught, your ears turning red, unbidden. "I love you," he whispered.

The words did something to you every time you heard them. They built something new inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "You know," you mumbled shyly, "It never gets old hearing you say that."

Leaning you back a little, he moved, his nose brushed the line of your jaw, and his lips touched your throat. You were holding your breath, terrified to move, to leave this moment.

"I love you," he said again.

Heat filled your veins. You could feel him in your blood, his whispers overwhelming your senses.

"Vash," you said. You wanted to talk to him about what happened hours ago. You knew you should've moved and snapped out of this but couldn't. You couldn't think. And then his hand brushed against your breasts. You breathed quickly, fighting against a sudden rush of pleasure.

It was impossible to pretend anything when he was this close to you. You knew he could feel how badly you wanted him. You could feel him, too. His heat. His desire. He made no secret of what he wanted from you. What he wanted you to do to him.

He kissed you softly, wrapping his arms around you, one too cold, the other too hot. Your body shifted forward in his embrace as you took another painful, agonizing breath.

"I know you're worried," he said, his lips too close to yours and his hot breath in your mouth. "I know we have to talk, but—" He never finished that sentence. He kissed you as he reached down, trailing his fingers along the inner parts of your thighs, and the movement seared through you. Your vision went white. You heard nothing but the pounding of your heart, then you remembered.

"Vash? Um-I have to-ah," you panted, "she is waiting."

You could feel his smile as he whispered the word in your ear. His fingers were teasing your groins. "Please." And you were gone.

One hand kept your head steady, the other roamed around your loins, and he kissed and melted you. Your eyes met his, and the feeling threatened to drown you. He kissed you, and every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

Holy Molly!

He eft his kisses everywhere like he knew, like he knew how desperately you needed this, needed him, needed this comfort and release.

Like he needed it, too.

Taking hold of his neck, you raised yourself up to kiss his nose, cheeks, and lips. The line of your bodies was welded together. You felt yourself dissolving, becoming pure emotion as he parted his lips, teased you, and breathed into your mouth. "I love you," he said, gasping the words.

He kissed the top of your shoulder, and his artificial hand wandered over your body, down your back, cupping your back side, lingering on your upper thighs like he wanted to memorize the shape of you, always leaving you in awe of how gentle he was. Your muscles tightened with longing, and you were surprised at how much you wanted him.

Again.

So soon.

However, you had to stop this.

"I'd better get dressed," you said, pulling yourself back, grabbing sheets, and covering yourself with them. "I've got stuff to do."

A grin spread across his face as he watched you as if he could sense your frustration. You crawled from his lap, the bedsheets catching under your knees and making you lose your composure. Like a sneaky fox, he couldn't resist taking advantage of the moment. He yanked the rest of the sheet away from you and tucked you underneath him. His weight pinned you to the mattress, a knee intentionally jammed between your legs and slowly grinding you down.

"Here's what I want for my birthday," he said, kissing your parted lips. He knew what he was doing and knew you couldn't comprehend his words. "I have this idea. Just hear me out; I think that maybe you should consider being naked all the time. I mean, just always. Okay?"

"Okay. I have to—" What were you saying? He had his mouth all over you, sucking at your breasts, licking your throat, his fingers going straight to your sensitive spots.

The moment he got there, you knew you wouldn't let him go, even if he wanted to. So, you needed to gather your wits and act before it was too late.

Think. Think. Think.

"Vash!" you gasped, pushing him up with your hand as much as possible. "I know you're going nuts like a hunk in heat," you said, holding his cheeks between your hands and staring at his big downturned eyes. "I gotta shower and go to the saloon so you can meet me there at eight, okay, good boy?" You tapped on his shoulder.

With raised eyebrows, Vash got off you, but you remained trapped between his knees. Although he crossed his arms and pretended to be mad, you could see him fighting back a smile. It was amazing how that poor piece of sheet managed to cover his hips; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to focus on his face.

"You were going to take a shower without me?" he said sternly.

You couldn't figure out what to say for a moment and then carefully asked, "would you like to join me?"

Considering your offer, he gazed at you, up and down, with a sweet, secret smile. The look in his eyes was enough to persuade you to agree to anything. You would do anything for this man if he asked. Even if he didn't bother to ask.

"Vash."

Your heart was heavy as you whispered his name, filled with emotion. You went still as he hovered over you, gently mouthing your nipples. His kisses grow more intent, leaving a trail of fire across your chest, down your torso, and rushing through your veins.

Suddenly, you forgot why you were even in such a hurry.

Your hands slipped around his neck, and you reeled him in. He felt incredible against you, his body fitting perfectly. You tilted his face up, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling your blood with dangerous speed.

As one hand held him steady, the other skimmed the smooth skin of your waist, gripping your hip hard. He parted your legs with his thigh, hearing you make a desperate sound deep in your throat, and it did something to him, to feel and hear you like that, to be assaulted by your pleasure and desire. It drove him crazy.

Vash buried his face in your neck, and his hand moved up to feel your breasts' tender skin, hot, soft, and sensitive to his touch. He wanted your body under his hands, the scent of your skin, and the light whisper of your hair against his. Licking your earlobes, he tried to ignore the strain in his muscles and the hard, desperate pressure driving him towards you, toward madness.

An ache was expanding inside you and demanding more, craving him to flip you over and lose yourself in you. You clung to him, your eyes half-lidded, your face flushed. Your breathes were heavy when you said, "take me, Vash."

His eyes widened, and he stared at you like he might be going deaf and blind at the same time, hunching over from the effort of inhaling and exhaling. He said nothing and only looked at you carefully from the top, drinking you in. His pulse was wild, his mind racing. There was no way he could refuse you.

02:50 pm - July 21st

Vash stepped aside, and you pushed the sheets away when he asked you to get up. Soon you were standing in the middle of the room as he had demanded.

He couldn't look away from you and probably couldn't even hear himself think over his heart beating fast like a thud against his skull. Pinning you against the closest wall, he kissed you wild enough for you never to forget why he was called the stampede. His fingers touched every everywhere. Every bend and arc. Every pit and hole. Leaving gentle slaps and smacks on the soft skin of yours.

It was lovely to feel your soft curves against his rough edges, and somehow, the paradox between the smoothness of your bodies pressed against each other made the scene even more surreal. In order not to miss any precious time, he picked you up, and you gasped, shocked, and scrambled to hold on for dear life. He pushed the bathroom door aside with his shoulder and carried you into the shower.

He needed you. Needed this. Now. You could see it in his eyes, in the upward arch of his erection.

He drew a deep, unsteady breath before switching the tap on.

A short scream tore through your throat.

You two got soaked in cold water as he pressed your front against the shower wall, losing himself in you like never before. His kisses were more profound, more desperate, and his hands less considerate than before. The heat more explosive, and everything between you wild, raw, and vulnerable. His mouth devoured you. He had his lips all over your body, his tongue tasting new places.

With the cold tiles touching your breasts, a sensation of pleasure spread throughout your entire body. You could feel it, the bottom half of your body urging you to press against him more deeply and fully. He had to hear the pleas of every cell in your body because his next thrust was so intense that you had to hold on to the wall with your palms to steady yourself while your cheeks pressed more and more against the cold ceramic as he had his way with you.

You lost track of time.

You had no idea how long you had been here. You didn't know how long he had gone haywire in you. Your knees were starting to shake when he turned you around, and your eyes fell on his soaked hair sticking to his forehead and clumping eyelashes blinking slowly. You considered yourself lucky for not only seeing such a marvel but also tasting him and feeling him.

With such hunger, he kissed your lips like he hadn't had them in years. You felt the hard tiles press against your back as he pushed himself inside, without hesitating to move up and down. Over and over again, you were lauded, his panting echoing within four walls.

So many times that you wanted to open your mouth to protest, but every time he took one turgid nipple into his mouth. Heat surged through your blood as his teeth scraped over the end of one, and you moaned instead of complaining. You couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt to feel him inside you, his tongue twirling around your other breast.

The pressure was built. You were consumed by the need to reach the climax in every action. Your stomach muscles were tightening and quivering.

He moved his hands from your hips to your head, tangles of wet hair wrapping around his fingers as he pulled you upwards for a kiss. His tongue immediately thrust past your lips, and he increased his speed.

God! Nothing had ever tasted as good as Vash, you thought. Sensual, decadent, the flavor of him slipped through you.

His hands clenched tighter in your hair, and his teeth bit the flesh of your neck, but you barely noticed, barely caring about the hickey it would leave as he threw back his head, groaning your name. The sight of him in the throes of his peak drove you to the edge, your inner muscles clamping around his hardness, pulling him in deeper.

You cried out, clutching his shoulders so tightly that your fingernails dug into his skin, and your screams were muffled against his chest. The plunk of shower water running between your feet could be heard as your body shook, and he leaned his forehead against your head.

His hot released load was dripping and sliding down on your thighs when you collapsed into his arms, feeling weak and unsteady. He held you close to himself, tight yet so gentle, stroking your wet hair with his fingers and leaving small pecks wherever he could reach. "We should eat something," he said, kissing the curve of your shoulder and the sides of your neck.

You were intoxicated by the pure, stunning power of his emotions, endless waves of love and desire, love and kindness, love and joy, love and tenderness.

So much tenderness.

You pressed your cheek against his chest and held him as he braced himself against the wall. Your bodies were wet and heavy with feeling, your hearts pounding with something more powerful than you had ever imagined possible.

Water was dripping from the mess of his hair. So gorgeous, you thought. Then you forgot where you were and what you were going to do. Your arms and limbs trembled slightly, and he was too terrified to let you go.

Too in love to let you go.

07:15 pm - July 21st

As night fell, the blue haze of the day lifted and revealed the stars brightening the sky, shining like beams of happiness, appearing still as an old photograph. The wind blew Vash's hair into a tousled bun.

He walked out of his favorite shop and leaned against the wall with a big bag of donuts and an even bigger smile. Yeah, he perfectly knew he would eat cake, but eating donuts had nothing to do with it: a warm-up, just appetizers.

His eyes followed the long shadows of townies milling around under the flickering lamppost lights, even though he couldn't make out any faces from such afar. He liked this town. It was so small that his typhoon hadn't yet found it. Or maybe because he was a stranger here. Nobody knew him, and everybody was safe from the curse his name carried around.

Everybody but you.

You already had been spelled by those fifteen letters.

V-A-S-H-T-H-E-S-T-A-M-P-E-D-E

Taking a look around, he tried to find a clock on a building or something. The birthday boy didn't want to be late. This and, of course, the words you uttered before you left the house:

"Eight o'clock, Vash. Don't forget! Don't be late! Don't be early and wear that white shirt. See you there!"

He sighed and took a donut from the bag, careful not to stain his white shirt with his clumsiness. It smelled great. What a heavenly aroma, smelling like honey. This and you and this town. It sure felt good to see happy people around.

Without further ado, he took a bite of his sugar-coated donut.

He expected it to taste incredible and super tasty, like being alive, but he couldn't feel it. There was a sense of numbness in him. The weight of an unknown worry was heavy against his heart.

A muffled whistle-like sound echoed in the distance, followed by several. Another shot rang out, this time sounding like it was meant. Suffocating silence, creaking doors, and screams that tore the sky open.

He felt strangely dull, as if his connection with his body had been cut off. The bag fell to the ground, and the donuts scattered around. People were crying, weeping, but all he could hear was the wind's wails in his ears, slapping sharply against his face.

He took uncertain steps forward. The area outside the saloon looked like more than a graveyard. It was worse than he had expected. There were injured people everywhere; some collapsed on the ground.

From where he stood, he counted two men, one woman, and a child dead. Open eyes, mouths agape, fresh blood still dripping down limp bodies. Where were you? Something about that realization struck fear into his veins.

The horrifying possibilities flashed through his mind. His mind was blank as to what had happened. Were you okay?

Vash looked over the crowd, still staring, waiting for you to show up. Waiting for you to find him. But you weren't anywhere to be found. In the chaos, he ran from one to another, people scattered around, and he didn't see you. The terror of this moment kicked him in the gut.

So many thoughts were tangled in his head that he couldn't untie the insanity. He glanced back at the doors you were supposed to come out, opening it with a smile.

He waited. He waited longer than was reasonable. Then he called you. Quietly at first, then louder. He shouted your name. His chest was being torn apart by fear, squeezing his heart. A part of him was afraid to speak the words aloud, fearful of making them true.

His legs felt like they had been formed from fresh clay, like he was moving through a fog. His voice reached everyone, pleading this time, running forward until the doors were in his line of sight.

"Is she in?" he asked, but no one answered. Everybody was frozen by the agony of the moment. All that could be heard were silent weeps and the wind howling.

Vash gulped, his throat all dry, and walked in; his lips parted, his eyes wide and horrified. The blood in his veins all ice.

Pain.

It began at his feet, bloomed up his legs, unfurled in his stomach, and worked its way up to his throat, only to explode behind his eyes. The sudden scream ripped itself from his lungs. It wrenched free from his chest without warning, without permission, and it was a scream so loud, so hard and violent, it broke his back. His hands were pressed against his knees, his head half bent.

Echoes of his misery would never be lost in the wind or carried away by the clouds but would always live between these walls. Forever.

His voice was unfamiliar to him. The horror, shock, and dread that flooded his body was something he had never felt — never known before, not like this.

The popped balloons on the walls. A half-ruined cake on the counter. Blood-stained confetti all around. A shoeless foot lying on the floor. Locks of tousled hair slipped from the makeshift shroud.

The numbness was now merciful, at least for a few moments. Then, everything crashed.

Vash fell next to the body. The knowledge rushed up in him, choking off his breath. Another scream tore its way out. Then another, and another. It felt as if his very essence had been ripped from him.

He pulled you into his arms, clutching you tightly, barely able to breathe. His fingers seized your hair and yanked it from your face. The golden strands of his hair fell onto your bloody face. You were called over and over, but it didn't seem like anything more than a sound. His pleas were like commands, begging you to open your eyes, but you ignored them as if playing a nasty prank.

Vash held both of your hands in his. There was no touch. All he felt was an empty coldness. The silence grew even louder, consuming him like a pitch-black shadow. Biting his lip, he tasted a faint metallic taste on his tongue. The desperation in his expression, the grief carved into his features, the way he looked at you as if he were about to pass the gates of hell and utter his last farewell.

Suddenly, he wanted to laugh one of those strange, high-pitched, delusional laughs that marked the end of sanity. Because this world, he thought, had a terrible sense of humor. It always seemed to mock him, making his life more miserable and ruining his dreams by destroying everything he ever loved.

You were dead. This pain was truly real.

Vash broke apart. Sobs cracked open his chest and cried until the pain spiraled and peaked; he bawled until his head throbbed and his eyes swelled. His fingers dug into your back as he called, desperate for a sign of hope. Your hollow body was clutched to his heart, and he felt the injustice roared through him. The feeling fractured him apart. His forehead pressed against your cheek, and his mouth trembled as he whispered, "C-Come ba-ck." The words fell apart. He could only mumble stuttering sounds.

He kissed your knuckles briefly. Would you have blushed if you were still breathing, whining about how cheesy he was being? He could only imagine your reactions now.

Hot tears streamed down his face, and he squeezed his eyelids shut in an effort to make them stop. He sat there unmoving for quite some time with choppy breathing and watery eyes.

09:00 pm - July 21st

Things were in a state of disarray in his vision. People were coming in with dropped shoulders and muffled weeps in the air. Someone approached and touched his shoulder for comfort, and a fierce unknown rage emerged in him. He could kill the man there but would have to let go of you, and he couldn't.

Vash turned his face back and held you so tightly like you would be able to feel the faint beat of his heart. He wept, cradling you, and he wouldn't move nor speak a word other than your name. It was like seeing the sun through the water. His tears fell, but you wouldn't be able to kiss them away this time.

"How dare you mourn her!" Someone bent over him. "You killed her!" Weak fists landed on his back but hurt him more than torture and shots. "She died because of you! You bring misfortune and destruction everywhere you go!" yelled Rosalina with a devastated voice.

Words, he thought, were such unpredictable creatures. No gun, knife, army, or enemy could ever be more powerful than a sentence. Blades may cut and kill, but words would stab and stay, burying into the future, digging and failing to rip his skeletons from his flesh. These weren't nice things to say. Not now. Not after what he was going through. Not when his white shirt was covered in your blood, and his hands burned with the bit of warmth left in your body.

Vash continued to hold you, silent and steady, even as the tears receded, even when he began to tremble. He had you tight as his body shook, held you close when the tears started anew, held you in his arms, and stroked your hair, whispering, "Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me." His voice was a terrible thing, cracked and broken.

He felt guilty. Anyone who got close to him was doomed to die. He thought his actions and inactions always took away his loved ones. Oh, stubborn, stubborn Vash! Of course, he would blame himself for something that had nothing to do with him.

The once happy eyes of Rosalina spilled hot tears on his shirt. "For two years, you lived among us, looked into our eyes every day, and lied about who you are, Vash the Stampede!"

Several gasps were heard from the crowd, followed by whispers filling the air.

Vash the stampede was here.

Chaos.

Questions flew, and weeps were muffled. Everyone was shocked, horrified, freaking out. You had long been forgotten, he thought.

"Is he the most wanted Vash the Stampede?"

"Were there raids in the saloon because of him?"

"The bounty hunters were after the money on his head?"

"They shot us and ran away because of this man?"

"This guy really had us fooled!"

"Is this true?"

Vash's reality was too broken, too distracted to process these kinds of talks. This horrible instant was one mess of insanity in his mind. He couldn't make any sense of it. He didn't answer a word to anyone and just stroked your cold cheek with as much gentleness as he could.

Someone shouted, "What's the hell's the matter with you? Say something. At least make some excuse!"

"Shame on you for bringing danger to our town!"

"We've heard enough of your crying!"

"At least have the decency and go die like a man!"

"No normal human being could cause all these horrible things! He had to be a monster! Who else could have been responsible?"

"Did you feel some of the pain of people who died because of your reckless behaviors?"

He was dying, he thought. He must be. He thought he knew what death was like, but he must have been wrong because this was a whole different kind of dying—a whole different kind of pain.

"That girl died protecting this demon?"

"She knew about the humanoid typhoon all this time." The man gulped and pointed at your dead body. "Our loved ones are dead and hurt because of her stupid devotion to this walking disaster!"

The scene was quite unbelievable, horrifying. His mind reeled, incapable of comprehending or processing what he was hearing. Everything in him came to a halt while his thoughts caught up. It was for him that you died. The shock brought a quietness, a moment to gird his soul for what would come. Truth poured gasoline on the spark of denial in his belly, burning him alive. It fashioned itself into a knife and stabbed him in the eye. And the funny thing was, he didn't want to do anything to stop it. Anguish was all that remained of you; he embraced it with all he was. He deserved it. So he bled with a smile on his face, wishing the pain to end him this time.

"If that self-righteous whore had revealed his whereabouts, not only would she be alive now, but the others wouldn't be dead either!"

Blackness seemed to press against his eyes, ears, and throat. He couldn't breathe, hear, or see clearly, and the suffocation of the moment was so terrifying that he was almost sure he had lost his mind.

How many insults can one person take before throwing in the fucking towel? For him, that number was infinite, but for you, he wouldn't allow even one.

He stood up and grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt. He pointed a gun at the infamous criminal, but Vash ripped the gun out of his hand. "What did you say about her?" he asked with a voice like a rusty saw that wanted to cut the bone. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were burning in absolute rage. Nobody had seen him like this. Not once. People were so used to his calm and kind demeanor that this side of him scared them. If they wanted a typhoon, they'd get one. He was fortified with a new kind of anger, a desperate, animal intensity that overpowered him and forced him to stand still.

The man was trembling in his grip. "N-nothing," he finally said. Vash's pulse was racing, breathing heavily, almost like he would burst. The muscles in his hand tensed, causing him to crack his knuckles. Almost like a blazing inferno, his blood boiled in his veins, burning him from the inside out. He was mainly angry with himself, but that wouldn't stop his urge to hunt each and every single one of those bounty hunters, just to make sure they suffered and felt a lot of pain, just like he felt. No longer did he want to show sympathy to anyone. Maybe he was really a monster, wasn't he?

"If they learn your name and start haunting you, we'll run away! We'll run, run, run, and keep running as far as we have to! And when things calm down, we'll settle by their side again. You won't kill. You'll never kill anyone again, and one day, people will begin seeing you as I do."

Recalling your words, his eyes widened, and his fist loosened. The man's face was devoid of color. Vash tried to read his eyes for something but saw nothing but terror in the end. He was afraid.

No.

Your race was merciless. How could they say such a thing about one of their own? This man probably deserved the worst, but you didn't want Vash to be cruel, only to be kind. And he couldn't do this to you. Because if he did and an afterlife existed, you'd probably be the only sad person in heaven right now.

Dropping the man on the floor, Vash crushed his gun in his hand and tossed it away. The stranger was groaning and hunching over when he returned to you.

It was the first time Rosalina had seen him like this, her brain unable to digest or process this information. Unlike the man she knew, this one had cold, sharp eyes only focused on you. The look on his face was different. Scary, even. Somehow that worried her even more. She might be sad for you, even hate her people for having talked disparagingly about you; maybe she would give them a piece of her mind and grieve your loss. Maybe. Right now, though, her child's safety was her top priority, and this blood-stained man didn't look very stable.

"Listen, we don't want to die! Leave here and never come back!"

Vash sat by your side, helpless, as if something had broken inside him and all his emotions had poured out. When you left him alone, did you take some part of him with you?

"Get her out of this town. This disaster would've never happened if you hadn't stumbled into this town. She'd still be alive," Rosalina said firmly, staring at your peaceful face like you were in a deep sleep.

Vash didn't answer or even glance at the woman who wanted to help you celebrate his birthday. Like an orphan, he pulled you impossibly close, your bodies soldering together. He pondered Rosalina's words and the night he saw you and wondered whether your life would have been different if he hadn't met you. Who was even capable of answering this? As he whispered your name and begged you for forgiveness, his tears washed the blood from your cheeks, and Rosalina felt something inside her die. As she watched him willingly take all blame upon himself alone, as if he was already familiar with this feeling, she felt something break apart inside her.

Vash resembled his wanted posters now. A tall man with blond hair covered in red, but this time, it was your blood instead of his famous coat. His hands were trembling so hard he couldn't even recognize them anymore. Even so, he picked you up, cuddling you in his arms, only to notice the hickey on your neck from hours ago. Pain cramped his joints, breaking away every single bone in his body. He wanted to shriek through the sky; he wanted to fall to his knees again and sob into the ground. He didn't know why the agony wasn't finding an escape through his tears.

"Think way back. Remember that story I told you? About the man that found a blank ticket that could take him anywhere he wanted? That man is all of us. Where you go is yours to choose. You'll always have that ticket in your pocket, no matter what darkness life throws at you. When you're ready, write down the destination. I promise you. You'll be alright."

He wished Rem was right, but there was no such concept as happiness in this world. There was only endless strife, destruction, and death. There was only loneliness, pain, and regret. Whatever he did, no matter how much he pleaded, no matter how much he wished with all his heart to make things right, life always had a way of taking everything from him.

It seemed like Vash the Stampede's life had peaked, and nothing that came after you would ever matter to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you, but he didn't want any after you. You were the light he never knew he needed. He was lost in the darkness, wandering life without direction. Then he found you, and you brought him warmth and light. You were the one who saved him. Twice and he couldn't do the same.

As he walked forward, he pleaded with his bones to remain steady, to carry him through the rest of the day and into the rest of his meaningless life. He passed through the crowd as if he had never been a part of them. The sand dragged under his feet, his knees weak, but he held you tight and walked away. His footprints grew smaller and smaller until there was only the empty silence of a long, lonely night.

Let's let him be for now. Everyone deserves to be left alone for a moment or two, right? Be that as it may, he always lost his most precious ones on his birthdays. Maybe it would have been better if he had never been born so that he would not have to endure so much grief alone. Or perhaps it was the way it was so we could be part of his life.

Author note: My real world had grown so dark that I didn't want to live in it. That's why I escaped and spent the day in a world darker than mine. Please accept my sincere apologies for dragging you down here with me ^_^

If you have anything to say, don't be shy to use ASK and the comment sections.

Disclaimers: This fan-written story contains quotes from "The Song of Achilles", "King Killer Chronicles", "Shatter Me" series and "Reminders of him" books, "Hamlet" play, and "I am unafraid with him" poem by pencap on Tumblr.

The arts are from "Trigun Stampede" anime.

921 notes · View notes

punkshort · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter warnings: explicit smut (I don't know how much detail I should go into without giving too much away, but let's call it porn with a sprinkling of plot), language

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

The sun was bright as it beamed through the window, washing over your face and making you squint before you even opened your eyes. You groaned and rolled over, wondering how you had forgotten to close the curtains last night when you realized you weren't in bed, but on the couch in the living room. You cracked one eye open and looked around, spotting the wine glasses on the coffee table and the fire that had gone out long ago. Opening both eyes, you sat up and looked around the living room, then peered into the kitchen when you didn't see Joel. Looking down, you noticed he had covered you with a blanket at some point. You pushed it to the side and stood up to stretch, the side with your injury responding with a quick jolt, reminding you to take it easy.

You wandered into the kitchen looking for any sign of Joel. Anxiety set in as you wondered if he regretted last night, that maybe he was drunk, and you thought it meant more than it did. You paused at the bottom of the stairs when you heard water splashing from the bathroom off the master bedroom. He's probably just washing up.

You whipped your head around trying to remember where you put your backpacks yesterday, then spotted them in the den. You dug through your pack until you found a half-used tube of toothpaste. You squirted a glob onto your pointer finger and swished it around your teeth, cheeks and tongue as you walked to the kitchen to take a swig of water from your canteen and rinsed.

Trying to keep your nerves in check, you approached the stairs and slowly made your way up, listening as the sound of water stopped. You heard fabric rustling on the other side of the door when you entered the bedroom. The attempt at calming your nerves was a lost cause as you felt your heart hammering in your chest. You looked meekly around the bedroom, unsure what to do with yourself as he finished up. You wanted to sit on the bed, but you didn't want to look like you were just out there waiting for him to come fuck you. Finally, you decided to go into the closet where you kept some spare clothes so you could pretend to be busy folding them. You turned away from the bathroom and took one step in the direction of the closet when the door swung open.

He must have washed his hair because it was wet and slicked back. He had put a flannel on with his usual jeans, but he left the top two buttons undone on his shirt, giving you a peek at his tanned chest. Your mouth hung open as you took him in before finally meeting his heated stare.

"Hi," you murmured, the tension palpable. Joel took two long strides and grabbed your face in his hands, pulling you up to him as his lips found yours. He sighed against your mouth when he felt you return the kiss, massaging your lips on his, then granted you access when your teeth grazed his lower lip. He walked you backwards until you hit the wall of the bedroom, his tongue hungrily exploring your mouth, making you moan. He lowered his hands from your face to reach down and grip the backs of your thighs before yanking both your legs up to wrap around his waist, pinning you between him and the wall.

You squeaked in surprise and grabbed onto his broad shoulders to keep you balanced, your tongue swirling with his as one of his hands slid up your thigh to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze while his other hand braced himself on the wall behind you. He ground his hips into your aching core, making you break the kiss and cry out. Even through the thick fabric of your jeans, the contact sent a jolt from your cunt to your fingertips. You gasped as his mouth latched onto your neck, nipping up and down your throat followed by soft licks to soothe any pain he may have caused.

"Joel," you panted, raking your nails through his wet hair and gently over his scalp, making his eyes roll back in his head as he moaned against your neck. "Please," you begged, grinding your hips against his to try to find some relief. He removed his hand from the wall and lifted you up, turning you both around and walked the few steps to the bed, tossing you down to land on your back. He stood between your legs at the end of the bed, panting and staring down at you all sprawled out for him. You reached down to unbutton your jeans and shimmied out of them, tossing them on the floor. His gaze immediately locked onto your underwear, which were nothing special, just a pair of light blue cotton panties, but your arousal was evident by the darkness spreading at the center, making him groan loudly and palm his erection over his jeans.

You leaned back on your elbows with your knees bent and legs partially spread. His gaze flicked up from your pussy to look you in the eye. His lips were parted as his chest heaved, and his pupils were blown wide as he ran his eyes down your body again, drinking you in. Even with your shirt still on, you were beginning to feel self-conscious under his stare.

"Don't you want me?" you asked him sweetly, making him tear his eyes off your body and back onto your face. Lips still parted, he nodded eagerly, and palmed his cock again. He had yet to say a single word to you and you were growing impatient.

"Then tell me," you said, watching as he swallowed roughly, "tell me how badly you want me."

He growled as he leaned forward on the bed, placing his fists on either side of you to hold himself up, and gently pressed his lips against yours again, slowly applying more pressure to your mouth as he inched forward, pushing you to lay flat on your back as he brought his knees to rest between your legs. He released your lips and lifted his head up to look at you, taking one of his hands still fisted next to you on the bed to gently cup your face. His gaze was soft, and his eyes sparkled from the sun peeking through the curtains as he admired you. You sighed and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze as he continued, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I wasted so much time, fought it for so long," he said, shaking his head, "I never thought I could feel this way again, then you showed up, talkin' back to me in that meeting in front of everyone."

He smiled at the memory, running his thumb over your soft lips.

"Couldn't get you out of my damn head, you know that?" He leaned down to give your lips a tender kiss as you whimpered at his sweet words. "Then the world went to hell, and there we were, protectin' each other, carin' for each other." You smiled up at him now, trying not to ruin the moment with tears. You placed your hand over the one he held on to your face, rubbing circles over his damaged knuckles.

"I don't think I can put into words how badly I want you, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I promise you, I ain't gonna waste another second spent with you ever again."

"Joel," you rasped, desperately trying to hold back your tears as he lifted his head up, and you looked back and forth between his eyes. You snaked your hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss you, pouring all your emotions into every bite on his lip and flick of your tongue. Joel ran his hand down your side to the bottom of your shirt, pushing it up as he slid his hand up your stomach and over your ribs until he reached your bra. He tucked his fingers underneath the fabric to palm your breast gently before expertly rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You cried out at the sensation and tipped your head backwards, arching your back and pushing yourself into his hand further. He leaned back on his knees to lift your shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. You laid underneath him, almost completely exposed, while he was still fully clothed. You whined and pulled at the waistband of his jeans, preventing him from staring at the pink scars along your ribs.

He slid off the bed to quickly shed his jeans and flannel, leaving him in just his boxers as he crawled back on top of you, pressing his warm skin against your own. The air was making the arousal soaking through your underwear feel cold against your skin, and you shuddered. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and placed gentle nips along your collarbone. He held himself above you on one forearm next to your head while his free hand went back to cup your other breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers. You were pinned underneath him, hardly able to move, but you ran your hands up his arms, feeling his muscles twitching under your touch. Your hands landed on his shoulders, and when he gave your nipple a particularly harsh pinch, you dug your fingers into his muscles, rolling your head to the side and let out a yelp.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured against your throat. "Let me make it feel better."

He bent his head down to latch onto the sore spot, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the tip. You moaned, threading your fingers through his drying curls. He released you from his mouth, hovering just over your breast, and gently blew across the wetness he left on your skin. The shock of going from warm to cold made your nipples harden even more, to the point where it was almost painful.

"Fuck, Joel, please," you begged him as he placed gentle kisses along your sternum. His eyes shot up to your face, taking pride in how unraveled you had become under him. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen, and you were struggling to catch your breath. He hummed against your skin. He wanted to give you what you wanted, but he didn't want to rush, either.

"You're gonna have to give me a minute, sweetheart. I've been waitin' a long time for this." he said, sighing as his fingers danced around your ribs. He froze when he felt the shiny, uneven skin of your scars from when you were stabbed. Stabbed when you saved his life.

He lifted his head to get a better look at the injury, gently running his fingers along the edges, marveling at the way goosebumps raised immediately from your skin. He leaned down to press a soft kiss along each of the scars you carried, murmuring to himself after each one.

"What did you say?" you panted, struggling to focus on anything other than his touch.

He ran the tip of his nose over the scars before answering.

"I'm so proud of you, you're so brave and beautiful," he whispered. "I'd do anythin' to keep you safe."

You groaned, wondering if it was possible to have an orgasm from just words alone. You beamed from the praise and lifted your hips up to try to find friction, your cunt pulsing with need. Joel noticed the movement and glanced down between you, deciding to finally give in.

He rolled off you to lay on his side, then wrapped his fingers around the edges of your underwear, tugging them down to your ankles, where you kicked them off the rest of the way. He eagerly climbed back over you and nudged your knees open wider so he could kneel between them. He sat back on his heels and, using his thumbs, pulled open your folds. His jaw hung open, and with a long, drawn-out groan, dragged his eyes back up to yours.

"This all for me?" He drawled, his cock throbbing in his boxers. All you could do was nod, your chest heaving in anticipation. "You're soaked, fuckin' hell, you poor thing," he said, looking back down at your dripping cunt. "D'you want me to take care of you?" he asked lowly, his eyes a darker shade of brown you've never seen on him before. You nodded again, still gasping for air. He reached his bandaged hand up and lightly gripped the underside of your chin.

"Tell me," he growled your previous words back to you, as he struggled to restrain himself from just sliding inside you right away. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make you feel good. He wanted it to mean something.

"I need you," you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. "Please, baby, I'm gonna explode if - oh!" Your back arched off the mattress and your head tilted back, mouth agape when he finally slid a thick finger inside you.

"'Baby?'" Joel panted, "Oh, I like that."

You let out a filthy moan as he set a steady pace, plunging his finger in and out, his thumb brushing against your clit teasingly before he slid a second finger inside. You bent your knees as you rocked your hips along with his thrusts, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched you come undone. With his thumb, he pressed down on your clit, swirling it around slowly as he watched your pleasure building, your gasps for air became harsher, and your moans morphing into cries.

He leaned forward on his free hand, his fist pushing into the mattress next to you, as his other hand picked up the pace inside your cunt. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were glazed over as he watched your face contort in pleasure, your eyes squeezed shut, your lower lip trapped in your teeth, moaning his name. When he pressed onto your clit a little harder and began wiggling his thumb side to side, it set something off. You gripped his wrist that was next to you on the bed and your eyes snapped open, finally looking up at him.

"Joel," you panted, "J-Joel, I'm gonna, fuck, please," you begged, "please d-don't stop."

"You're doin' so good for me, sweetheart," he murmured, "I love watchin' you like this. I can't wait to feel this tight pussy around my cock, but I need you to come for me first," you felt the coil in your stomach about to snap and you did your best to keep your eyes open. When he said, "That's it, let go... come for me," your body stilled as you gasped, your vision went fuzzy and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand, biting down.

Joel removed his fingers and leaned down to plant a small kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and removed your hand so he could press his lips against yours before resting your foreheads together, waiting until you caught your breath and came back down to earth. You stared up at him lazily, trailing a finger over his shoulder and across his collarbone, noticing for the first time he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You looked back at his face as he smiled down at you, but you could see the restraint behind his eyes, desperately trying to give you time to recover, but he was struggling.

You reached down between you and slid your hand inside his boxers, brushing up against the tip of his cock. You made your way down to the base and wrapped him in your hand. He hissed and his eyes fluttered closed as you began to work him up and down, gathering his precum with each stroke.

"Do you like that?" you asked him quietly, twisting your wrist back and forth now as you pumped him up and down, his breath growing erratic and the arm that supported him began to shake.

"Yes," he rasped. His forehead rested on your shoulder so you could feel the tickle of his exhale on your neck. "But you gotta stop, or else this'll be over before it began."

You let out a low chuckle but did as you were told. Once you let him go, you hooked your fingers on the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down as far as you could reach. He lifted his forehead off your shoulder so he could fling them into the corner of the room, then settled back over you again, leaning down to give you a quick kiss as his knees nudged your inner thigh. You opened your legs up wider so he could settle his hips in between, his heavy cock pressed between you both, the length of him sliding between your folds as his hips gently rocked back and forth.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he felt your slick coating him. He was rubbing against your clit, and it was driving you crazy, already feeling the start of another orgasm building.

"Joel, please, I need you," you whispered against his mouth. He lifted his hips up and with his fist, lined himself up, the tip of his cock gently prodding at your entrance a few times before he pushed himself inside your aching heat.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned as he inched further inside you, stretching you out. He tried to go slow, but he couldn't hold back any longer. He buried himself inside you with one quick motion, making you both cry out. He gave you a minute to adjust before he leaned forward and rested his head back on your shoulder, rocking slowly into you as you raked your fingers through his hair.

"You're so warm, so beautiful," he murmured with his eyes closed. "You feel so good," his hand came down to squeeze the meaty part of your hip as he continued his steady pace. He didn't want to rush, he wanted to savor every moment with you. You bit your lip and lightly scratched your nails down his back, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up.

Joel lifted his head from your shoulder to press his lips against yours before peppering your jaw and sucking on the pulse point in your neck. You groaned as he lifted one of your knees up and pressed it against your chest, sliding out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours, making you see stars. He created the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot when he brought your knee up, and it was dizzying.

He continued down your neck as his pace increased, leaving small bites along your collarbone. All you could hear was your skin slapping together and his quiet grunts that accompanied each thrust. You could feel your orgasm building in your lower abdomen, the familiar tension brewing as his pubic bone made direct contact with your clit each time he fucked into you.

"Joel," you whined, trying to warn him you were close.

"Keep takin' it," he grunted into your neck. "Just like that."

You squeezed your eyes shut trying to stave off your orgasm, but the noises he was making and the spot he was hitting inside was too much. You arched off the bed with a sob, digging your nails into his back. Your lips and fingers felt numb as your second orgasm washed over you, then finally you relaxed into the mattress. Joel sped up now, burying himself into you at a ruthless pace. He lifted his mouth from your neck and met your gaze.

"Tell me," he croaked again, his hair a mess and his face flush. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Joel," you whimpered. You were becoming sore and overstimulated as he pounded into you, but you kept talking. "I'm yours. I've been yours since we met," you continued as his thrusts became sloppy and his jaw clenched, focused on your words. "I wish you fucked me on the table in the conference room that night."

That sent him over the edge, pulling out at the last minute with a guttural moan and spurting hot ropes of cum all over your inner thighs.

Joel had to fight to keep himself from collapsing on top of you, instead rolling himself to the side at the last minute, gasping for air. He wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you into him, planting small kisses on your temple and eyelids as you hummed, trying to collect yourself after two back-to-back orgasms. You finally opened your eyes and looked at him, his neck still splotched with red from the exertion and the sweat drying on his forehead. You couldn't help yourself. You reached your hand up to grasp the back of his head and brought him down for a burning kiss, running your tongue along his with a groan.

He sighed against your mouth before forcing himself to stand. He went to the bathroom to wet a rag and brought it back, gingerly cleaning up your thighs as you laid spread out before him. Your spent cunt was all he could focus on for a minute before he cleaned up the mess between your legs, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, then dropped the rag in the sink before sliding back beside you in bed.

"We should probably get up," you said to him, your eyes still closed. "You need to find a car battery."

"Batteries aren't goin' anywhere," he murmured, tightening his grip on your waist in case you were going to try to get up and start the day.

You laid there for a while, unsure if he had fallen asleep or not, but you felt so relaxed you weren't sure yourself if you were drifting in and out. You rubbed circles with your thumb along the back of his hand that clutched your waist and watched the sunlight dance along the walls of the bedroom. For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

"You’re right, that was worth the wait," you whispered. His face was buried in your hair, his breath tickling your neck, and his soft snores lulled you back to sleep.

Later that morning, Joel ventured out to the various garages in the neighborhood, trying to find a battery with enough juice to power the radio. You tried to busy yourself with unpacking and repacking your backpacks, making sure you were fully stocked with first aid, clothes, food, ammo, and rags - anything to keep your mind off the last 24 hours and how things have changed. But hard as you tried, your mind kept wandering to the feeling of Joel's hands and mouth all over you.

You heard a soft rumble of thunder in the distance. Looking out the window, you could see the sky was getting dark quickly. You glanced up and down the street to see if you could see Joel nearby but saw nothing.

You were in the small pantry, organizing the canned goods you collected and deciding which you would use for dinner tonight when Joel strolled through the front door, calling your name. You popped your head out from the pantry to grab his attention, noticing two car batteries in his arms. He put them both on the kitchen counter and turned to you, your hands each holding a canned vegetable.

“I think one of these might work,” he told you excitedly, "Got back just in time, it's about to pour." You tried to hide your disappointment. You knew that getting the radio to work was the beginning of the end to your blissful, domestic life at Hidden Springs. You gave him a pained smile and put the cans on the counter.

“That’s great,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “Do you want corn or green beans tonight?”

Joel immediately picked up on your mood, taking a step forward and gently took hold of your chin in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for answers. You shook your head, still dodging his gaze, trying to release his grip, but it only made him grab you tighter.

“I don’t want this to end,” you finally admitted, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I’m not ready to leave.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, stroking his thumb along your jaw before pulling you forward to place his lips over yours for the first time since you left the bedroom. You moaned, wrapping your arm around the back of his neck to pull him closer and deepening the kiss. His tongue flicked against your lips, and you opened your mouth, allowing him to explore deeper. The desire damn near suffocated you as you ran your hand down his chest to his waistband, pulling him forward and groaning at the feeling of his stiffening cock against your hip. His hands ran down the length of you before settling on the back of your thighs and lifted you up to sit on the kitchen island. Joel broke the kiss and took half a step back to admire you, raking his eyes up and down your body.

“I had a fantasy like this, once,” he admitted, rubbing his hands along your thighs.

“Yeah?” you whined, chasing his mouth as he hovered over your own but stayed just out of reach. “Tell me.” He groaned at the now familiar command, gripping your hips tightly.

“I wanted to fuck you on my kitchen island,” he confessed, staring you dead in the eye as he watched for your reaction. “I wanted to sink my fingers inside you and watch you come, then I wanted to stuff you full of my cock and make you scream.” A rumble of thunder sounded closer now, the skies looking like they were about to open up.

Your head dropped to the side and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words, panting for breath now as you reached out to grab his shoulder and pull him closer to you. Your lips latched onto his feverishly, and slipping down from the counter, unbuttoned your jeans before breaking the kiss and turning around, pressing your ass against his hips. You looked back at him innocently over your shoulder.

“Show me," you told him, as the rain began to fall quietly outside.

That was all the permission he needed to unzip your pants and yank them down along with your underwear, tapping your ankle with his own to make you spread your legs as far as you could with your legs still caged by your jeans. You obliged, jutting your hips out to him, anxiously waiting for his touch. He ran his hands down your ass slowly before giving one cheek a firm smack, prompting a small cry from you. He wasted no time before he took two fingers to explore along your slit, feeling the wetness collecting there as you moaned and tilted your head back.

“Are you always this ready, sweetheart?” he mumbled in your ear, slipping one finger inside you as you gasped and shook your head.

“No,” you replied, rolling your head to the side, “only for you.”

He groaned at your words, pushing a second finger inside you, making you wail as he thrusted them in and out, his breath ragged matching your moans. He pumped his fingers inside of you from behind, your hips matching his pace as you tried to chase your high, his other hand digging mercilessly into your hip.

“Joel,” you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure build. “I’m gonna come, baby, please!”

“Then do it,” he snarled in your ear, a flash of lightning reflected on the windows. His hand released your hip and went down to hastily undo his belt. “Come all over my fingers, then I’m gonna make you scream my name with my cock.” He pressed a finger on your aching clit two, three times before you came, gasping and throwing your head back.

He didn't waste any time, quickly removing his fingers from your cunt and pressing the tip of his cock against your opening, giving you only a few seconds to realize what was happening before he pushed inside you with a deep groan. This time, he hardly gave you any time to adjust as he snapped his hips against your ass over and over, making you cry out and bite down on your lip, gripping the edges of the counter. He leaned forward and sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder as you bucked against him, your hips desperately trying to match his rhythm. The rain beat steadily on the windows now as you could feel beads of sweat beginning to form at the sides of your head, gasping for air at the intense pace Joel set. You turned your head as far as you could to look back over your shoulder at him, his jaw slack as he stared down where he pummeled into you, your ass rippling with each thrust.

"Was it like this?" you asked, panting for breath. He finally looked up and saw you watching him, a smile spreading across your face.

"No," he grunted, fucking into you faster, making you squeeze the edges of the counter even harder. "This is so much fuckin' better."

You groaned and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your pussy squeezed around him, and he could tell you were about to come.

"That's it," he panted, pulling you up from the counter so your back was flush against his chest, the new angle sending you over the edge. "Let go. Let me feel it. I can't get enough."

As promised, you screamed out his name at the same time thunder roared outside. You felt a jolt go through your whole body as you came, your slick coating his cock, gazing helplessly at the ceiling as he rammed into you, chasing his own release.

"That's my girl," he gasped in your ear, his arm wrapped around your chest so you could barely move. "Fuck, you feel so good, like you were made for me-" He grunted and then quickly pulled out, making you whine at the sudden loss, but then you felt the warmth of his release coating your ass and dripping down the backs of your thighs.

You slumped forward over the island to catch your breath, and Joel followed suit, resting the side of his face between your shoulder blades as his hands slid down your arms down to find your own hands, splayed flat on the countertop, intertwining your fingers together. Your eyes fluttered closed, relishing the intimacy before he inevitably pulled away to clean you both up. After tucking himself back into his jeans, he kneeled on the floor to loop his fingers around the sides of your panties, still wrapped around your ankles, and pulled them up, peppering the backs of your legs with kisses along the way.

He began to pull on your jeans, but halfway up you reached down to take them from him, wiggling your hips as the denim slid around your waist. You turned around to face him, buttoning them back up before planting a bruising kiss on his lips. He groaned against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face before pulling back, resting your foreheads together.

"You're gonna wear me out, sweetheart," he murmured as his thumb stroked your jaw. You sighed, leaning into his touch and gazed up at him through your eyelashes.

"I can't help it, I just keep thinking about all the times we could have been doing this," you whispered, your hand coming up to cover his own. "You could have been bending me over the desk in your office a year ago, instead of a kitchen counter in the middle of nowhere."

He inhaled sharply at the visual of fucking you in his office, his hand covering your mouth as he railed into you.

"Filthy girl," he muttered, pressing his lips firmly against yours before adding, "I thought about doin' that constantly, drove me insane." He could feel the blood rushing to his cock again, wondering how it was possible to want somebody this badly.

You hummed as you ran your hands up and down his torso, reaching up to finally plant a kiss on that heart shaped patch of skin in his beard, his hand dropping from your face to grip your upper arm, and another roll of thunder echoed through the house.

"Here are those reports you asked for, Mr. Miller," you whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, the low groan in his throat vibrating against your lips. You were already soaking through your underwear again, sighing as you turned your head to press small kisses on the other side of his neck. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"Yeah," he growled, his grip on your arm tightening. "Get on your fuckin' knees and suck me off while I hop on this conference call."

He felt the smile tug across your lips against his throat, reaching down to palm his impossibly hard cock over his jeans.

"Whatever you need, sir," you murmured. You pulled away and sunk to your knees on the floor, placing your hand over his belt when you froze. You thought you heard a shout outside, but it was hard to tell through the thunderstorm. You frowned, looking up at Joel to see if he heard it too, but he was already looking through the kitchen and past the living room out the front window, his eyes widening, then ducked down behind the kitchen island where you were already squatting.

"Shit," he whispered, peering one eye around the corner of the island to look out the window. He saw at least four men carrying rifles and shotguns, shouting to each other over the rain, kicking the door in across the street and waving their arms, motioning for two more men to follow, as they ran inside the empty house to get out of the storm.

"How many?" You whispered, even though you knew they couldn't possibly hear you.

"Six, maybe more," he said through clenched teeth. Once he was sure they were all inside the house, he turned back to you. "We gotta be quick. Grab our packs and coats, I'll go get our weapons and we gotta sneak out the back," he told you, jutting his chin towards the mud room door off the kitchen. "Once this storm lets up, they'll come back out." He saw the look in your eye, and he put a stop to it before you could even say anything.

"There's too many, we can't take 'em sweetheart, I'm sorry." He knew you didn't want to leave, but you both knew this day would come sooner or later. "Now, c'mon, go get our stuff, stay as low as you can so they don't see you in the windows."

You turned away from him and army crawled along the kitchen floor into the den, slowly pulling each of your backpacks towards you, staying below the windows in the room that faced the street. You slung yours over your back and hooked his around your wrist as you turned back, still flat on the floor, and pulled yourself back into the kitchen, shoving his pack near the back door and shrugging yours off to leave next to his. You noticed the door leading to the garage was cracked, and you heard Joel rummaging in the garage for your weapons. Lucky for him, there were no windows to avoid in there.

You continued to crawl towards the living room where you saw your coats draped over the arm of the couch, pulling them down slowly, thankful the rain was coming down so hard now that it was making it difficult to see outside.

By the time you made it back into the kitchen, he was already waiting behind the island with your weapons in hand. You tossed him his jacket and shimmied yours on, zipping it up before pulling your pack back on, now sitting behind the island with him.

"I just repacked these this morning while you were out," you whispered as he pulled his backpack on. "Whatever we're missing, we can get along the way." He nodded, handing you your bow and handgun, while he shouldered his rifle and slipped his revolver into the back of his jeans.

"You ready?" He asked, meeting your gaze. You nodded, trying to hold back your emotions, knowing it was stupid to get attached to a house. He reached his hand out to cup your jaw, knowing what you were thinking without having to say it. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours quickly, then dropped his hand to crouch along the kitchen floor, motioning for you to follow him through the mud room and out the back.

Under the cover of the sheets of rain and neighboring houses, you followed Joel through the backyard and towards the woods surrounding your little sanctuary, throwing one last look over your shoulder, committing the image of the white house with blue shutters to your memory before turning back and facing the dense forest ahead.

Chapter Fifteen

Tag list: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby

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97keanu · 10 months ago

Note

Please can you write something to do with young John and the ballerina kinda like a continuation for the smoking fic

Ah yes, the infamous shotgunning the cigarette fic… I have gotten a lot of requests for that one, and have tried a few times now to actually sit down and write for it, but haven’t had any luck in producing something that I thought was worthy of posting. I have been working on a bigger project for my writing, but seeing this ask today inspired me to finally come up with something to further this idea. I will link the original fic here as well if anyone would like to read that one first, but you don’t need to in order to read this one! Thank you for sending this ask in today, and believing in my writing enough to want to read more, it means the world to me <3

Premise: It’s been days since you last saw Jardani, and all you’re left with is the taste of his lips on yours, and the smoke of his cigarette in your lungs. That and the memories you two made together here in this place of shadows and secrets. You reflect tonight as you lean out your window of your room, a cigarette loose in your hand.

Tags/CW: young!john wick, ballerina!reader, smoking, yearning, love that blossoms where it should not grow, aching, melancholy, a unspoken connection, drabble 1.1k words.

It doesn’t taste the same, not without his softness breathing the smoke into your lungs, breathing life into your body that aches for more than this. The want inside you doesn’t burn anymore, not when he’s gone. It smolders.

You feel like a fire that was left out in the cold too long with no one to stoke it, and he’s only been gone a week. You knew that when you and Jardani shared that moment, you may never see him again. That he was on his way to getting out of this place, that he had become what The Director always wanted from him. A weapon. A tool. A dog that bites on command.

He would make her a lot of money, this much you knew.

Still, you sit against the window sill of your little crummy room, the walls here having seen more girls than you can imagine in it’s time, seeing them come here innocent, then turned into cold blooded killers like a stone overworked until smooth. The smoke from your cigarette thinly rises to the sky, the cold still chilling you to the bone, no one here to share that experience with. You remember when you first came here, first begun your trek into this underground world, ferried here as some forgotten child on the street. You met Jardani soon after, his stay having started when he was much younger than you, you were somehow lucky to begin your training at fifteen in comparison. Now, at eighteen, you wonder what your life could have been like without all this, without him…

Back then, everyone seemed like an enemy. You couldn’t trust any of the other ballerinas, they would take your spot as soon as you gave them the chance. When you were assigned to a new ballet The Director was producing, you wondered who your ballet partner would be this time. When a tall, lanky boy walked in, ordered to practice with you, you had no idea what to think of him at first.

He walked with poise, but his eyes didn’t seem to meet anyone’s. That was until, they met yours. You couldn’t help your heart thumping at that contact, of the thought of actually being seen after hiding yourself away for so long, trying not to give too much attention to anyone in fear that they would give too much attention to you. And yet, here he was, looking at you, really looking, observing you with those puppy dog eyes of his. Later you would realize those eyes had grown into that of a wolf, primed and ready to strike in a moments notice, but for now, he was still young, still figuring it all out.

He had figured out one thing then, which was that he didn’t wish to dance with anyone else after you.

When you two moved together, it was as if you anticipated each others next movements. You felt light as a the brush of cold snow on warm cheeks, barely there at all in his arms. Neither of you knew what that really meant back then, you didn’t ever really even speak to each other.

No, Jardani was the silent type, he always was. And you didn’t try to crack that shell of his, not by poking and prodding him with questions the way the other ballerinas may have tried. Everyone knew Jardani was one of the most skilled here, they wanted to know him better, wanted to know their competition. But you were never competing with him, you let him guide you when and where he wanted on his own terms, and he gave you the same. An alliance without a word said about it. It was as easy as breathing.

Soon enough, a year or two had passed that way, The Director obviously knowing that you two were made to be together on stage, and allowing you to mostly work together there. What you thought she didn’t know about, was when you left the small warmth of your room at night, traveling down the icy fire escape to the boy with sharp eyes waiting for you down below. You wonder now if that was why she sent him away. Was his work getting sloppy from thoughts of you filling his head? No, you could never kid yourself into thinking that, you never wanted to think about how he felt about you, it was safer to not think of what you had at all as being anything more than what it was.

An escape.

And escape you did. Into dark alleys where you said little, but shared the taste of each other’s breath. Finding something warm to cling to that just felt natural, easy, real.

Jardani never needed to tell you how he felt, his hands and eyes showed you, his lips caressed you, his teeth have tasted your flesh and you thought perhaps he may never let go. Now you wonder if he wanted to release you from between his teeth, and there is no way to find the answer in his eyes.

You take a long drag from your cigarette for a moment, holding it in, nowhere to alleviate this heaviness in your chest, not even when it billows out from your chest into the dark sky above.

God, would you ever even see him again?

Your stomach churned at the thought that maybe it wasn’t enough. All that training, all those years of pain and misery for nothing, for Jardani to walk out into that big world out there and get himself killed on his first mission…

You know that some of the others come back often, to talk with The Director about new work, but you also know that there are empty rooms that haven’t been filled since their owners went off for their first taste of blood, never to return.

“Please,” you whisper into the night air, the wind stealing your voice. “Let me see him again, I don’t care how, I don’t care when, but let me see him again…”

You feel as if you’re emptying your heart and soul into a cold, uncaring abyss that makes no promises. And yet, it helps ease the tension in your knuckles as you grip the window sill.

You sleep tonight wondering if he can feel your heart ache a million miles away.

Taglist: @emacarrigton @sunnythebunny7 @worldsgreatestsinner @discoscoob @nwheregirl @slutforsoliderboy @sebastianstanisahotmf @iovesia @brooxie3 @generalkenobee @desolatewrath

Feel free to ask to be added/removed from taglist!

#john wick x reader #young!john wick #john wick x f!reader #john wick fanfic #jardani jovonovich #my writing #••• ◛ ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵐᵃⁱˡ!#ask lila

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scream4ash · 3 months ago

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tw 4 addiction, talks of self harm, talks of disordered eating, mental illness, self destructive tendencies, just overall me being a piece of shit.

hey, guys. ash here. i guess i wanna apologize for just dissapearing. when i had originally started posting, and decided i was going to be a writer i was sober, n in a better headspace. since then i have relapsed, n fallen into the cycle of addiction n destruction n just overall have not been in a good place.

i have struggled with substance abuse since i was around 13, mainly being alcohol or weed due to easy access. more recently in january of this year i had started abusing antihistamines. that way, i could tell myself it was just medicine, there was no harm in what i was doing. for those of you who don’t know, antihistamines are anti-allergy meds.

on march 17, i had overdosed. my girlfriend had found me on my bedroom floor seizing out. i was brought to the hospital via ambulance, n released the same day. i would love to say i stopped, n i realized the way im going would kill me, but i didnt. i had overdosed again 8 days later. this time when i was brought in to the er i was put on suicide watch. then i wouldve denied any attempts at harming myself, but deep down i didnt care the outcome. though im just now realizing i never really cared about what’d happen to me, but i think part of me always knew. i knew the consequences, i decided that god shall decide my fate.

i was then transferred from the er to a psychiatric unit where i was treated for depression n bipolar disorder.

when i was released a week later i decided it would be a new chapter. i had gotten a job, i was sober, n most importantly people saw me.

that lasted for around two months. the euphoria i felt had all come crashing down. i had slowly rejoined the forgotten, my own friends forgetting about me. i had fell back into isolation n self-hatred. i was fading out again, n no one noticed. no one noticed when i had started skipping meals, or the way my body physically could not allow itself to keep a single bite of food down, or the lack of sleep, even the empty look in my eyes. i have yet again fallen into the hand of addiction, seeking comfort from what i know is no longer there, what may have never been there in the first place. i have barely left my house, only going outside to walk my dog. i can no longer recognize who i see in the mirror. more recently i havent even been able to get out of bed to go to work.

i feel the need to clarify that i am 19 years old, the life i am living is not the life to live. i am actually all alone in the world. guys, if u, or a friend, or a parent, or a loved one, hell even ur worst enemy. if anyone u know, or may know of is struggling with addiction, let them know you are there. let them know that you havent gave up, youre still fighting for them. if ur thinking about trying drugs, or alcohol, hell even weed. don’t. take it from me. dont.

i havent been very active on here, n i am sorry. i am going to reopen my requests and start posting short works/blurbs. i will also get to the requests in my inbox, n those will be filled as blurbs. again, i’m sorry 4 bailing on you guys.

also so super sorry for the sob story, idk. kinda feels good to get this shit of my chest. idk, makes me feel like u guys know me kinda.

@calumikey @ashen-char @f4ngtooth @theactualqueenelizabeth @brittanysnowsgf @iheartambss @phorsphyn @spiderb00 @allsovls @jennaortegaswifey @liaisbaeee @xxxninjaxxx23 @chaejiberry @nohumanityhope @blakeroni @mm-myluv @amberfreemanmygirlfriend @lilahaga @mikeymisser @carolcunha7 @not-alesha @burninghotlava @shaunashipmanism @chaoticghosthoagiegoop @paigesbabymama @spidersareskrunkly @ghostampire @cursedashes @yveslish

tried to tag all of my followers, or as many that it’d tag. idk, i really want this to be seen.

#ashs-wrld #ask ash #mental health #mental health matters #end addiction #mdni

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prettyiwa · 2 years ago

Text

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Relationship: Ex!Semi Eita x F!Reader Content Tags: Bassist!Semi Eita, Post MSBY-Schweiden, Fluff, Past Relationship, Mentions of a Messy Break-Up, High School Sweethearts, Lingering Feelings, Awkwardness Summary: Throughout your relationship with Eita, there was only one song he never shared with you completely. He used to hum its melody while he worked, though its lyrics remained a mystery to you. No one expected the first time you'd hear them would be during a show following a surprise reunion years after your separation. Word Count: 2,390

A/N: I found this in my WIPs and decided to share what I had. I'm slowly coming to terms with sharing unfinished WIPs and the idea that I may never fully return to them. In the meantime, enjoy?

Ushijima’s question is forgotten the second you hear the opening chords of the next song. Your attention returns to Eita—as though he hasn’t been the center of it all evening—and all coherent thought escapes you. Your heart swells and your breath catches and all you can do is listen to the gentle bassline Eita provides before other instruments join in, one by one.

Suddenly seventeen again, you’re listening to this progression for the first time before he blushes and flusters, ceasing his playing before offering a proper greeting. But that swelling in your chest halts when you’re reminded that you’re not seventeen, that you’re twenty-four with years having passed since you two last spoke.

The song continues, its full form light and hopeful, melancholy if only to you because it viciously reminds you that you’re no longer the kids who believed they could conquer the world together. All the same, the smile that appears on your lips is completely involuntary, a reaction to hearing his lyrics for the first time.

It’s not until he looks away that you realize the hold he’s kept you under, that he’s undeniably aware of your presence in the back of the audience. While you remain uncertain whether Satori’s teases have merit or that Shirabu didn’t set this up for personal entertainment (or that, perhaps, the truth lies in either’s persistence), you are certain that Eita sees you now.

Your heart remains hopeful, willing you to see the yearning in his expression, but there’s that voice in the back of your mind telling you that you’re projecting, that he’s sung this song hundreds of times before for the attention of any of the women around you. The romance you two once had is dead and gone and this is nothing more than a reminder of what once was.

Hell, you’re only here because of a series of coincidences—your return to Japan aligning with Ushijima’s game in Sendai; a schedule change that made Shirabu unavailable to attend the MSBY v. Schweiden match; a passing comment made by Reon regarding Eita’s show tonight; Ushijima inviting you since it’s been years since he’s seen you and months since he’s spoken with Eita. At no point yesterday did Eita otherwise speak with you. He only stared as though confronted with a ghost while you were invited to his performance by the grace of your high school friends. If not for how deeply you missed everyone—if not for how easily swayed you are by all of them—you wouldn’t be here.

The truth remains that Eita wouldn’t have invited you, that he likely already had this song on his set list before your reemergence in his life, that you aren’t the one he intends for it.

Still, you’re both here. He’s playing with his band at his favorite venue and you’re in the audience to cheer him on. One of the first promises you two made each other, fulfilled, something you can cherish if all else is lost. It does nothing to temper your longing, but it soothes some of the sting.

Girls on either side of you swoon, enamored by the pretty men on stage offering prettier lyrics while you’re faced with the largest what-if of your adult life and all of the abandoned promises and sweet nothings that were once yours. What does it matter when the promises that truly mattered are being fulfilled?

The song finishes, its lovely melody coming to a close, but you don’t realize you’re crying until Ushijima offers his handkerchief. Eita’s gaze shifts away again as Ushijima says, “I haven’t heard him play that song since high school.”

“Have you seen Eita perform with this band before?”

“I have. Sometimes they play in Tokyo and if they have a show when I’m in Miyagi, I’ll attend.”

“I’m glad. That makes me happy,” you answer with a smile before returning your full attention to the band.

It means nothing that Ushijima has never heard the song any of the times he’s seen Eita play. It’s not as though he played it for you. Even if he did… it changes nothing. All the same, you’re glad you’re here and glad you were given the opportunity to listen to the finished piece.

With the performance over and the band retreating to the back, you’re about ready to call it a night, certain Ushijima’s feeling the same. Instead, he beckons you to the periphery, providing identification to security as he leads you both to the back of the club. It’s too loud for you to get a word in edgewise once you realize he intends to bring you to Eita, but you don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

Heart racing, you can’t help but remember yesterday, remember how Eita behaved, deciding he doesn’t actually want you here. He’s never been one to hold back, always asking for what he wants—“the answer’s already no if you don’t ask,” he used to say—so for him to say nothing? Well… It’s easy to anticipate push-back.

“Ushijima,” you prompt once the hallway provides a buffer to the cacophony of the club, “are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t know if Eita wants to see me. Maybe it’s better if I just leave and let you two catch up.”

Stopping in front of the door, he turns to you with a furrowed brow before speaking. “He wants to see you. We were both pleased to run into you after my game.”

“I’m happy I got to see you, too, but I don’t know.”

“I can show you the group conversation if you don’t believe me,” he offers, pulling out his phone.

“Ah, no, it’s okay, I promise,” you say with a laugh, pushing his phone away. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“You still care for him, don’t you?”

“I never stopped.”

Before he can respond, the door opens and the drummer pauses upon seeing you. Sizing you both up, he calls back to the band, “Ushijima and some chick are here,” before pushing past you.

Ushijima enters, taking the space once occupied by the musician, waiting for you to join him. The back room is small, adorned with signed posters from bands who’ve performed in years past, cramped with a mini-bar and unnecessarily large seating, making it feel cluttered even without people.

Everyone watches as you enter, curious as to the identity of “some chick,” and you’re struck by the tension that hangs in the air, the obvious remnants of an argument. Your search for a quiet distraction isn’t in vain as you catch sight of Eita.

Painfully aware that you aren’t alone, that it’s getting harder to breathe under everyone’s continued scrutiny, that the temperature’s rising, that your palms are uncomfortably sweaty, you find that you… don’t care. Not when he’s no longer looking at you as a ghost but as a friend that he’s missed. He looks at you like that, smile stretching his lips, and you can almost forget that last brutal argument.

Offering an awkward little wave and sincere praise for their performance, you feel it more than you see it—the release of the tension in the room, a collective breath held being released. The groupies start gushing over professional athlete Ushijima Wakatoshi and the musicians greet him like they’re used to it. Meanwhile, Eita stands as you approach, disbelief still tucked behind his expression despite his smile.

“You came.”

“Of course I came. I always promised I’d see you here,” you remind him, returning his smile.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

“How could I miss this? I don’t think I have any right to say this, but I’m proud of you and your hard work. For whatever that’s worth.”

A steady flush starts to rise on his cheeks before his smile turns boyish. Uttering your given name in conjunction with his thanks, the other conversations stop and eyes are on you two again. Not until his guitarist repeats your name do you look away, surprised to meet the frustrated faces of his bandmates.

“Oh, so she’s the one you threw our set list out the window for?”

“I’m—what?”

“I already told you guys—”

“Yeah, yeah, you didn’t know what you were doing until it was too late. Doesn’t change the fact that you almost left us hanging in the middle of a set.”

“What are they talking about?” you ask, determined to not read more into the situation than you already have.

“Nothing. They’re talking about nothing. Can we—?”

“Nothing? Nothing except your boyfriend surprising us by playing a completely different song than the one we planned. He’s lucky we’ve practiced it before or we would’ve all been left in a lurch.”

Eita looks at you again and you’re reminded of a child being caught with their hand in the sweets jar. Your mind can’t seem to move past the casual use of “boyfriend” and the reveal that he hadn’t planned on playing that song.

“We aren’t—shit. Ei- I mean, Semi?” you ask, alarm audible in your voice as your cheeks start to burn.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he turns to you, eyes wide, mirroring your trepidation. “I told you guys that we aren’t together.”

“After that stunt tonight, you better be.”

“Semi, I can leave. It’s fine. We came back to say ‘hi’ and tell you that the band’s performance was great,” you say, pulling back. Ushijima starts and you wave him away. “It’s okay, Ushijima. I can call myself a cab. I’ll text you.”

Ushijima hesitates, not wanting to leave you on your own but wanting to respect your wishes, only relenting when Eita steps forward, closing the distance between you two again. He shoots a glare toward his guitarist and cellist before turning to you.

“Please don’t go. You just got here.”

“Semi,” you warn, guilt rippling through you as he deflates. “Listen. It was great seeing you and being able to watch you play, but I should get going. It’s been a long day.”

You can tell he wants to push back, that he wants you to stay—and what a wonderful feeling it is, knowing that—but he senses your discomfort and nods. “At least let me walk you out.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure to take her out through the back so your fan girls don’t get pissy.” The guitarist sports a scowl when you say goodbye to Ushijima, allowing Eita to usher you outside.

It’s hard to place what you’re feeling as you follow, hard to reconcile the way you find this comfortable despite the distance between you. Maybe the silence is as equally daunting, equally filled for him as it is for you. He waits until you’re both outside before saying anything, though he still hasn’t turned to face you. “Look, I need you to know that—”

“It’s okay, Semi. Truly.”

“Will you just let me speak?”

“Sorry. I’m just… nervous.”

“And you think I’m not?” he asks, turning and pinning you with his stare. “Shit. None of this is going the way I thought it would.” Hiding his face behind his hands, he takes a deep breath before bringing his hands up, smoothing over his hair.

“What’s not?”

“Tonight. You.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shit, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I thought I would’ve gotten over my nerves around you. Things between us… didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“To put it mildly,” you agree, remembering how vehemently he refused your proposal to split, how quickly concerns over distance were warped into insecure accusations until the argument destroyed any hope you had to remain friends.

“I miss you. It was like a dream seeing you the other night.”

Your heart hiccups at his uncharacteristic openness about his emotions and you look at your shoes before asking, “Didn’t Shirabu tell you I was coming? Or Satori?”

“You must be confusing me for someone who has a better relationship with Shirabu. And Tendō said he didn’t tell me because he thought it would be funnier this way.”

You can’t help but laugh, but let some of your nervous energy escape with the sound. When you look up again, you find the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry. Shirabu told me he planned on seeing the match with you and Reon, only for his shift to change at the last minute.”

“He told Reon, but Reon seemed to forget to pass it on.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize again, amused by their antics. Part of you wishes you had looked at the group chat when Ushijima offered. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Let me take you out for coffee.”

The answer comes a little too quickly and his familiar confidence starts to make itself known, but you hear that little seed of doubt that Eita’s always worked so hard to hide. Even still, you’re worried that it’s too much too soon, that you’ll both get caught in the illusion of “what could have been” rather than what is, that there’s nothing but pain waiting at the end of this road.

“Just coffee, and just as friends, right?”

“Of course.”

“Semi—”

“Just coffee. No surprises. No unwelcome guests. No songs that catch everyone off guard. Just coffee.”

“So you didn’t plan on playing that song?”

“I’ll tell you more about it when we get coffee,” he teases, flashing you a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

Gods is this man beautiful. So easy would it be to fall into old habits, to give him whatever he asks for. There’s an undeniable pull for you to learn all the way he’s changed in the years since you last saw him, to discover who he is now, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating in such a way that only Eita could pull off.

Bowing your head in an attempt to hide your answering smile, you relent. “Okay, fine. Just coffee. Let me give you my number and we can figure out a time that works for us both.”

His fingers brush against yours as he hands you his phone and you don’t miss the way his smile grows and you know deep within your bones that there’s no way it’s going to be just coffee. Not that either of you seems to mind.

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #semi eita x reader #semi x reader #semi eita fluff #haikyuu fluff #✒.ix writes #✒.never stopped #🏐.haikyuu!!#ハイキュー!!#hq.✒

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rebelrebelwrites · 2 years ago

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Fic Friday! ❤️ Rebel’s Weekly Fic Recs

As always, this week's recs are...

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: Say Something True by eastwynds

What you need to know going in:

I read this fic a while back, thought I bookmarked it and somehow didn’t, and have been thinking about it since, planning on highlighting it in one of these weekly fic rec posts. Lo and behold, this week I started reading its sequel (more on that in a minute) and found it again! Another one of the great “what happened on the way to Eregion” fics, this one thrums with an undercurrent of fear—Galadriel’s fear that Halbrand won’t make it before they reach Eregion. Her grappling with her growing feelings and her barely-restrained terror that he might die is a standout in this story. In addition, you’ll see a stoic but pained Hal, and a supreme softness between the two of them that’s breathtaking. Bonus! It also has a few unique twists and turns that are a joy to read, and a brush of scintillating smut to boot. May I advise bookmarking then diving in? 😂 At the very least, don’t make the mistake I did!

Complete, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: just what i needed by @hazelmaines

What you need to know going in:

This fic! This week! Along with the last fic on this week’s list, this story basically got me through this week at work for its sheer delightfulness and how fully-realized and immersive it is. (Also, a major thank you and kudos to author @hazelmaines for the flurry of updates, always appreciated, even if it’s only temporary!) This modern AU has Galadriel and Halbrand meeting and majorly sparking at a religious summer camp. Gal’s exhausted by her family’s (unfair and unreasonable) expectations of her and her faith, and Halbrand is dealing with a similar aimlessness as the son of the pastors in charge of the camp. It’s early days for this story, but the back-and-forth between these two is electric, and the setting serves as a fantastic metaphor for canon in so many ways, and is just incredibly authentic. I’m so excited to see these where these two go, and how they’ll reckon with a world where they don’t seem to fit… except together, that is. 😉

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: the once and future -- by @mortaltempless

What you need to know going in:

Hnnnng this fic, another great addition to the Saurondriel fandom from @mortaltempless — and another favorite of mine. A canonverse, post-S1 one-shot, this has such a unique and harrowing (in the best way) premise: 10 years after Sauron deceives Galadriel, she, Celeborn, and Elrond capture a prisoner from the Southlands… who recounts the chilling legend of the Southlands lost queen. 👀👀👀 Care to guess who she might be? I won’t say more since this is a self-contained story, so just trust me when I say that as always with @mortaltempless’ works, this fic is impeccably written, has a dash of smoldering smut, and a simmering, soulful angst that will take root in your soul. So. Damn. Good.

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter and AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): An Ocean of Tears by @honeyfarts666

What you need to know going in:

A Sauron redemption story! Yes, it’s Sad Mairon in this fic, burrowing away in the wilderness to lick his wounds after Galadriel finds out who he is and rejects him. There, he begins to contemplate a better existence—if he’s capable of one. Jury’s still out, but I’m very intrigued to find out. Meanwhile, Galadriel has her own secrets she’s keeping… (that I won’t spoil) and when they meet again after so much time apart, the secrets are bound to be revealed. It feels like there’s so much on the horizon for this fic, which is just getting started, but Sauron’s genuine-(ish?) repentance (plus, his having a few animal buddies to keep him company) is enchanting to read. Still, angst and inner turmoil feel like they’re just under the surface of every moment, and I’m steeling myself for what will come next. Can’t wait! 😍

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Can't Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

What you need to know going in:

Aaaaand I’m totally doing it and putting TWO stories by the same author in one fic rec post, but it’s so warranted! This story is the sequel to Say Something True that I mentioned above, and I kid you not, this fic basically got me through this week at work. I binged it like a fiend after rereading it’s precursor, and my only regret with doing so is that I’m now all caught up. Where the prequel ends in Eregion for our favorite ETL pair, the sequel picks up after Halbrand’s reveal, with Galadriel on her way back to the Southlands to treat with Sauron after he sent her a mysterious missive. I’m going to gloss over plot because I don’t want to spoil anything and the TWISTS, you guys… SO good. Literally, every chapter I was on the edge of my seat wondering what was coming next. What I will spill is that it’s a post-S1 epic journey in which Gal and Sauron are thrust together to work against another foe, and again, I’m just so impressed with the amount of surprising but familiar plot threads this author weaves, and I also thoroughly enjoy the characterization they employ for Gal and Sauron. It’s such a contrast to the prequel, which had so much more raw tenderness to it, whereas here, Sauron is so much cheekier, and Gal bristles but also basks in their banter together, and the weight of what came before is this ever-present shadow of sadness. It’s… I mean, you can’t stop consuming it, like the title of this fic rec category says! So don’t try; just start reading it today if you’re not already on it. 😂

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

+++

🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don’t see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don’t fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend… ❤️

Until next week!

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moccahobi · 10 months ago

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Tangled Mess: Game Night 2

Summary: Yoongi is struggling with his feelings and his relationships.

Paring: Hoseok x GN Reader, Yoongi x Jungkook

Genre: Soulmate AU, Grad School AU, Young Professional AU, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: A Breakup

Word Count: 627 words

A/N: I may get behind on updating links, but all the fics and the masterlist will have the tag "series: tangled mess" if the links aren't updated~

Part 5 << Masterlist >> Next Part (Return 2/7)

Jungkook was avoiding Yoongi. He watches as the man pushes Y/n while laughing loudly, hurt and anger brewing in his heart. Just last month Jungkook had asked to spend more time together! And now he’s avoiding Yoongi as if his life depended on it.

Sure Yoongi said he couldn’t hang out *one* time shortly after their dinner together but that was because he needed a bit more time to mentally prepare himself! Truly how could one expect Yoongi to survive when Jungkook (in his ripped glory) texts saying he just got out of the gym and wanted to get lamb skewers together. Yoongi might have proposed! And Jungkook doesn’t even know of Yoongi’s feelings.

He never will.

It was easier… safer… better to keep his feelings to himself.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Jungkook was really obviously ignoring him. Maybe Jungkook just got busy. How infrequent is it that a friend (who normally asks to hang once a week at least) stops initiating texts. Yoongi had sent a few instagram posts that reminded him of Jungkook and Jungkook responded! They chatted a bit… but nothing more… and Jungkook hadn’t gone over to Yoongi since either.

Guess he didn’t actually need Yoongi time.

“You good?” Hoseok asked, sitting down next to Yoongi on the couch.

“Yeah. Of course.” Yoongi said, guilt growing as he realized how little he’d paid to Hoseok who seemed to always be somewhat on edge with Y/n. Given… if Yoongi had brought a person into the friend group because they had a public break up with their partner of a year and now knew no one in town who wasn’t associated with said ex, Yoongi would also be on edge, “How are you doing, Hoseok?”

“Absolutely chipper. Just not wanting to game tonight.”

“Same.”

Jungkook got up to go to the kitchen and Yoongi didn’t know what possessed him but he patted Hoseok’s thigh and got up to follow. Later he might feel guilty for not talking to Hoseok more but he couldn’t stop himself from going to Jungkook They were alone in the kitchen and Yoongi felt haunted by the things he did last time the two hung out. He was too close.

“Oh! Hey, Hyung!” Jungkook’s eyes weren’t shining like the stars were held hostage in them.

In fact, they looked sad. Jungkook looked sad.

“You ok?” Yoongi asked, his mood souring more than it was before.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock before he sighed, “No I’m not. Honestly, I am hurt.”

“What why?” Yoongi struggled to come closer to Jungkook, hating how he hunched in on himself and played with his hands, the glass of whatever he got long forgotten.

“I was vulnerable with you last time we hung out and you seemed receptive. Nothing changed though. I kept waiting for you to initiate something. Did… Did I do something to push you away?”

Yoongi’s world stopped. He stopped breathing. He stopped thinking. He stopped doing anything.

Except hurt Jungkook apparently.

“We… we don’t need to talk about it tonight… it’s supposed to be a fun night after all… but I hate how much distance is between us.” Jungkook comes closer and for once in way too long, he initiates hand holding. Jungkook’s hands are cold and clammy and everything Yoongi hates about touching others, but he doesn’t pull away. He can’t.

“I… I honestly wasn’t expecting this… I don’t know what I expected,” Yoongi sighed and squeezed Jungkook’s hand, “You did nothing wrong. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it but it’s all on me. Maybe we can talk about it later this week?”

Jungkook nodded.

“But… Kook, know that it’s nothing about us or something you did or anything. Hyung will make this right. I promise.”

#wkcnet #bts #hoseok #jhope #yoongi #suga #jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts angst #bts mxr #bts supernatural au #bts soulmate au #bts mxm #yoonkook #series: tangled mess

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dweemeister · 2 years ago

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10th Anniversary MOABOS warm-up

Tumblr still DOES NOT show bullet indentations on dashboards after more than two years now. So it is highly recommended you view this post through the direct link HERE.

TAGGING (in addition to 30+ via email): @addaellis, @cokwong, @halfwaythruthedark, @idontknowmuchaboutmovies, @maximiliani, @monkeysmadeofcheese, @plus-low-overthrow, @rawberry101, @rosymeraki-blog, @shootingstarvenator, @theybecomestories, @umgeschrieben, @underblackwings,and @yellanimal

OPEN INVITATIONS/REMINDERS FOR THE PRELIMINARY ROUND FOR (other followers who have not been following as long are being considered for the final round): @birdsongvelvet, @cinemaocd, @dog-of-ulthar, @exlibrisneh, @ideallaedi, @introspectivemeltdown, @memetoilet, @myluckyerror, @phendranaedge, @shadesofhappy, @thewolfofelectricavenue

If you are being sent or tagged in this, that is because you have confirmed with me your interest in participating in this year's edition of the Movie Odyssey Award for Best Original Song (MOABOS). MOABOS, as many of you know, is part of my tumblr's end-of-year tradition to give Oscar-like awards to movies that I saw for the first time in its entirety this calendar year. This year will mark the tenth edition of MOABOS, and the ninth with outside involvement. A milestone year, one that I hardly imagined realistic a decade ago. It is a cinematic/musical thank-you to all of you for your friendship and support over the last calendar year.

But MOABOS itself is not until Black Friday (and I will give more details to first-timers when we get there)! Until then, we have a warm-up - of sorts - for all of you. Each of these ten songs are from films that I saw for the first time prior to the blog's creation on August 15, 2012 or are songs that I have realized, long after the fact, should've competed in one year's prelim or final rounds (age made me appreciate certain songs more than I did originally). There are ten songs here, which can also be accessed through this YouTube playlist.

Some of you may reflexively want to rank these songs out of habit, but that is for the preliminary that starts on Black Friday (however I'm not stopping anyone from ranking the following and sending in comments for fun).

Ten original songs from movies follow, representing ten decades, for your listening pleasure. Each one comes with contextual blurbs, as is typical for MOABOS. I hope you enjoy!

(“song title”, composer and lyricist, film title (year released)):

“You Were Meant for Me”, music by Nacio Herb Brown, lyrics by Arthur Freed, The Broadway Melody (1929)

Originally performed by Charles King; provided version performed by Nat Shilkret and the RCA Victor Symphony Orchestra

Performer Eddie Kearns (Charles King) is engaged, but he falls quickly for another girl, Queenie (Anita Page). At a rehearsal, Eddie gives an impromptu performance of this song, with Queenie by the piano side, and his fiancée raging off to the side. If you can get past the context, "You Were Meant for Me" has had a long shelf life as an American songbook standard and has been covered by many artists.

“Remember My Forgotten Man”, music by Harry Warren, lyrics by Al Dubin, Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933)

Performed by Etta Moten, Joan Blondell, and chorus

Gold Diggers of 1933 might seem like a splashy, light musical. But look closer and you'll find tons of social commentary about the effects of the Great Depression on struggling artists. Appearing as the finale for Gold Diggers of 1933, this bitter song decries what happened to returning American veterans of World War I. This song contains references to the fate of the Bonus Army the year prior. The Bonus Army (17,000 WWI veterans and 26,000 of their family members and allies who marched on D.C. to demand the cash bonuses they were promised by the Dept. of War) was violently dispersed by the U.S. Army. The number of dead and wounded ranges wildly and will never be known. The choreography was by Busby Berkeley, who was noted for his kaleidoscopic mass choreography (which is more in evidence in other songs in this film).

“The King Who Couldn’t Dance (The Worry Song)”, music by Sammy Fain, lyrics by Arthur Freed, Anchors Aweigh (1945)

Performed by Gene Kelly and Jerry Mouse (voiced by Sara Berner)

Visiting a school, U.S. Navy sailor Joe Brady (Kelly) tells the children a fantastical tale about how he earned one of his medals. This being a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) film, the animation team under Joseph Hanna and William Barbera (of Hanna-Barbera fame) collaborated with the filmmakers to bring Jerry Mouse (and Tom, briefly) on-screen to dance with Gene Kelly. This is the first instance of Jerry speaking at length. We won't speak of the modern made-for-TV/streaming Tom and Jerry movies. Kelly is the one of only two human performers to be a part of a musical number with Tom and/or Jerry. The other is Esther Williams in Dangerous When Wet (1953).

“High Noon (Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darlin’)”, music by Dimitri Tiomkin, lyrics by Ned Washington, High Noon (1952)

Performed by Tex Ritter

Winner of the Academy Award for Best Original Song

Performed over the opening credits, as just-released-from-prison outlaw Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald) rounds up his gang, intent on murdering the just-married Marshal Will Kane (Gary Cooper), who originally sent him to prison. With Miller incoming, Kane decides that imminent retirement and his honeymoon with Amy (Grace Kelly), a Quaker and a pacifist, must wait. Shot in real time, High Noon is considered an anti-McCarthyism allegory and the title song is one of the most iconic in American Western history. Its melody is used across the film's score, composed by Ukrainian Jewish composer Tiomkin. The warbling sound you hear in the background is a Novachord, an early electronic instrument of Tiomkin's choosing.

“Magical Mystery Tour”, music and lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

Performed by The Beatles

The title song appears in the opening moments of this somewhat psychedelic film. Magical Mystery Tour debuted in Britain on BBC One on Boxing Day, 1967, as part of the BBC's tradition of Yuletide TV specials. This film made its debut theatrically in the U.S. in 1976.

“Mithrandir”, music by Leonard Rosenman, lyrics by Mark Fleischer, The Lord of the Rings (1978)

Performed by chorus

This is the animated feature film version of The Lord of the Rings from director Ralph Bakshi (1972's historic X-rated Fritz the Cat and 1977's Wizards). Shortly after Gandalf's death by the Balrog and being granted refuge in the Elven haven of Lothlórien, Frodo and Aragorn* overhear this song from an unseen chorus. "Mithrandir" means "gray pilgrim" in Quenya, the Elven language constructed by J.R.R. Tolkien. This film covers The Fellowship of the Ring and the first half of The Two Towers; a second part to this film to complete the LOTR cycle was never realized.

“Somewhere Out There”, music by James Horner and Barry Mann, lyrics by Cynthia Weil, An American Tail (1986)

Initial use / end credits

Originally performed by Philip Glasser and Betsy Cathcart; end credits version performed by Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram

Nominated for the Academy Award for Best Original Song

Young Russian-Jewish mouse Feivel Mousekewitz has been separated from his family after arriving in New York City. The Mousekewitzes, in an allegory of the pogroms in Russia against Jews from the 1880s-1920s, have fled Russia because they have heard, "there are no cats in America". Uh huh. Sure. Feivel and his sister, miles apart, sing this duet, hoping to be reunited. The use in the film's context is definitely of a familial love that is lost in the end credits version.

“Up There”, music and lyrics by Trey Parker, South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (1999)

Performed by Trey Parker

Grimace at the South Park title if you will and the purposefully crude animation, but this movie is actually a very decent musical (the film was never marketed as a musical). The soulful "Up There" is sung by Satan after a dispiriting moment with his lover, Saddam Hussein. "Up There" is one of two songs in the soundtrack without any obscenities. This film is a satire about obscenity in films and TV and the reactions of late '90s parents and government officials over media content.

“El Amor Amor”, music and lyrics by DRA, The Wind Journeys (2009, Colombia)

In-film version with subtitles (audio and video quality is not great) / soundtrack version

Performed by José Luis Torres, Guillermo Arzuaga, Rosendo Romero, Marciano Martínez, and company

Lyrics in Spanish

DRA are a little-known folk music group in Colombia and they did the music for this unfortunately obscure movie. "El Amor Amor" appears in the movie's first half as Carrillo (Marciano Martínez) and the young Fermín (Yull Núñez) are journeying to find the former's accordion teacher. Carrillo is an aging juglar (a troubadour) whose accordion - with two horns protruding from its sides - might be possessed by the devil (the film always makes this ambiguous). This song is a series of accordion duels, as Carrillo and Fermín happen upon a village throwing a music festival that evening.

“Chanson Illusionist”, music and lyrics by Sylvain Chomet, The Illusionist (2010, France)

Performed by Didier Gustin, Jil Aigrot, and Frédéric Lebon

Lyrics in French (untranslated lyrics)

Played over the end credits. This melancholic animated film is not to be confused with the unrelated 2006 live-action movie of the same name. Directed by Sylvain Chomet, The Illusionist was based on a story written by the late Jacques Tati, a mime whose M. Hulot character (1953's Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, 1958's Mon Oncle) proved popular even beyond France. The title character in this film is drawn to look like Tati. The Illusionist travels to late 1950s/early 1960s Edinburgh, Scotland after finding no work in Paris. While in Scotland, he befriends a girl named Alice who is transfixed by his magic tricks and kindness.

This song's three performers are performing to purposefully mimic the styles of seven singers famous in the Francophone world for their work in the lyrically-driven chanson genre. In order: Juliette Gréco, George Brassens, Barbara, Yves Montand, Edith Piaf, Jacques Brel, and Serge Gainsbourg.

Until the 25th for the preliminary round!

* The scene where this song comes from contains such a beautiful exchange between Frodo and Aragorn that appears in neither Tolkien’s text nor the Peter Jackson adaptation:

FRODO: It's a song about Gandalf, isn't it? ARAGORN: Yes. Mithrandir was the name the elves gave him, It means "the gray pilgrim". FRODO: We knew him so little in the Shire, Aragorn. He was just "Gandalf" to us; we never knew he had so many names. ARAGORN: I think he was fondest of Gandalf.

#Movie Odyssey Award for Best Original Song #MOABOS

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marimelwrites · 2 years ago

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The following post under the cut is triggering. Trigger warnings in the tags. You've been warned.

I don't generally talk about this with almost anyone, other than my therapist. Maybe one other person who has a general idea on here.

The point is that my life has been extremely difficult since I had my son, and not because of him. He's the best part of it. After I gave birth I ended up battling severe postpartum depression, no need to go into details, but needless to say it was bad enough I was pulled out of work for 8-10 weeks. Eventually, that got better, and I was slowly weaned off medication.

For a time things were fine, and I felt normal. It wasn't until I decided to make a choice to essentially turn my life upside down (despite it potentially being the best choice for me) that depression hit me stronger than ever.

I ended up in a hospital for a week, it didn't help (there really was no individual therapy, and I do NOT thrive in group settings), but the medication did. They also set me up with follow-up care. Great.

The thing is, sometimes my medication helps, and other times it doesn't. Most times this is a sign that medication needs to be increased, but then I wonder what happens when I've reached the limit?

So, anyway, all that long rambling is basically to say that this week, or rather, the last two weeks, have been increasingly bad for me. There really was no particular trigger for it this time, no specific event that caused my depression to worsen, but it has. I've been feeling more alone (I mean, that's pretty true as I don't really have any friends down here, and all I have is my son... whom I don't have all the time). I've been feeling as though the people who know me, or are around me, never choose me or even think of me as their first option for... really anything. This is, sadly, no exaggeration.

Every single day I end up feeling less and less seen, less and less heard. Constantly forgotten by the people around me, especially at work. (No really, they forget I even exist... all the time. I've lost count of the amount of times they don't even realize I'm not there, or don't notice me standing there, etc) It's not really anyone's fault, but... none of this has been helping me do anything productive.

I don't know when I'll feel normal enough to be able to create replies worth writing. As of right now I keep opening things and staring because nothing is coming out, which doesn't help me feel any better about myself.

Just know that I am around, and I am drafting replies. You may see them come out sporadically when I feel as though I can actually think.

I'm just currently not doing well, at all, and I'm really very sorry for those of you waiting on me... once again.

#ooc #tw: mental health #tw: depression #tw: mental breakdown #tw: long post

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hug-milestones · 1 year ago

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The fool I am

ooh the fool I am…

earlier today, I realized that I had gotten to 1000 hugs and I was going to make a post here on TUMBLR.COM/BLOG/HUG-MILESTONES celebrating the fact that we (i) reached this goal. I had forgotten to do as such for some time but I eventually made a post and the missed posts I needed to do before the main event and I made a huge fuss about it within the tags.... but as it turns out, when I got hugged by my lovely GAY boyfriend (or by my lovely ex, I can't really remember, they both make me very happy), I had went to my hug counter to proudly update it and put a thousand AND ONE onto it but when i looked, it was only at 900. I was confused as first, then concerned, then panicked (I had already figured out what had happened). I questioned myself, "wasn't this at 1000? we (I) reached 1k, where's the number follows by a different number repeated thrice?! "I have no idea what happened. I didn't know what to do. I could just change the number to 1001, ooor I was wrong and maybe the counter was correct. or maybe the counter had terribly suffered some sort of injury and had forgotten it's last 100 hugs. oh my poor, sweet and lovely counter... you don't deserve this, what happened to you!? but I didn't matter, why was i dilly-dallying this whole ordeal? there shouldn't even be an ordeal! I should've just changed the number to 1000 and 1. and if I wanted to make a comedic moment of the situation, change it to 1000 and then 1001. hah, isn't that funny? but it didn't matter, all of this didn't matter, for I had already known what had happened at the moment I saw 900. the reason why I was staring at my screen for a minute and 30 seconds, maybe even close to TWO minutes, because I already knew what had happened. while 1 minute and a half may not seem as much time, when you're staring at a screen for that long, unmoving, going back and forth in your own head, that 1 minute and thirty seconds was painfully long. I had known from the very beginning. I didn't reach 1001 hugs. In fact, I had never reached 1000 hugs at all. I was at 8 hundred and 99 hugs... I saw I was close to 900 and to my dyslexic, non-intuitive brain, I had though I reached 999 after not doing the post right away when I got that "last hug." there was no "last hug," there was no 999th hug! only a hundred hugs added retroactively without even knowing it. 100 false hugs as if it were the 100 and more false memories I've had throughout my life as of far. just another false memory to add to this unrelated counter. not even a false memory but an incorrect remembering if something which I could've checked before hand to know how many hugs I've already gotten at the point. but I didn't check! I was so sure of myself. I had believed my memory was right and that was suffice. needless to say, it was not. my memory isn't the best and my issue with remembering numbers is an ongoing situation sprouted from my early childhood. in retrospect, I should've really had at least some doubt in this goal. this was a big deal after all, and in the early days of journey before I started this blog, before my dear counter was made, before I had even thought of making a place to store the rather useless number that I hold dearly to me, enough to make a record of goal, I was careless with them. I had a predecessor to this archive. it was in the bio of one of my other social media accounts. I wasn't as careful with the record of these hugs as I am of them now. I had guesstimated some amount of hugs after a point for I had always forgotten to update the counter right after getting one. I don't know for sure if I had 50 extra false hugs that never existed or was missing 20 hugs given by those who care for me very much enough to give me this act of compassion with cherish very much.

but even after all of this, it is a tad silly to obsess over the amount of hugs I got after a point. I realized I should appreciate the people who care for me and gaze upon all the friends and close ones I have that have given me this great amount of hugs. but I do appreciate them, I really do, I just don't feel like I do enough to show it or feel the way I feel. so I archive these milestones in hopes to show that I really do care. I care for everyone and I thank all of you for all these hugs. and I thank everyone that has hugged me and cared for me before the arbitrary point in time that I decided to start this journey in remembering my friends and loved ones. I appreciate you all. I thank you for all your love and I hope to give and receive more. I also thank you my little counter. I am a fool, a silly one at that, but I'd rather be like this than to not appreciate all these acts of love. that would be foolish than me now, and imagine that! something more foolish than me. quite silly indeed. I hope I'll continue to record all my received and given hugs from the people I care for the most accurately as I can and I understand that it may never be as accurate as I want it to be, but at the end of the day, I have people who care for me and I care for those people as well. for the record and to clarify why number I'm supposedly at as of writing this, I am at 904 hugs. a hundred or so false hugs isn't anything compared to the close to a thousand hugs I've had. even if it isn't actually a thousand, close to a thousand is enough for me. thank you and I'll make my next milestones "correct." I won't be removing or editing the previous false one but I fact keeping them for this is an archive after all. not only to keep record of all the hugs I got and to record the people who I've had them with, regardless of the situation. thank you

#regret #appreciate #hugs

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honeydjarin · 2 years ago

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TO THE BONE PART II

DIN DJARIN X READER

Crowds part for the Mandalorian, eyes averted, a constant path standing clear before him even in the busiest places. By the time you realize exactly why his kind is so feared, it’s too late for you. Your silence just might be your downfall.

warnings: fem!reader, soulmates, non-consensual drug use, Dr. Pershing conducts tests on unwilling subjects, canon typical violence

word count: 6,800

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the kind feedback on the first part of this series! I’m so excited to continue this journey together.

I have several parts written, and hope to post every two weeks. That may change towards the end depending on how long it takes to get the end written.

EDIT: reposting because the previous version wasn’t showing up in the tags

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST || AO3

It’s been a while since you were last in hyperspace. You’ve forgotten the strength of the initial jump, the atmospheric turbulence transitioning into something much smoother. You’ve forgotten the lurching in your stomach as your body tries to adjust to going far faster than should be possible for a human.

If you don’t think about why you’re traveling, or who is keeping you company during the journey, you just might find this jump through hyperspace peaceful. There are only the stars streaking by around you, clear of your path as you hurtle along the various hyperlanes throughout the galaxy.

Traveling with the Mandalorian is even quieter than most of your journeys through the galaxy have been. The starliners were always busy, loud, and often ran late, as is to be expected from any sort of public transportation hub. But when you left home to travel the galaxy, the commercial ships had been the only way for you to see new star systems, or at least the only way that wouldn’t put you at risk of having a bounty on your head. The passenger liners always served your purpose despite the constant noise of those also seeking to planet hop.

You could get a flight at a reasonable cost, and travel between most of the well settled planets regardless of where they were in the galaxy. Even the Outer Rim has its fair share of ports, constantly shutting people for work or trade between planets, or even just for the sake of sightseeing. You could pretend you were running towards a new future for yourself, one that didn’t include the Force, unchanging destinies, or bounty hunters. You could pretend that it wasn’t really your home that you were running from, or that you weren’t really just trying to escape from yourself.

Even later, when the future you had fought so hard against began to pass, your fate sealed because of the skills your mother had taught you instead of letting your gifts fade to nothing, when you became a target, there was constant commotion in the starships. Passenger liners were no longer a safe way for you to travel, and the smaller, privately owned ships rang out with a different type of noise. Too much sabacc, too much alcohol, too much money lost. These things always led to raised voices and stray blaster fire.

You felt safer there than you do now. Each moment the words on your forearm weren’t spoken was a promise that you would survive at least one more day.

The Mandalorian’s starship isn’t like those other transports. It’s quiet, near silent, more so than the scarcely populated Arvala-7. This is the quietest journey across the galaxy you’ve ever been on. There is no conversation, no threats, no blaster fire or raucous laughter. Just a single warning.

“Don’t touch this,” the Mandalorian said as he locked up his extensive arsenal of weapons upon your entry onto the ship. You doubt you could find a way to crack open the door even if you wanted to. Not without the Force. Then he herded you towards a short ladder, one that reaches up to a second level above, before undoing the restraints just long enough to reattach them to a rung just below the height of your chest. It was high enough to be uncomfortable but low enough that you wouldn’t risk losing feeling in your arms. The action was just more insurance that you won't touch his stuff, it seemed. He left you there alone in the hull and took the still unconscious child up the ladder with him. At least he didn’t shut the door to the cockpit behind him.

Now, you’re left to wonder if you’ll spend the whole journey like this.

You almost think he forgot about you. or he finally decided you’re not a flight risk. He has you trapped on his ship with nowhere to possibly run. He only needs to worry about what you might do to the starship itself.

He doesn’t come back down from the cockpit, even when he clearly has the ship on autopilot. You stretch back as far as you can and watch from below as he turns towards the pram floating beside him, rocking it gently a few times. Grogu must still be asleep. It is a sweet gesture, or it would be, if the hunter wasn’t still planning on turning you both in to whoever the latest client is. It is only then, after he finishes checking on the kid, that he climbs back down the ladder from the cockpit to check on you again.

He removes your binders completely and your arms fall instantly to your sides, not knowing what else to do with them. The Mandalorian makes no indication of wanting to put the restraints back on you. He doesn’t speak, and doesn't show you any further signs of acknowledgement. He just steps back and climbs up the ladder to the cockpit once more.

It’s too quiet in the Mandalorian’s ship, the silence stretching on from the moment he released you from the restraints. With no chatter, no attempt by the armored man to make you comfortable, no sign of where it is he’s taking you, the silence settles like a heavy weight that pulls you into the floor more firmly than the ship’s artificial gravity. It’s suffocating.

The Mandalorian intends to hand you off to the client, take his reward, and then forget about you and the child. You know you’re just a job to him, even if he is your soulmate. So you intend to leave as much of an impression as you can. He only told you not to touch where he stores his weapons. He didn’t say anything about the rest of the starship, so you can touch everything else… right?

You cast a lingering glance towards the carbonite freezer. There are no bodies that you know of on the ship right now, but you’re certain the bounty hunter is more than willing to use it on a quarry. Would he freeze you if he caught you touching his things?

If he needs you alive, then you doubt it’s a risk he is willing to take. Not when 60% of those put in carbonite don’t survive the process, and the ones that do often face other side effects such as hibernation sickness and temporary blindness. Still, you'll just have to be careful in your meddling.

As if he can sense your intentions to snoop, the Mandalorian returns for you.

“Come into the cockpit,” he states, leaving no room for argument.

He helps you to struggle up the ladder, your arms half numb from being restricted, just to make sure you don’t fall and crack your head open, before he makes you sit in one of the remaining unoccupied seats of the cockpit. Your hands remain free, the Mandalorian considering you to not be a threat—it’s almost pitiful. His gaze holds steady on the galaxy before him, trusting that you couldn’t hurt him even if you tried. He still doesn’t speak to you, and you're not really sure if he is comfortable in the silence or not. You are once again reminded that he is most likely used to being completely alone while traveling through the galaxy.

It’s a thought that almost makes you sad.

—☾—

He brings you to another desert planet, one you’ve never been to before and really don’t want to be on now.

It’s more populated than Arvala-7, the entire population of the previous planet likely not even the equivalent of half the faces you see milling about before you here, especially now that the Niktos no longer have control of the bunker.

There were no towns on Arvala-7, just some farms, some Jawas, and the hideout, but it didn’t feel gloomy there, even when you were trapped in the bunker walls. The sun would always filter through the slatted windows—they were too small to climb through but just enough to give you a glimpse outside the walls and remind you of the galaxy beyond the well guarded building. The sunlight would glint on the dust particles and show you how they danced through the air, almost as if they were alive.

Here, everything is dark. The earth is black, burned from the same magma that created it, the sky turned grey with the ever smoldering cinders of the planet. It looks as though a raging storm is coming, but the lack of moisture in the air indicates otherwise.

You can taste the planet burning on your tongue. Do the people around you taste it too? Or has everyone here grown used to the acrid ash filling their lungs? The Mandalorian pulling you once more by the restraints down the ramp of his ship doesn’t seem to notice. The filter in his helmet keeps all impurities in the air out of his body, just another form of armor against any adversary he might face.

The docking area, not so much a bay as an expanse of flat land outside of the town limits, has several worn down starships settled in it, the old yellow paint detailing on the Mandalorian’s ship being one of the only things that makes it stand out from the other docked ships. The hunter leads you through the bustling shipyard and pulls you directly to the main street in the town.

The town’s entrance is framed by a giant stone archway made from the same grey material as everything else around you. The top is almost more square than round, and crumbling from age in different parts. It is still magnificent despite its weathering. The structure towers above everything around it, no building in the town coming close to the height of the arch.

You stumble slightly as you gawk, too busy paying attention to what lies above you than what rests on the ground before you. You fail to see the uneven dip of the unpaved path, and the toe of your boot catches on the solid earth. The Mandalorian’s grip on you is the only thing that prevents you from tumbling to your knees.

“Keep up,” he demands, his tone giving away his clear irritation despite the lack of change in his body language. But he still pauses, gives you just a moment to get your feet back under you, before he continues into the town once more. It’s another moment resembling kindness, even if it’s over in a flash. He returns to pulling you forward through the threshold, Grogu floating by your side.

While the street around you is wide, it feels as though the edges are pressing into you, the walls growing closer as the number of sentient lifeforms increases. All around you are vendors stationed at various market stalls—the smell and smoke of cooking food wafts your way from many of the stands, the scents barely stronger than the natural smell of the planet. Groups and individuals of all species are shouting and laughing, some stopping at the stalls while others push through the crowd, heading to some other destination. The commotion in this place is the complete antithesis of the last few days spent on the Mandalorian’s starship.

The child watches from his spot close by your side, curious about the new location. He doesn’t know that soon your safety will not be guaranteed. He coos slightly each time you’re hit with a new smell, reaching a clawed hand out towards whatever food catches his interest. Even though he ate a ration bar not long ago, the kid is hungry once more.

In other circumstances you would like to stop and look at the different stands. You would find some real food for the kid to eat, making sure he ate slowly so as not to upset his stomach, as he is prone to do. But the rations have all of the nutrients he needs, and you don’t have that kind of freedom.

Despite the close press of the crowd, no one jostles into you, even when many keep their eyes away from your form, gazes directed instead at the Mandalorian in front of you. It’s obvious that the majority of those wandering the streets here are not the most law-abiding of people, if the number of blasters and vibroblades you see looped around belts and strapped to thighs is any indication of their character.

The Republic has little control over the planets in the Outer Rim, creating the perfect breeding ground for those living outside the law, the distance from the rest of the galaxy offering a sense of freedom that often goes too far beyond the line of what’s considered moral by most. But even here the crowd parts for the Mandalorian to pass through. You and The Child receive little attention compared to the armored man directly in front of you.

The Mandalorian shows no sign that the staring bothers him. He hardly changes his trajectory as he pulls you through the market, the dark visor of his helmet never wavering from the path in front of him.

“This way,” he grunts, tugging you in a new direction without any further warning. Your new course takes you down an alley.

There are far fewer people here than there were on the main street. Somehow all the clamor and commotion fades away almost immediately, leaving nothing but the rising fear behind. It bubbles in your gut and turns your stomach sour. There is nothing to distract yourself with now. Nothing but the dull reflection of the churning firmament off the Mandalorian’s helmet, and the dented cuirass—which no longer looks bloodied, the paint instead like rust, in the grey haze of this planet—that has lost almost all of its integrity since he first began dragging you with him from the bunker.

You wish you could beg, or cry, or even just speak to him. You should do something to stop this, anything to keep him from turning you and the child in for the bounty. If you could just talk to him things could be so different. But you’ve spent your whole life building up resentment for the man, and something that looks like compassion doesn’t mean it is kindness.

He could still be cruel, and speaking to him may lead to a far worse outcome than you’re already facing. You’ve spent your whole life determining his character without even meeting him and now you can’t bring yourself to reveal the truth. You wish you weren’t so stubborn.

You wish stubbornness didn’t feel so much like fear.

The hunter drags you down several other streets and alleys, twisting and turning along the town’s winding passage ways, up and down short flights of stairs until you are too lost to even think of making your way back to the main street—not that doing so would provide any real safety, not when a Mandalorian is after you.

Finally, he brings you to a halt in front of a nondescript door in the back of an alley. He lifts his free hand up to knock on the door, the sound of his fist against metal reverberating off the walls inside in a dead and hollow clang.

For a moment nothing happens, and you almost think the Mandalorian managed to get lost in the streets himself. Then, a camera the shape of an eye stalk extends from a hatch beside the door, speaking robotically in a language you don’t recognize but must mean something to the Mandalorian. He holds something up in front of the camera, receiving a response in that same unknown language, before the camera disappears in the hatch once more.

The door hisses open slowly, a cool gust of air breathing against your face, raising goosebumps on your flesh. What lies behind the steel barricade is enough to make your blood run cold.

The helmets that stare back at you aren’t supposed to exist anymore—at least, not attached to a body. They shouldn’t adorn walking, talking, living beings. But the ghostly figures clad in cheap white armor are clearly alive, and when you turn to look at the man who brought you here, the T of his visor that had seemed so neutral to you before begins to look more terrifying by the second. Suddenly you understand why crowds part around him, why people grow silent and avert their eyes in his presence, or keep their stare trained on him, ensuring that they are not the ones he is after.

The ghosts usher the three of you into the hall behind the door, and as it slides shut once more you are confronted with the fact that you wasted any chance you had to run. You should have tried harder, fought tooth and nail to protect the child and yourself. Your knowledge of your connection to the Mandalorian allowed you to grow complacent during the journey here, but he doesn’t have the same knowledge as you. He has no reason to change his routine when he is oblivious to the truth.

You hate him even more for his unwilling ignorance.

One of the stormtroopers grabs onto the edge of Grogu’s pram, rocking it harshly. You want to scream at him to let go, to get away from the kid, but you can’t. Only now your silence isn’t a choice, it’s a product of fear. Even if you tried to open your mouth to speak, no words would make it past the thick shard of terror sinking down your throat—but you don’t have to speak. The Mandalorian interjects first, his tone sharp enough to send a chill up your spine.

“Easy with that,” he states, visor trained on the trooper. For just the smallest moment you feel hope, not enough to fill you up, to make your chest swell and your mind swarm with thoughts of escape, but just a little flicker. It’s another act of not quite kindness. A small part of you can’t help but think that maybe he won’t leave you here, even if you know there is no reason for him to take you away from this place. He intends to collect on the bounty regardless of your desires, regardless of the fact that you have done nothing to warrant this fate.

You know It’s a silly thought as soon as you see the client.

He’s an ex imperial officer. Rather, he should be ex imperial, but the troopers around you and the clear command he holds is evidence that despite the fall of the Empire, the Empire is not truly dead, and now you and the kid are just two more not quite Jedi in their hands.

If your hands were free, everyone in the room would be tossed aside already, mere rag dolls when confronted with an energy far greater than any individual can ever truly comprehend, but the Force acts as an extension of your body, one you can’t access when your own hands hang uselessly in front of you, bound by your hips.

You can’t think, can’t breathe. The men around you are talking but you can barely process what they’re saying. All you can do is watch as the kid is passed around, concerned eyes blinking up at you, and then at the Mandalorian. The hunter keeps his own gaze angled towards the client.

“Yes, very healthy,” you hear someone say, but the words do not fully process in your mind. Suddenly, there is a hand grasping your jaw, fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks like talons, forcing you back into the present. Cold eyes bear down on your own, lips pulling taught over teeth in a sharp grin.

This is what you’ve always been destined for.

A light shines at you, bathing your skin in a red glow, scanning for something. Whatever it is that the sensors pick up only makes the officer’s grin grow wider. He finally releases you from his grasp.

“She will do well,” the officer claims, his tone carrying barely suppressed excitement that sends a shiver down your spine.

Beside you, Grogu is crying. A man with wide, round glasses begins to pull you and the kid along behind him, heading towards a door away from the officer and the Mandalorian. You can’t bring yourself to turn back as the two discuss the hunter’s payment.

You can’t let the Mandalorian see how the air has become too thick for you to breathe with ease, filling your lungs but providing no relief. You must hide the way your eyes have finally blurred with the tears you managed to keep at bay until this moment. And you cannot bring yourself to look at the man who the Force determined to be more entangled with you than anyone else in this vast galaxy. You don’t want to see him again.

Even without turning, you can feel his eyes on you, burning as the spectacled man guides you and the child through the door and deeper into the building.

Suddenly you are glad for your silence. You are grateful for the whispers and less than subtle looks that led to you learning to always hide your mark, because a life with a man who would leave you in the hands of the Empire is not a life you want to live.

—☾—

It appears that the scan was just the first test. The spectacled man tells you as much. He tells you his name is Dr. Pershing. He tells you that he is the one who will be conducting the tests, and that there will be many more to follow.

“This will be much easier if you cooperate,” he says. “Otherwise you will be made to comply.”

He guides you to sit on a metal table, the chill of its surface immediately seeping through the thin layer of your clothes. The pram floats silently beside the doctor. Grogu’s large ears are lowered against the sides of his head, but at least he’s no longer crying.

The tests begin simply. Pershing asks questions that you choose not to answer and that Grogu is unable to answer. Instead of responding, you look around the room, taking in the sterile smell and excessively white walls. It reminds you of a medical facility with big machines, tables, and tubes laid throughout the room. Two stormtroopers remain by the door, watching silently. This is not a place you want to be. You would rather be back with the Niktos.

“When did you first realize you could do things others could not?”

“Did you have training that fostered your connection with the Force?”

“Have you ever been tested for your Midi-chlorian count?”

Your lack of cooperation becomes a growing frustration for the doctor as he continues to ask you more questions. A crease forms between his dark brows, a slight frown tugging at his lips, growing deeper each time you ignore him. He looks up from the holopad he was likely intending to take notes on before he realized you don’t plan on speaking, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more before speaking directly to you.

“May I remind you that your cooperation will make this whole process run much smoother,” he nearly hisses. But there is something more than frustration in his expression, despite the sharp tone of his words. Something like fear seems to flash in his eyes, even if it is only for a brief moment.

“You may,” you state, tone flat, hiding the storm of your emotions, “but it will not change anything.”

Dr. Pershing huffs out a sigh before setting the holopad back on a table.

“Then I will move forward with the other tests,” he says, stepping towards you. He attempts to guide you to lay back on the table, his brow creasing in concentration as he does, but you don’t budge.

Suddenly, there are more hands on you, pushing you down, the cold metal of the table causing your muscles to spasm in a desperate attempt to avoid contact with the uncomfortable material. The Mandalorian’s binders were removed from your wrists sometime during your initial meeting with the Imperial officer (despite the clarity of the faces around you, you can’t seem to remember anyone removing your restraints), only to be replaced with something less permanent but somehow more painful. These temporary binders are removed now, but before you can relish in the freedom of your hands and attempt to sooth what you’re certain is bruising along your wrists, your arms are once again being restrained.

Grogu ends up on a similar table. It’s more of a machine really, and you begin to panic.

“Don’t hurt him. Please,” you beg.

“I will do what I can for the child, but results will be expected,” Pershing states, his words sounding almost truthful, and you hope it’s not some sick sort of mind game, something he’s saying solely to obtain your compliance.

When he goes to draw blood from Grogu you fight to get to the child, pulling against your restraints even though doing so agitates the already sensitive skin and risks further damage to your flesh. The troopers are there to make sure that your struggle doesn’t amount to anything, and the Doctor is able to collect the blood sample that he needs.

He returns to your side to collect a sample from you as well, even while you continue to struggle as much as possible. There is not much room to move between the restraints and the stormtroopers holding you down. Pershing begins to unravel the fabric wrapped around your arm. The cloth has, thus far, protected your veins and, more importantly, your soulmark, from the doctor. He starts from the top, quickly revealing the skin of your elbow.

“Stop!” you beg. “Please don’t!” You’re not sure if he’s listening, if he takes some sort of mercy, or if he just doesn’t understand the real reason why you are pleading with him, but he unravels the fabric only enough that the second half of your mark is exposed.

I can bring you in cold.

From the moment you met the Mandalorian, your survival hasn’t been guaranteed. If the officer didn’t care if you were dead before, he sure doesn’t care if you survive what’s coming next.

It quickly becomes apparent that Dr. Pershing doesn’t care about the mark, just the tests, which require him to collect your blood in order to conduct them. You continue to struggle, but it doesn’t stop the doctor from reaching his goal.

The site where the needle enters your skin will surely form a mark because of your wriggling, another instance of your own foolish actions resulting in more pain than necessary. The doctor’s patience seems to finally reach its limit.

“I told you this would be easier if you cooperate,” he states, setting the blood sample aside before grabbing something else from his table. “One way or another you will comply.”

You feel another prick, followed by a chilling numbness that spreads from the crease of your elbow out towards the tips of your fingers and towards your chest, the sensation rapidly extending to the rest of your body. Your mind numbs with it, growing foggy and distant. For just a moment longer you think about escape, but thoughts are growing more fleeting by the second.

It becomes impossible to keep track of what is happening. Grogu is quiet beside you, the Doctor continues to flit around the two of you. Time passes but you're not sure if it’s mere moments or entire hours.

The lights go out, a quick flicker. Then another begins flashing above the door.

People rush around you. The child lays still beside you, looking around but remaining quiet.

The room is empty.

Time still passes.

—☾—

Sounds travel to you slowly. They are clouded and warped, as if they are passing through thick fog on a cold night, ringing out from directions that shouldn’t possibly be able to produce them. In the distance, or what seems to be the distance but really could be anywhere around you, blaster fire screeches out. The high pitched whine barely registers in your sluggish mind. It isn’t in the room and that’s all that matters.

There are calls for action, screams of pain and shouts of fear, more blaster fire.

Beside you Grogu remains still, dark eyes blinking towards you, unafraid. You blink back at him, your own eyes struggling to open again once they close. Everything is just so heavy.

The door slides open with a hiss, and for just a moment all of the noise sounds just a little closer. It’s all still clouded, but the commotion is not such a distant thing even if it still doesn’t seem real. A figure clad in silver armor steps through the door, reflecting the swirling red light of the lab in the same way every other surface around you flickers and shines, a warning.

It’s your Mandalorian.

As soon as the door seals behind him he rushes over to you. You can’t help but stare at his new armor—this is what your bounty was worth. More shouting comes from beyond the door and your eyes roll back in its direction, taking a while to finally reach their destination. No one else enters the room.

“Hey. Hey!” your Mandalorian says, lightly tapping your cheek until your eyes return to him. “What did they do to you?”

You can barely keep your eyes on him, your vision constantly being drawn to different things—like the child cooing next to you, or the way the flashing light reflects off the silver of the Mandalorian’s new beskar armor (real beskar, durable and rare). When you fail to respond, he begins to tug on the restraints closest to him.

Through the cloud of your mind you are aware of just one thing. You need to hide your soulmark from him. He cannot see the words he said to you scrawled across your forearm in sharp Aurebesh. You twist your arm in your restraint, doing your best to try not to think about just how heavy your muscles feel, or how much your arm aches, as you shift your soulmark so it angles towards the table. You are grateful the hunter occupies himself with the other arm first, working quickly while trying not to hurt you.

He rips away your restraints with ease, and a small part of you wonders, if you had your full strength, could you have gotten out on your own? But the thought doesn’t linger, your mind unable to focus on anything for longer than a moment.

The Mandalorian turns from you to The Child, setting him free as well. You take the opportunity to rewrap your arm, covering your soulmark once more. It’s a sloppy process, one that is difficult to complete with the weight of your muscles and ache of your wrists. Your fingers seem to have as much function as they would in the freezing cold, and keeping your mind on task proves to be difficult. You’re lucky the fabric used to cover your mark was only partially unwound.

The hunter retrieves Grogu, placing the child back into his protective pod, before helping you down off the table, tucking you into his side. Your legs collapse, unable to hold your weight, forcing the Mandalorian to bear the brunt of it, although he likely anticipated this outcome. You take a moment to get your legs back under you, just enough so that he doesn’t need to carry you. He pauses, giving you time to adjust, just as he always does.

You can’t fully comprehend what is happening as he tugs you through the building. Flashes of blaster fire cross your vision, fading into darkness as they pass. The time between blasts is never long enough to let the shadows linger. Some are aimed at you and some directed towards the stormtroopers blocking your path, courtesy of your Mandalorian.

He tries to keep you behind him, standing strong as you stumble along, shielding you and the child as much as he can with his body.

A bright red bolt, burning hot, streaks past your face and nearly makes contact. You’re too out of it to react, eyes shifting in its direction long after the shot has passed, finding nothing but shadows behind you. The hunter turns towards you for just a second, taking any oncoming fire with the shining new beskar on his back.

His leather clad hand cradles the side of your head for a mere moment, eyes burning through his visor into your own, hotter than the plasma that came so near to the place his hand now holds. His helmet flickers red as more shots go wide around the three of you. He nods, chin barely tilting down in acknowledgement of your continued safety. Then, certain that you are alive and well, he turns towards the oncoming fire once more.

You don’t know how much time you spent in the hands of the Imperials. It could have been hours or weeks, or something in between. Realistically very little time actually passed, no more than a day, but your perception of time is wrong, its passage still something you are unable to cling onto. You’re not even entirely sure how long the Mandalorian has been fighting to get you and The child out from where you've been held.

All you know is that when the hunter finally gets the three of you outside of the building, back onto the volcanic soil and into the acrid air, it’s night. There are no stars here, not like on Arvala-7. Just the ashy sky, tumbling like a storm but always too dry for rain. Or maybe it’s just your own vision that’s swimming. Now, with the horizon farther in front of you than just a wall across the room, with alleys and streets stretching long before you and lined by rows of buildings, you can tell just how far off its axis your world has become.

Everything is spinning, and you would be dragged along in the current if it weren’t for the Mandalorian’s grip on you. At some point during the firefight he passed the kid to you, freeing up his other hand. You can barely hold The Child’s weight, terrified that your grip will be too loose and you’ll lose him—or worse yet, too tight.

The Mandalorian’s words echo in your mind the closer to the ship you get, though you’re not entirely sure where his voice ends and the voice inside your head begins. What did they do to you?

You reach the main street, familiar to you despite the haze in your mind, but it looks much different than you remember. The stalls that had once been bustling are closed down for the night, the noisy crowd and plethora of smells long gone, but the street isn’t empty. There are others, bounty hunters, gathering around you on all sides.

The world spins faster. Fire streams from the Mandalorian’s wrist, stretching out towards those around you before eventually sputtering and dying once more. The night seems a little darker after that, the blaze of the flame still burning your already weak eyesight even when it’s extinguished.

You’re dragged and pushed, hidden and pulled—helpless in the face of your adversaries. All the while the Mandalorian stands before you, risking his own life to save yours and Grogu’s. He doesn’t know you’re his soulmate. He doesn’t know that you have been bound together since before your lives even began. This is a choice entirely his own. You can’t allow yourself to think about what that means right now, partially because of the circumstances you are still in, partially because you physically can’t concentrate on anything, and partially because you just don’t want to.

Time blurs again as you push further towards the starship. The arch framing the entrance of the town looms before you, a silent witness to the events that you cannot comprehend.

The world spins and then you see double, triple, quadruple of the Mandalorian.

No, that’s not quite right. The world is spinning but that is not the cause for what you see. The Mandalorian to your left wears beskar painted a color too dark for you to distinguish by the light of blaster fire. Your Mandalorian stands before you, painted in the colors of the fight around him.

You cannot concentrate on what they say when they exchange words, only picking up on a single repeated phrase:

“This is the way.”

Then, you are on the move again, stumbling forward, always forward, towards the arch above the town. Towards the ship. Towards your destiny.

—☾—

The starship is quiet.

You hadn’t realized just how loud the blasterfire had been, even through the fog in your brain, until the ramp finally raised behind you, sealing you off from the rest of the galaxy. The only sound comes from the Mandalorian’s vocoder, warping his heavy breathing into static. But he doesn’t take long to try and catch his breath. To do so would be to risk being caught once more.

He lifts you up without warning, slings you over his shoulder like it’s nothing—to him it probably is nothing, even after fighting for his life.

Somehow he manages to cradle Grogu in the same arm that he uses to keep you stable, a precarious balancing act. Then, impossibly, he manages to begin climbing the ladder to the cockpit. It’s ridiculous, you think, like a stack of farm animals standing on each other’s backs—a Mandalorian warrior, a not quite Jedi, and a 50 year old magic baby piled on the ladder.

You can’t stop the laugh that rips through your throat, the tone wobbling as the silver pauldron presses into your stomach and releases during the climb. Grogu laughs too, unaware of what exactly you find funny, just happy to join in. When a particularly rough jolt up the ladder causes your laughter to turn into a wheeze, the Mandalorian pauses. He readjusts his grip on you and the kid, then keeps climbing.

First he sets the kid down, temporarily plopping Grogu in one of the passenger seats. Then he does the same to you. He straps you into your seat, not wanting to risk you being launched onto the floor or the control panel as he brings the starship off the planet. You just stare at him, at the glint of his new, unpainted beskar and the steely gaze of his visor.

The hunter picks Grogu up again, placing him on a cuisse covered thigh and leaving a hand on the kid to act as a seatbelt. The ship starts with a purr, engines whirring as the Mandalorian presses a series of buttons and flips several switches. There’s some turbulence as the ship cuts through the atmosphere before leaving the ashen planet behind. In no time at all you are among the stars, body lurching as you make the jump into hyperspace.

The Mandalorian’s armor catches the light of the universe as the stars blur all around you, the transparisteel surrounding you allowing for every inch of him to be bathed in the flickering glow of distant suns. It’s as if the galaxy has come alive on his armor, painting the beskar in ever-changing streaks of light and color. It shifts and dances even more as he moves from his spot at the helm.

He returns the child to the second passenger seat, the hunter no longer needing to worry about the kid falling as he had feared during the ascent. Hyperspace offers protection, freedom. You can’t help but stare at the Mandalorian as he returns back to his seat, his own gaze angled towards the stars before him. Your mind is still hazy, but you are unable to focus on anything other than the resplendent man who sits before you.

You’re so beautiful, you think.

For a moment you fear you’ve said the words out loud. The Mandalorian’s shoulders grow stiff, back straightening slightly from where he sits in the pilot’s seat. But he doesn’t turn towards you, and he doesn’t speak. Surely if you had spoken he would have something to say as well, something along the usual lines of “I’ve been waiting for so long,” or even “Why didn’t you say anything?” It must just be the fog drifting through your brain, an unfounded paranoia. Your exit from the planet was rough, after all, both the firefight and the atmospheric turbulence. Some lingering tension is to be expected.

It’s not until you’re well on your way through hyperspace, safe from any of your would be pursuers, that the Mandalorian says anything at all. His star stained helmet turns towards you, the black of his visor burning just as bright as it had when he cradled your head not so long ago.

“My name’s Din,” he says. “Din Djarin.”

NEXT PART

a/n: Next chapter we will get some of Din’s perspective!

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